A Lesson in Aristocracy

IV - Sandbox

Arden's eyelids fluttered, his pupils widening to draw in what light they could. He shifted upwards, beads of water running down his skin as he did so. His mind began to whisper its own thoughts - the mind inside of his mind showed up, so to speak.

That Lozenfi had been practically his handler, earlier. The obedience that forced its way into Arden's soul after he fainted was sickening. He could still feel that claw raking across his face, too. He really let a Lozenfi command him, as if - as if he were the beast. Arden rubbed the base of his neck, checking for a collar that wasn't there. His hands slowly moved upwards, feeling the tender lash over his features, his own decidedly sharp teeth.

He felt like a Lozenfi.

Arden gripped his hair, tugging on it in some strange attempt to distract himself. He hated when it was quiet, and dark, and calm. Those times were when his inner dialogue decided to tell him everything it thought. But worse, still, were the times when it was loud, and panicked - the noise caused his mind to silence itself, instead, and the dreadful loneliness that took over without that inner voice was worse than anything the voice could tell him.

"I'm screwed either way," he mumbled to himself, eyes drifting towards the bourbon that still sat at the corner of the tub.

He knew he shouldn't touch it.

He'd drunk enough already, that day. He hadn't even used the whiskey like he intended - he just drank that too.

Arden gulped, reaching for the bottle and twisting off the cap. He didn't realize how shaky his hands were until he tried to pour the drink into the small glass he had beside it. The liquid shook this way and that, splashing about in beat with the trembling of his fingers. He sighed, righting the bottle and looking at the small puddle of bourbon that had collected anywhere but the glass.

He looked at the bottle, gripping the neck tighter and bringing the opening to his lips. He wouldn't be able to stop once he started, he knew that. But he was desperate, and as any beast does in desperation, he did what he thought he needed to do to survive.

Arden finally gulped down the last drops, savoring the dry burn in his throat and laying back down into water. The bottle made a quiet popping as water rushed into it, rinsing out what little had refused to make its way out with gravity.

He smiled, feeling the fuzziness grab each crevice of his body and carry away his thoughts. This silence - this was the good kind. The kind where the calm kept him company instead of forcing him to be aware of how awful he was. He felt his gills flutter and sting with the small drops of alcohol that had made their way into the water, grateful for them despite never wanting them there in the first place.

And finally, with the water, the bourbon lulled him back into dreamless sleep, all his worries far too blurry to make themselves apparent.

-

Arden shot up at the sound of banging, immediately regretting doing so as a dizzy headache pounded into his skull.

"Coming-!" He yelled, clawing his way out of the tub and grabbing the nearest clothes he could. He staggered up the stairs, having to use the wall for support while simultaneously trying to pull on a much too baggy pair of pants from who knows where.

He flung open the door, hair still sopping wet and chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

Holdenveere stared up at him, the coach driver on the road behind him looking quite bored.

"Go get dressed," Holdenveere started, inviting himself in, "and we'll be off."

Arden gulped as the Lialfi examined the bloody coat on the floor, trying not to imagine what choice words the man must've had for him in his mind.