[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/0Hh7rGs.png[/img][/center]

[color=00F8FE]Time: Night
Location: 420 Wicker St; Which layer of hell is this?
Interaction: His new best friend; the floor[/color]

[color=9FA1A4]The day had been an average lull, the evening’s ball had been more easily suffered through than expected, and the late hours of the night had done much to lift his spirits. Even as he found himself at another party as Anastasia’s tag a long brother he had not been alone. Her friends were rarely ever his friends, but at least they did not shun him. There had been drinks with Roman, there had been knowing that one of his rare friends was finding happiness even in a kingdom as rotten as Caesonia. That had made the night a little brighter. 

Then there had been the Noble’s Venom, it contained a taste of what it was like to have been a carefree child and all the energy and joy that came with that. He should’ve known it would come with a price, everything good came with a price, but even as the effects of the drink started to wane he was sure the price was worth it. So he tried to keep dancing with both Anastasia, Munir, and others around them whose names he never heard over the music. 

He expected the price to come in the morning, to suffer through a terrible hangover, a price he was comfortable with. But this was not the case, the dancing became increasingly difficult as the last bit of energy seemed to have left him, his mind barely registered Ana leaving as a heavy brain fog took hold. He didn’t even have the energy to form audible words, he only pointed in a direction as a way of explanation and stumbled away from the dance floor. 

Callum desperately wanted to step outside, to breathe in air that didn’t smell like sweat, alcohol, and a foul mixture of colognes but his every limb felt like it was made of lead. The stairs out of the warehouse would be impossible, the other side of the room already felt like an uncrossable distance. He staggered towards the nearest wall and simply sank to the floor. He sat there with his knees pulled to his chest, head resting against his knees, his back against a wall, and there would be no moving from this spot anytime soon. 

His mouth slowly filled with an ungodly amount of saliva and the room was spinning. A day of poor choices slowly caught up to him; ale, whiskey, dry red wine, and then the Noble's Venom, and it was that last one he knew had been the peak of his mistakes. Then there was more ale, shots with Leo, and far more running than could be considered wise. It all had collected in his stomach only to end up being mixed about as he, almost literally, bounced from wall to wall within the warehouse. It had only a matter of time before it all poured back out, and time was catching up on him as every sharp intake of air already tasted of bile. 

[color=00F8FE][i]Can’t hold my drink, and that was my only skill.[/i][/color] The thought floated in and then back out with a defeated sigh. Cal knew a great many of his flaws, they were so helpfully pointed out to him rather frequently. Tonight and probably several more nights in his future, his undoing; how slow he was to learn from his own mistakes, would remain a problem. This was not the first night he’d drunk until he couldn’t stand and it was far from the last. Tonight’s only difference was how quickly he felt so terrible. 

[hider=TW for vomiting. Summery: Callum vomits on the floor and then crawls about a foot away from it.][color=00F8FE][i]Maybe I’ve been poisoned.[/i][/color] He thought with just a hint of glee because if he had maybe he wouldn’t have to suffer through the barrage of side effects. He almost chuckled at the thought but instead, he retched slightly just barely managing to choke back down the bile that rose in his throat. 

He made a half-hearted attempt to lift his head, only to be overcome with dizziness. His heart thumped in a wild rhythm but the pounding in his head felt far worse. [color=00F8FE][i]Gods, let me die now.[/i][/color] If there was a single god with an ounce of mercy above or below they’d put him out of his misery this instant. But, as he expected, there were no benevolent gods who answered requests and Caesonia was not a place of mercy. 

Something distant in the back of his mind nagged at him, there was something he was supposed to remember but he couldn’t quite reach it. Even as he tried all he found was a rising sense of dread and panic. 

Then it finally hit him, not the thought he tried to reach, but a violent wave of nausea that caused him to lift his head up just enough to expel bits of the wretched concoction in his stomach onto the floor. He kept his eyes closed, and rested his head against the wall as he tried to catch his breath again. He made an effort to only breathe through his mouth, not wanting to take in the acrid scent of bile and alcohol. Another wave of sickness hit, and more puke hit the floor with a faint splatter. 

The worst of it wasn’t the burn or the smell, no, somehow that damned cocktail retained the sickeningly sweet taste even as he threw it back up. Several moments of violent retching left him fairly sure there was nothing else left to vomit up and he leaned towards his other side and crawled himself away from the pile. Never again was he going to drink anything green, he was almost certain of that. [/hider]

There was no leaving the floor, sitting back up even proved too much and he resigned himself to lying helpless on the floor until the room learned how to hold still. Callum retreated further into his own head. His own thoughts swirled with things spoken to him and things whispered about him until it all just became the same noise that played on a loop in his head. The words of others and his own thoughts echoed around in his head, slowly becoming indistinguishable. It was all true enough and he lacked the will or energy to question it. 

[color=3290AC][i]Look at the boy, he’s [b]not one of mine[/b]. [b]Weak[/b]. [color=00F8FE]You don’t belong anywhere.[/color] Witless little shit. I imagine his majesty is quite pissed, they’ve gone and named a tavern after the boy, a constant reminder of [b]what a useless drunk he sired[/b]. [color=00F8FE]Sorian’s greatest failure.[/color] [b]Worthless.[/b] Good for nothing. They got ‘em a future king, a champion, a real beauty, and well, I guess everyone rolls a pair o’ snake eyes once in’a while even royals. [b]Failure.[/b] Idiot. Can’t go five minutes without [b]screwing something up[/b]. Spoiled. [b]Useless.[/b] The entire palace has had quite enough of your dramatics. Self-righteous [b]jackass[/b]. Ungrateful. Try and get through one night without causing a scene. [b]Selfish brat.[/b] [color=00F8FE]You’ll never learn, never be anything more.[/color] All I’m saying is if I’d been born with the name Danrose I’d’ve made something of my life by now. [b]Spineless.[/b] Self-indulgent prick. Wonder why Edin ain't gotten rid of that one yet. Menace.  [color=00F8FE]You don’t deserve anything more, look around, see all the damage done by Danrose hand, nothing good comes from the rotten tree.[/color]  [b]Coward.[/b] The world would be better off with just one less Danrose. Just as bad as the rest of them. Entitled. Not just a fuck up, a royal fuck up. [color=00F8FE]It’s no wonder you’re alone, who wants to be around such an empty pit?[/color][/i][/color]

The thoughts and voices overwhelmed him, drowned out the music and everyone around him. The majority of his thoughts began to fade away, as did any sense of who he was, even where he was. Callum kept his eyes closed to keep from watching everything spin as he continued to lay on his side one arm supporting his head and the other covering his face to help block out sounds and dancing lights. [color=00F8FE][i]Weak. Cowardly. Useless. Rotten. Alone.[/i][/color][/color]