[open]

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: just a January catch-all!
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: DUNGEON
NOTES: a new year begins in gay baby jail

[Starters in the comments, please feel free to make your own!]

Comments

The End of BoxGate

[sulahnan]

For perhaps the first time, Athessa makes herself known to the guard on her way down to see Benedict. Every time previous, she'd manage to slip by unnoticed, or at least unacknowledged, with exception to the two times that Flint knew she was down there. So now, the guard knows, and makes sure she doesn't have anything untoward on her person before letting her pass.

That doesn't mean, of course, that she announces her presence to Benedict himself. No, she wants to have time to formulate what the fuck she's even going to say to him before he knows she's there.

But no such luck. He's up and doing whatever he does with his time and she can't help but sigh when she sees him. Athessa crosses her arms.

"Yseult has it."

[altusimperius]

He's reading some boring book or another, eyes glazing over, when Athessa speaks. He looks at her, eyes widening first in dismay, then surprise.

"I thought--" he breathes, "...I thought it was lost?"

[sulahnan]

"Figures that you'd be the only person who doesn't think I'm a bad liar," she mumbles, then more clearly: "No. We fished it out of the water after I threw it and Colin had it refinished."

[altusimperius]

Her remark yields a sheepish smile. "Well," he murmurs, "if it makes you feel better, I'm a worse one."

Refinished. Even after all that. Benedict winces. "How's, um... Colin doing."

[sulahnan]

She shrugs. Unhelpful.

"Do you actually care or do you just miss having someone visit?"

And harsh, sure. But someone's gotta be the tough one, if Colin's idea of tough is just...avoidance. Athessa crosses her arms and arches a brow, not exactly looking stern, but looking like whatever his answer, she'll be skeptical.

[altusimperius]

The question stops Bene in his tracks, and he looks at her woundedly, but then seems to just... resign. He rests back against the wall and furrows his brow, measuring his answer and only looking more and more disquieted as he does.

"...I don't know."

[sulahnan]

At least it's more thoughtful than a yes or no, even if it's barely better than not answering at all. Athessa sighs again and toes the ground, looking at the floor but keeping her arms crossed.

"I wanna know what you think our motivations were," she says when she looks back up at him. "For even trying to get your box back."

[altusimperius]

Benedict frowns, keeping his gaze lowered. He's hurting from being left alone, but is also smart enough to be able to draw a correlation between how he behaved toward his... friends?... and their absence.
"...to cheer me up," he says miserably, "and stick it to Leander, I guess."

[sulahnan]

"That's why Colin did it," she agrees, then hedges. "Well, part of it, anyway. But I didn't do it to cheer you up."

She tips her head to one side. He looks miserable, she thinks. But that could just be his face now; she hasn't exactly seen him not-miserable in a good long while.

"I got you the paint to cheer you up, and the joke book. The box was because it seemed like the right thing to do."

a few days after the thread with Athessa

[keenly]

Colin isn't over-eager to visit with Benedict after being passed along his apology. Obviously he was going to apologize. Apologies cost nothing, not even pride, for most people. They're a pacifying token handed out to make someone else feel a little better before you keep hurting them. But Athessa said it seemed to be real. So.

He bears no gifts this time, simply walks up to the cell and peers in mutely, expression wary.

[altusimperius]

Benedict is reading, but looks up when he hears footsteps, and watches as Colin approaches so silently, so seriously.
At first simply returning the gaze, Benedict then offers a faint, self-conscious smile. Hi??

[keenly]

There have been a number of ways this conversation has gone when Colin has imagined it in his head. All of them were satisfying at the time, his imaginary self having made numerous scathingly good points about Benedict's behavior. Looking at Benedict's face now, though, seeing that little smile, Colin realizes he doesn't want any of those imagined conversations to happen. All those scenarios involved winning a fight, when winning may be gratifying, but it's ultimately irrelevant here. Relationships aren't something you win or lose. They're something to build with whatever steps you take next, and Colin would have those steps be positive.

He tucks his hands under his arms to protect them from the cold and leans against the bars.

"We need to talk about why you say things you know you'll regret."

[altusimperius]

The smile instantly fades into a mask of unease, an expression no doubt familiar to anyone who's ever worked with children of questionable backgrounds. Perhaps he'd thought Colin coming to visit meant he was out of the woods, and yet here they are, Benedict with no good excuses or any way of deflecting the conversation he knows is about to transpire.

So he nods, almost timidly.

[keenly]

Colin waits for a few seconds, then gives a shrug.

"I mean, I couldn't tell you. You tell me." There is no vitriol in his voice or body language. He wants to know how to make progress. He wants to know what to do when this happens.

[altusimperius]

Oh no, that's even worse.

"...why?" Benedict repeats-- as in 'why I say things'-- and seems deeply uncomfortable with the spot he's been put into all of a sudden. But Colin is right there, and he doesn't want him to leave again.

"...um." He sets the book down and tugs the blanket tighter around himself. "It just... comes out before I can stop it."

[keenly]

Colin nods. "Do you mean what you say, when that happens?"

[altusimperius]

Benedict hunches his shoulders. "Not really." He did a lot of introspecting with Athessa, and it was difficult and painful, and he was hoping she'd have relayed at least some of it to Colin. The prospect of having to do it all anew is almost too stressful to imagine.

A Fell Visitor

[skulltasm]

The first THONK! is preceded by muffled conversation, quite heated by the sounds of it, though the particulars can't be deciphered by the time the sound carries all the way down to Benedict's cell.

The second THONK! comes after a short delay, and the following thirty-three THONKS get progressively louder and faster until whatever is making the sound hits the dungeon floor. Then, in stark opposition to the rapidity at which it fell, Skull's glass jar rolls ever more slowly until it taps against the bars and casts a sickly green pall over the interior of the cell.

The inhabitant of the jar stares out, eyeless, at first facing away from Benedict, then rotates in sync with the sound of a distant, creaky door swinging shut.

"AHA, SO THIS IS WHERE THEY KEEP THE TRASH."

[altusimperius]

The cell, to be fair, already has a sickly green glow from Benedict's hand, but he certainly notices when it grows stronger. Not that he could have missed the sound of Skull's descent; by the time said individual has made it to the bottom of the stairs, Benedict is already staring at the hallway in wary curiosity.

"Nice of you to visit," he says with a curl of his lip, "--you know, I guess part of me never believed you were actually just a skull."

[skulltasm]

The way the skull's jaw chatters as its voice issues forth is downright cartoonish.

"OH, I'M NOT JUST A SKULL. I'M A CURSED SKULL!"

Clearly. The miasma inside the jar swirls into an unsettling facsimile of a face stretched in anguish and superimposes itself upon the bone. Then, the expression changes to abject glee for a moment before dispersing.

"YOU KNOW IF YOU MAKE THAT FACE ENOUGH IT'LL GET STUCK."

[altusimperius]

"You don't say," Benedict muses. Cursed, that? Wonders never cease.
He tilts his head in unexpected curiosity when the Skull starts warping shapes around itself, and doesn't seem inclined to answer right away, too focused on what he's witnessing.

"Seems like you've got the opposite problem," he says after a beat, "is that what your face used to look like, or are you just making it up?"

[skulltasm]

MAKING IT UP, OF COURSE. IF IT WERE MY FACE IT WOULD BE WOEFULLY OUTDATED. I MIGHT NOT EVEN RECALL WHAT MY FACE WAS, BACK WHEN I HAD FLESH."

The way he adds a bend in flesh is as comical as Skull's chattering teeth. Flyeashh.

[altusimperius]

Benedict considers this for a moment.

"...can you make it look like other people's faces?

[skulltasm]

Oh, interesting! Skull bobs gently within the jar for a second before a familiar face coalesces to leer at Benedict.

"Who did you have in mind?" It even sounds like Byerly, right down to each word dripping with smarmy confidence.

[altusimperius]

Benedict laughs abruptly, delighted. He doesn't want to move, having nestled as warmly as he possibly can in his assortment of blankets, but this is clearly a special occasion.

"Wait, wait, hold it there," he says, and reaches to pick up his box of pigments and brushes, which he holds while he scoots closer to the bars. He slips his hand through to tip the jar upright, then begins swirling a brush onto the darkest color.