So I walk up to the outside of the restaurant. I’m dressed up, a little. White Oxford shirt, Black Overcoat, Black dress pants. Leather Shoes. I’m unarmed. Waiting outside, I see this guy, okay?  Long flowing robe. A Fucking Robe. Hood, but the hood was down. Long Blonde hair. He has blue eyes and paleish skin. He grinned at me as I approached. Morningstar.

Me: Was the robe necessary? We’re going to get thrown out. There is a dress code.

Morningstar: Say it’s for religious purposes. It’ll will be fine.

He has a faint accent. Barely noticeable.

We get seated after a few nervous looks from the waiter. I order a lemonade. He stuck with water, even after I told him I’d pay. Then we got down to business.

Me: So, humor me. Why are you here? Well, here and not trying to kill me.

Morningstar: Not trying to kill you? How do you know I don’t have someone in the kitchen, poisoning everything right now.

He smiled a jackal grin. I looked at him dead in the eyes and drank my lemonade. I was fine.

Morningstar: So, how did it feel to crush someone’s throat with your bare hands?

I resisted the urge to flip the table and stab him with my fork.

Morningstar: I don’t think I’ve ever choked the life out of someone before. How brutal. Monstrous, even.

Me: I’m sorry about the fire. Liam is out of control.

Morningstar: Liam. Didn’t burn down every nest in Charlestown. You made quite a few families homeless, you know. Hero.

Me: I’m no hero. I’m barely a useful pawn.

Morningstar: To be fair, most of you people spend all of your time sorting into leadership positions and posturing. How much positive has actually been accomplished by anyone? Even my buddy Ray, that great editor and leader has only killed a few Black Pawns and yelled at White Pawns whenever his useless girl did something stupid.

Me: Let’s not talk about them, hmm?

Morningstar: Now, I am curious, and I never get curious. Why did you call me out here?

Me: I’m curious about you. Your side. Why?

Morningstar: I like to hurt people. I did even before He came into my life. You know what I mean, correct? The Predatory feeling, the rush of power, the ascent to Godhood, for those few brief moments. You’ve felt it, right?

I shift uncomfortably. I know exactly what he is talking about.

Our food arrives. He’s ordered a lobster, I’m eating Haddock. Im cutting my Haddock, about to make a comment about the odds of the Sox this year when:

MorningStar: Kill me.

Me: whut.

Morningstar: Did I stutter? Kill me, please.

Me: No.

Mornignstar: I’m begging you, end my pain and suffering at the hands of Him. Free me, please.

Me: Free yourself. No.

He begins to break open his Lobster with methodical ease.

Morningstar: You know, death is the only real way out. Killing Proxies frees them. The dead are no longer his. Eventually, the only way to win will to have everyone but him off the board. No witnesses, none to remember. When all the bloggers are dead, all the proxies and revenants, the game will be over. No one will believe he is real, or ever doubt his reality.

Me: I don’t believe that. He was here before.

Morningstar: Ahh, but on a much smaller scale.  I believe you’ve said as much yourself. “we are like rats in a water-filled barrel.” Right?

Me: That was a long time ago.

Morningstar: I’m not going to kill you, you know.

Me: I know. You aren’t armed.

Morningstar: I could slit your throat, right now. It would be so easy. Lean across the table, and one flick of the knife. It is rather sharp, you know.

We lean towards each other, over the candlelight dinner. He leans back and smiles.

Morningstar: Your blog is quite entertaining, you know. Do you ever go back and read those first couple of posts? You were so excited to be the man you are now.

He then proceeded to quote my first entry to me in a high-pitched accent.

Me:…how ‘bout the Red Sox?

We shook hands after dinner. He told me we would be in touch.

I’m going to let him throw in his two cents. But that was the gist of our conversation, other then me asking about his life. But out of respect I won’t share that part.

We aren’t so different, as much as I hate to say it. We are both enlisted men in a war bigger then ourselves.