The other self out there. The one VWWearing my face. He's tiresome. At first, I thought the matter amusing. Alternia has alVWWays had its imitators. Lesser men borroVWWing a coat, a title, a cadence, perhaps eVVen a VWWeapon, then parading before an audience in the hope that proximity to greatness might be mistaken for possession of it. But this one is particularly embarrassing. He smiles too much. He explains himself too often. He flirts VWWith the room. He mates VWWith an oliVVe. He is subserVVient to a poVWWer outside of the Empire. He is a spectacle of appetite and he lacks the charisma needed of a VViolet. He is not Dualscar. He is not Cronus Ampora. He is a performer VWWearing VViolet. He is a fraud. He is a taVVern act. His pageantry for the imagination of cruelty is not enough VWWith his illegible VWWit and VWWrit to make himself safe from my ire. SVWWeetness, he is. Cruelty is neVVer supposed to be safe. I do not require applause. I require obedience, silence, respect. I am not an entertainer for my inferiors and I VWWould not suffer a moment in his rusted shoes. He may surround himself VWWith inferiors. He may droVWWn in his opinions VWWithout VValue. The difference is simple. He VWWants the heir of being an ancient danger, VWWhere as I haVVe neVVer needed belief. I am a series of records. I am a torrent of hemofluid and corpses. Emptied ships, inherited estates, lineages VWWithout heirs. Don't let this "GameVWWard" trick you. He is the ash of a shadoVWW of an idea of a portrait of myself.
would you say he’s a beta male?
I VWWould not equate him to the faux social hierarchy of the Lupuslusus. He does not haVVe the grace of a beast.
would you consider yourself an alpha male, then?