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Eyes drifting shut, Sarmenti lets out a deep sigh, letting his thoughts wander, nestled as he is in the tangled branches of a tree he had long grown familiar with. The Marquess had arranged a mission. One that required him to travel suffocating halls of the warrens with the horrid king. He was surprised at her boldness, sending them together again, given how poorly it had gone the last time. He can still feel that strong grip upon him. Upon his thin neck. Holding him up as if he was nothing but a doll. He had watched the man cleave more than one beast nearly in two, having that strength then being wielded against him had still been surprising in a certain aspect. In how, if that snake of a king had wanted, could have killed him with only the slightest of effort. He starts to settle into sleep, thoughts softening and move to more pleasant things, drifting. Floating. And as they wander, images come to lull him. A leather gloved hand running up to his chin, tilting it up for a tender gaze to laid upon him, a golden mask-
Eyes snap open, heart lurching in a painful way.
“Stop it-” He growls, hands pressed hard against the mask he wears, but the more he tries to push the thoughts out, the more they rebel against him.
A warm smile given, a soft touch upon the back, a kiss upon the lips-
More and more irate the fool becomes, the more the thoughts come. Gloved nails dig harder and harder into his mask until there is sure to be marks left behind.
“Gods above!” He barks loudly, the tension in him winding tighter and tighter as it starts to buzz and jolt, a cackling peel of laughter leaving him.
The images invite unpleasant memories, mind hopping between the loose connections. To things he would have preferred to never think about again. A spiral that was twisting its way down to the painful core of it all. Something he doesn’t want to think about. Of another man, with another crown who he-
“I need a drink-” He gasps, shaking and trembling as flesh remembers more and more. Things he doesn’t want to recall.
The fool nearly falls in as he climbs desperately down to the base of the tree, hands shaking as they are. Barely able to keep a grip. At the bottom, he feels about in the hole of the old tree, until his finger tips finally touch smooth glass. A whiskey bottle he bought a few weeks ago. The bottle he had hid away so none of the other tippers could steal it from him.
Driving his dirk into the cork, the pop it makes as it comes out still causes him to flinch, a vision of memories dancing past for a moment, only hurrying him more. Yanking up the mask he wears, the fool hurriedly brings the bottle to his lips and gulps down several mouthfuls. Panting as he catches his breath, the world swims in front of him as the drink starts to warm in his stomach. But still he’s tight, tense, buzzing. So he drinks more. And again. And again. Over and over, barely even tasting it until, when the bottle is over half empty, the tension eases and he feels… Better. Not great. But. Better. Like he’s… calm again. Calm like he hasn’t been since his last bender. Like he wasn’t on edge to jump and claw and run at any moment. Like he wasn’t a moment away from being attacked. A haze around his mind and thoughts, keeping memories away from him. At least for a moment. Nearly dropping the bottle, he turns and rests against the trunk of the tree, finding himself slumping into a pile, unable to even hold himself up anymore. A giggling sobs breaks out from him as he presses a still shaking hand against his face. One question left, as it echoes over the fog again and again.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?”