The Lout's Pet Squirrel (og alcale)

Part 11

I've really gone over the deep end.

Alver rested on his luxurious pet bed, surrounded by all the food and snacks a person could desire, and stared up at the ceiling with a growing understanding weighing him down.

He'd lost his fucking mind.

It made sense, if he were to look at it from a cynical third person's perspective, if one of Alver's political opponents had suffered a loss this severe he would have certainly expected their descent into madness. In fact, he would have probably been the person to drive them to that edge with that purpose in mind.

Perhaps it was ego that allowed him to believe he would never sink this low.

...I'm actually thinking this isn't so bad.

It was avoidance, pure and simple, when he was just a pet squirrel he was able to thoroughly avoid everything and it just made him feel better to forget it all and indulge in a self pity spiral.

Or at least it had but Alver just didn't have a lot of patience for self pity spirals, even when he was the one enduring one.

He justified his behavior with this and that excuse. I've already done everything I can and it's better to lie low for the time being anyway and while those statements were true, he also wasn't making any effort to struggle his way out of this.

A familiar finger poked his check and Alver chittered grouchily.

"I get it, you're in another self pity spiral." Cale laughed, easy and open.

That was really disturbing just how good Cale was at guessing his actual emotions.

Alver rolled over and faced Cale flatly and got another laugh for his trouble.

What a jerk. Alver grabbed Cale's finger and used it to climb up onto his hand, up his arm, and around his shoulders.

"Better to pout with company?" Cale guessed.

If I find out this little shit is actually psychic someday, I might just kick his ass. Alver settled down and let Cale carry him out of the bedroom on the normal route around the estate. It was boring and peaceful and Alver was indulging in laziness for the first time in his entire life.

Cale's shoulders suddenly tensed and Alver peeked open an eye to see why.

Ah, it was one of the Henituse family vassals. A baron from the west of the territory and for some reason, a person that Cale seemed legitimately uncomfortable around. Cale behaved like a lout in front of everyone but for some reason, when this man visited Cale showed signs of actual distress.

It made Alver quite tempted to pick a fight with the baron and he couldn't quite figure out why.

In response to the sighting, Cale ramped up his act and destroyed a tapestry in the hallway before spitefully sending the baron off to replace it with something better and kicking his way down the hall. It wasn't new behavior but Alver really didn't like how tense he was.

When they returned to his room, the tension didn't fade.

"...I need to do more..." Cale muttered darkly, holding out a hand for Alver to climb onto and placing him back on his bed. "Shit, I've been slipping..."

Alver chittered curiously and Cale smiled softly down at him, still appearing tense as hell even while he knelt down.

"...I've got to go out for a few hours." Cale explained, scratching behind Alver's ear and kissing the top of his head. "I can't take you with me."

Alver chittered indignantly and held onto Cale's finger. He didn't like the idea of leaving Cale alone when he was like this.

It felt... off. Something was wrong.

Cale chuckled and shook his head, pulling away his finger. "You're too small for a bar, silly critter. You could get hurt. It's okay, stay here."

Alver's hair stood on end. Just what the hell was Cale planning?

However, the damn lout didn't give him further opportunity to argue and instead waltzed out of the room with grim determination.

Yeah. I don't like that even a little bit.

Alver grumbled to himself as he steadied himself up. Stupid Cale just had to worry him.

Alver extended his senses to the surrounding area before heading to the balcony and finally hitting the ground outside of the Henituse estate on humanoid feet.

The crisp evening air was sharp and he subconsciously adjusted his cloak.

It was weird.

Right now, he was wearing an appearance that he'd been forced to keep hidden his entire life and yet, it was now the reverse. If he was spotted as prince Alver Crossman that would be a death sentence and walking around as a dark elf was actually comparably safer.

One really couldn't predict all the crazy places life would take you.

The front gates opened and Alver moved stealthily into hiding as Cale Henituse sauntered out of the gates, sneering at the world cruelly and moving with purpose to the city's nightlife.

Alver quelled the impulse to immediately intercede. It would be suspicious if he immediately approached Cale the second he left. Besides, ideally he wouldn't interact with Cale ever again in this form.

He just needed to make sure that Cale was safe.

There was just something about it that was really putting Alver on edge.

Once more he was treated to the queer view of citizens cringing away from the sight of Cale with fear in their eyes and once more he watched Cale do absolutely nothing to discourage the reaction, even drunkenly rambling at times to startle people more.

...he wasn't drinking today.

Just what the hell was Cale Henituse? What purpose could he possibly have for making the world fear and hate him?

Cale didn't waste time and stormed into the closest tavern, loudly demanding service so disruptively that Alver could still hear it from outside.

Shit. I should get in there.

A second later there was the sound of glass shattering and Cale's cries that he wouldn't be caught dead drinking such filth before he stormed out to find the next bar.

Alver recognized it then.

It was an escalation. Whatever Cale was planning was going to start small and escalate out of control. Alcohol, angry and scared people, broken furniture and alcohol bottles.

Cale's warning had been right, whatever stupid thing he was up to was dangerous.

And Alver just couldn't let it happen.

Cale turned around with a ferocious glare to rip off the head of the bastard who dared to grab him by the wrist.

Alver admitted that he really must have lost his fucking mind because he had no intention of letting go.