[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

[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.