[CLOSED]

[esquive]

WHO: Character(s) Marcoulf and Benedict
WHAT: C is for casual extortion.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: n/a, will add if necessary

[It's difficult to say when exactly it begins and at first it could be construed purely as coincidence, but at some point a paticular narrow man begins to make regular appearances on the margins of a certain chamberlain's work. He happens to be assisting some girl from the laundry bringing up fresh linens to a room being remade for a new guest; he is conveniently stationed at the bottom of some stairwell well frequented in the business of running the Gallows day to day; and so on.

Today, Marcoulf is sitting in the shade of some narrow side courtyard that Benedict happens to be passing through. He has his legs stretched out before him and a handkerchief with a half eaten heel of bread inside it spread on the bench beside him to suggest his time here may simply be some idle moment taken between work. He isn't following anyone; he certainly isn't a spy. But Marcoulf does look up when Benedict passes into the yard and nothing on his narrow face indicates he's at all surprised to see him there.]

Comments

[altusimperius]

At first, Benedict is actually stupid enough to think Marcoulf is going to be in more trouble than he is (trouble?? what is this, a nursery?) and has the audacity to smirk, but it's wiped clean off his face by Lakshmi's hand.
Now pressing his own palm to his face (his beautiful face), he shrinks away from her as best he can for someone half a foot taller, alternatingly nodding and shaking his head and shrugging and looking like he's about to cry.

[villieldr]

Standing behind Marcoulf and the Vint, so neither can attempt to slip away from Lakshmi.

"You both went to a rift that no-one else knows about," she says, softly, "and made a point of saying it had nothing to do with the battle." That horrifying mess of a battle. It seems convenient, really, a suspicious underlining of how it had nothing to do with the battle and its outcome, and she looks to Lakshmi.

Do you seriously believe this?

"We've both been made fools of. In the best case, you have faith in a gutless coward with no spine, and I had faith in a friend who thinks only of himself." In the worst case? She dreads to think.

She shakes her head, and starts walking.

[esquive]

Where Benedict is cringing from the blow, Marcoulf stands there with his stinging cheek between the shadow of them - some woman before him whom he hardly knows, and Magni's shadow hanging across his back. The blow doesn't figure for much. She isn't the first person in the world to have struck him. But Magni speaks across his shoulder and something in that raises the small hairs at the back of his neck and on his arms.

(Something feels so wrong in the whole picture she paints that it saws at his nerves. That's not how it went. You have it strung together out of order. Most importantly, she should know all of it on her own without him saying so. That she doesn't is--)

Anyway.

There's a night bird somewhere in the ramparts. He can hear the sound of it calling under the sound of Magni drawing away.

"Have we finished here, Madame Bai?"

[shri]

"Are we, Ricart?" The one quick snap. Because no, it isn't, not at least as her anger is concerned. Wants to vent it further if only because that has ever been what she does best.

But then, there is no helping it. Anything that could be said, has been said, and anything that matters - no longer has a chance. She looks over the pair of them, over Magni's retreating back, and rubs a hand over her face.

"Enough, then. Go back to your quarters." She has a headache if nothing else. "I will come by in the morning, Benedict, to sort that out." She sighs, looks over Marcoulf briefly. "You hurt her, I think." And that - that is all that needs to be said, the memory of the weight after the battle.

With that she flicks her fingers, waving them off. Dismissing them both from being yelled at, at least, anymore.

[altusimperius]

Startled by Magni's presence behind them, Benedict is quick to exclaim "it was before the battle," but the woman has already turned and gone. Thank the Maker for small mercies, at least.
Glancing sheepishly at Lakshmi, he finds the unfairness of it welling in him-- hadn't he asked her for help, only to be shouted at like some kind of servant child?-- but there's no need to be impetuous, not when she looks like she's ready to take someone's head off.

Scowling, he casts a glance at Marcoulf before beginning to slink away, left hand tucked under his right arm again.

[esquive]

His jaw's set. Maybe it happened before when she'd struck him, or maybe it'd been when Magni had first turned to go, or Benedict's small protest, or maybe it'd been done in this very moment with the flick of her fingers.

He looks at her in the uneasy shadow of the narrow courtyard. There's something cutting in the lines of his expression. I didn't ask her to come.

Then he's gone too: slipping off through the dark and away.