How do you cope? people ask him, and he'd grin and say, I don't know, but the truth is—he doesn't.

The bottle in his hand is filled with alcohol and he holds it like it's his lifeforce, and he drinks it like it's nectar, the drink of the gods, and not bitter whiskey or sharp vodka that burns his throat every time he downs it with no mercy.

Arbitrous travels the world, wanting desperately to change his form, but he doesn't, he goes around the globe so many times and grips so many bottles and downs burning liquid too much times and he's Arbitrous, god damn it, he's arbitrary, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, but he knew that he'd met his limit the day he met the girl with the powder-soft white hair and doe-like blue eyes.

So he takes another bottle, pays another person, and downs the sharp tang of alcohol yet again, desperately craving Gluttony's true alcohol, and trying and failing to sate and cloud over his mind with man-made artificial liquors.

He wants to run from the war replaying over and over in his head, but he doesn't, and he knows that this is the boundary of his unbound life.

But