A Lesson in Aristocracy

XIII - Turvy

Arden hadn't slept a lick.

He'd sobered by the time morning came, and he felt absolutely, horribly awful. He was dreading going in to work.

"At least there's no executions," he told himself, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

Arden couldn't help the feeling of shame that crept into his spine. He never let himself get so shitfaced in front of other people. It was... embarrassing, at best. He rubbed his head, a rather familiar headache greeting the touch. Today was going to be miserable. Then again, what day wasn't?

Arden got dressed slowly, not wanting to move too quickly in fear of giving himself vertigo. He soon was dressed just as he was yesterday - he hadn't done the washing - and his hair was almost glued in its typical wavy position. He looked awful. There was that wretched scar carved through his features, the bags under his eyes had grown ever deeper, his clothes were wrinkled, his hair was greasy, and his forehead was slick with sweat that had occasionally made its way out. His body temperature had been all over the place.

"We gotta get going," Arden said, shoving Hyarith's shoulder. The Lozenfi grumbled, flopping out of the bed with the chain still attached to his collar. Arden grabbed it loosely, and they began their long walk to the colosseum.

"You never fail to impress, Reinbach."

Arden looked down at Holdenveere, too tired to snap back.

"You know, I really thought you couldn't look worse than you did the day we had that meeting a few weeks ago. Kudos on proving me wrong."

Hyarith growled lowly, Holdenveere jumping slightly.

"Reinbach! Control your Lozenfi, Gods!"

Arden stared at him absently a few moments before turning and walking away.

"Are you hungry? I don't think I fed you yesterday," Arden mumbled, rubbing his forehead as he walked through the colosseum's corridors. Plenty of people had come to watch the day's battle - this time, a champion and a prisoner instead of a typical Lozenfi. Those fights were less gruesome - they didn't usually end in death and gore, just bruises and scratches.

"You didn't." Hyarith replied blandly. "But no. I'm not hungry."

Arden was out of ideas of what to do. He didn't want to clean Hyarith's cell - it was far too messy, and he was far too tired, for that - and he also didn't want to do anything that might land him in a conversation with Quetsan.

"Handler Reinbach, how nice to see you."

Arden tensed at the voice. Everyone knew that voice.

"Mother Nefrine," he mumbled, turning over his shoulder. Hyarith was disinterested in the woman, stretching his hands.

"That's right," she chuckled, fixing her bodice. "I'm here on behalf of King Alder." Hyarith then stopped picking at his nails, leaning in with interest. Arden found himself coiling the chain tighter around his hand, just in case Hyarith did try something.

"Oh," Arden said, glancing over his shoulder at Hyarith.

"We need your support for a new Feed Availability act, for our Lozenfi, such as yours." She smiled, nodding at Hyarith. Arden narrowed his gaze - it didn't seem like the king to do anything in the Lozenfi's favor.

"Well, of course," Arden smiled in return, running his thumb across the chain. "What would you have me do?"

"You'll give a speech on the colosseum steps, possibly with Hyarith by your side. Don't worry about preparing it." The woman's smile seemed almost sinister when she handed him a piece of parchment, Hyarith clearly attempting to get into a position where he could read it.