"...Hm?" It takes Colin a second to draw himself out of his Very Serious Thoughts and replay the sounds he heard issue from Benedict. Half a second later, he's suddenly smiling and blushing, rewarding the playful talk with a gentle chuckle.
"Cheeky," he says with no chastisement at all. He makes a mental note to discuss the matter with Flint later, for reasons other than Benedict's comfort. "It would be more economical to have you in a warded cell than to keep mixing up magebane, but that wouldn't be up to me. I'm afraid your poetry will have to be directed toward Flint, should it come about."
A pouty smile follows, and Benedict rolls his eyes. "He wouldn't appreciate it," he mutters, feigning a sulk, "uncultured ginger. None of them appreciate my wit."
"And here I didn't think you had it in you." Bene shifts so that he's facing the bars, gripping one of them casually. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all."
Bene's astonishment in return is real. "It worked though!" he exclaims, and a strange lightness seems to come into his face; he may as well have been wearing a button reading Ask Me About My Windowscreen, but Colin is the first person to have actually mentioned it.
"I've never made anything like that before," he continues, "and it works! And it fits! ...getting a bit grimy, though." He glances back over his shoulder to survey it.
Colin's grin broadens. "You did get it up!" he says as he spots the mesh up there on the window. He's not going to ask Bene to take it down for him to get a closer look at, since it's already cold in here, but he gets as decent a look as he can from where he is. "Inventive," he critiques. "Resourceful, and quality. We'll make a proper commoner of you yet."
Bene opens his mouth as if to quip back, but just closes it again, clearly pleased by the praise but humbled beyond his comfort level by being called a commoner. That's the way things are going to go, it seems.
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He doesn't seem to be taking Colin's thought process too seriously, but then, it's all more or less the same to him in here.
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"Cheeky," he says with no chastisement at all. He makes a mental note to discuss the matter with Flint later, for reasons other than Benedict's comfort. "It would be more economical to have you in a warded cell than to keep mixing up magebane, but that wouldn't be up to me. I'm afraid your poetry will have to be directed toward Flint, should it come about."
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"Go on. Fire back."
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"Colin, you're being mean to me!" he gasps, in what sounds like wonderment.
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"I've never made anything like that before," he continues, "and it works! And it fits! ...getting a bit grimy, though." He glances back over his shoulder to survey it.
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That's the way things are going to go, it seems.
"Maybe," he says evasively, blushing a bit.