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[color=00F8FE][h3]Callum has another temper tantrum, part 2/2[/h3]
Time: 7 pm  
Location: Sorian Temple/Graveyard
Interactions: [/color][/center]

[color=9FA1A4]Callum walked, or more accurately, drunkenly swaggered, purposefully exaggerating the unsteadiness of his feet, through the slums of Sorian. Poorly maintained streets lined with dilapidated buildings and numerous back alleyways that weaved and snaked about, small shops were closing up, taverns and brothels were just starting to pick up, and Edin’s Enforcement officers were no nowhere to be seen. They didn’t bother patrolling out here; everything about this part of the city was fully neglected, from the streets to the people, deemed not worth the effort by the king. 

He drank from the bottle in his hand, carried the scent of whiskey on his clothes and breath, and belted out an old drinking song as he walked. It felt good to have a plan. It felt good to be acting on a plan, even if all it amounted to was making Alibeth’s life just a little more difficult. [i]It was only fair.[/i] Despite what many people thought the young prince did have a few talents, and making a nuisance of himself was certainly one of them. 

He threw his shoulder into any unfriendly face that walked too close to him. Anticipation left him feeling wired as Cal waited for someone to take the bait. He understood exactly how things worked in Caesonia; an eye for an eye, and if he wanted to be understood he had to communicate in the ways [i]they[/i] understood. His family understood blood, and the only blood that mattered to them was Danrose blood. So he would spill his own and that felt fair like there was a small bit of justice in it.  

If he did nothing it would happen again. Alibeth, nor any other Danrose, could be left to think that harming others would be an effective form of punishment or control. Not for him, and at the very least he could ensure at least one Danrose paid for their own crimes. 

And Alibeth had hurt him, he would hurt her back. [color=00F8FE][i]That was fair.[/i][/color]

His problem with Alibeth, the reason his mother’s actions today cut so deeply, was that before now he had really believed his mother loved him. But she [i]knew[/i] when she threatened Darryn exactly how much that would hurt not only him but Ana as well. If his mother’s love came with such malicious forms of control, then Cal neither wanted it nor would he think of it as love. 

Alibeth had one weakness that he was sure of, one button he could push that would at least hurt. If seeing one of her children hurt would distress her even a little, it seemed worth trying. But what he was really hoping for, was that it would sting a little bit more for her to have look at him and know he was mirroring back her cruelty, forcing her to look at it, maybe even think about it. That would make a worthy piece of art. 

It wasn't long before Callum bumped into the wrong shoulder and got a shove that sent him stumbling backward. 

[color=00F8FE]“Yawatchwhuryagoin’ pal.”[/color] Callum exaggerated the slur to his speech as he pointed the almost empty bottle at the man's chest. It was just as quickly slapped away and watched as the bottle was knocked out of his hand and shattered against the ground. [color=00F8FE]“Ruuude.”[/color] Callum exhaled a dramatic whine of a word as he glanced at the shattered bottle. 

There was a gruff ‘fuck off’ muttered as the man tried to shove past Callum who repeatedly moved to continue to be in the other man’s way. Now Cal was grinning as he grabbed a handful of coins from his pocket. He threw them, one at a time at the irritated, red-faced, man while speaking slowly, [color=00F8FE]“Go. Buy. Some. Manners. An-”[/color] 

Callum didn’t get to finish, a solid right hook knocked him back and spilled the rest of the coins from his hand onto the ground with the glass and remnants of whiskey. It could’ve stopped there but Callum really did have a gift for antagonizing things. So he got back up, repeatedly, and continued to make himself a constant pest that needed swatting at by angry, heavy, hands. Until he found himself laying on the streets of some back alleyway with a foot constantly smashing into the same spot on his ribcage until it was hard to breathe. His final attempt to get back up ended with a hard kick to the face that left him laying on his back looking at the stars. He wasn’t entirely sure if they were imagined stars or the same ones that were always in the night sky but it didn’t matter. 

He achieved exactly what he’d set out to do. He allowed his skin to be painted in the shades of violence and it was both worse and better than he’d expected. 

It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to lie still. There was this deafening ringing in his ears that muffled out the sounds around him. Blood from somewhere on his face was stinging as it ran into his eyes, blood from his nose was running into his mouth, and the blood in his mouth was constantly being spat, or more accurately drooled, out onto the ground. 

Callum’s face twitched into a grin because it was glorious. Alibeth would know he had done this because of what she had done to Darryn. She would know that the next time she repeated her actions, he would repeat his. She would know because Callum would look her in the eyes and say it. All this was certainly worth that. 

[color=00F8FE]“Praise be to Claero, answerer of prayers, most worthy of worship. Thank you.”[/color] He whispered through clenched bloodied teeth. He had found a god worthy of worship, the infernal god had not only listened, but he had blessed Callum with everything he’d asked for. Some bit of that infernal calamity had worked its way into his life, and it would spread. Hopefully to his mother. If not, he’d try again. And if it did work, he’d set his sights higher. 

Eventually, he would get up, but he didn’t plan on going home yet. There was a brothel not too far from here, he planned for that to be his next stop. A brothel always had offered a warmer welcome than his home ever did. He could sleep there, better than being tossed into the medical wing of the palace by miles. He was just going to need a few minutes, probably a whole lot of minutes until he was ready to do anything besides lay in the alleyway. [color=00F8FE][i]Or maybe lie here til morning.[/i][/color] Drunken, beaten, and pretty damn close to lying in a gutter; what mother wouldn’t love to hear she’d caused such fate for her son?[/color]