[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

[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 IF IT WERE MY FACE IT WOULD BE WOEFULLY OUTDATED.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.

[skulltasm]

"THIS IS THE REASON? THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED? A SUBJECT TO PAINT?"

The voice changes, but the face stays Byerly's, looking affronted by this obvious waste of his abilities.

[altusimperius]

"No, no. This'll make it better."

Satisfied by the amount of paint on his brush, he leans forward to gracefully sketch out an elaborate, twirling mustache right over the place where the Byerly simulacrum's upper lip rests.

"It'll wash off," Benedict assures the skull, "but in the meantime, you'll have some extra panache."

[skulltasm]

Skull is hardly bothered by whether or not the paint will wash off--he can just have Salvio clean the jar again, that's always fun--but the appearance of the mustache gives him an idea.

"OH, BUT WATCH THIS."

Byerly's face morphs into Flint's, now with dastardly stache.

[altusimperius]

Benedict laughs again, albeit a little more nervously this time.

"I like yours better," he says, pulling the blankets tighter with a shiver, "...don't tell him that." As if he'd give a shit.

[skulltasm]

"BUT WHAT WILL HE AND I TALK ABOUT AT OUR WEEKLY TEA PARTY?!"
As if Skull would tell Flint anything that isn't you've got a booger.

[altusimperius]

"Can you do the Provost?"

Benedict leans his head back, enjoying the game and deeply interested in how Thranduil would look with a giant handlebar mustache.

[skulltasm]

Skull lets Flint's visage dissolve back into the eerie green miasma, reverting back to just a regular ol' cursed skull...with a mustache.

"OF COURSE I CAN."
And yet, he does nothing of the sort.

[altusimperius]

At least he still has a mustache.

Benedict looks hopeful, but when no such thing happens, that turns to disappointment. Perhaps the game is over.
Falling silent for a moment, Benedict's mind goes elsewhere. Then, something occurs to him.

"Who dropped you?" And, well, why have they not retrieved you yet, but that might be a question that doesn't need answering.

[skulltasm]

"MY MUMMY WHEN I WAS A WEE BAIRN."

[altusimperius]

He sighs, but doesn't seem too bothered. You're the kind of guy who makes jokes, huh.

"I mean just now. Odd that they wouldn't come down to get you."

[skulltasm]

"IT ISN'T ODD AT ALL, BECAUSE I WASN'T DROPPED. I WAS PUNTED! BY THAT WEASEL-FACED HUMAN THAT LIKES HORSES SO MUCH."
Odd would be if Marcoulf actually did come down to retrieve him.

"SAY, DO YOU RECALL THE PAINTING OUTSIDE OF THE LIBRARY HERE? OR...IS THE LIBRARY NOT A PLACE YOU FREQUENTED? IT WOULDN'T SURPRISE ME IF NOT."

[altusimperius]

"Marcoulf?"

Well. The plot thickens. Bene glances toward the end of the hallway, or at least what he can see of it. Why...?
Perhaps he'll get a chance to ask him.


"Which one?" he asks, a bit absently, "I spent a lot of time there. But inside it."

[skulltasm]

"THE ONE OF THE MAN. YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE NOSE. IT STRUCK ME AS QUITE AN UNCANNY LIKENESS WITH OUR MUTUAL BUDDY, MARCOULF, WOULDN'T YOU AGREE? HE CERTAINLY DIDN'T. GOT HIS KNICKERS IN QUITE A TWIST, ACTUALLY."

[altusimperius]

It takes Benedict a moment to search through his memory for the right one, but then a slow smirk crosses his lips.

"It does," he admits, "...and he does that."

[skulltasm]

"YES! VINDICATION! NOW, DON'T GET USED TO BEING REWARDED FOR AGREEING WITH ME, BUT I'M FEELING GENEROUS TODAY SO:"
He adopts the likeness of Thranduil, mustache perfectly placed and a very snooty expression on his elvish features.

"Has anyone seen my hairbrush? I must brush my silky flaxen locks one hundred times each morning and night. Also my limbs are very long and I move soooo gracefully. I don't eat, drink, piss, fart, or shit because I am ethereal."

[altusimperius]

The smile broadens, but without too much enthusiasm. Being rewarded for anything is generally not part of his experience down here, and having it pushed in his face like so is a bit of a mood killer.

"Spot on," he says anyway, shivering and readjusting the blankets again.
It'd be nice to be just a skull, perhaps, with no flesh to get cold.

[skulltasm]

Aaaaand it's gone. Back to the old skull in a jar, plus mustache. For a few silent moments he bobs gently, buoyed by his own ectoplasm or whatever that is.

"WELL THIS IS DULL."

[altusimperius]

"Sorry."

Benedict actually kind of sounds like he means it-- there's a self-consciousness to it, an awareness that he's not much fun to hang around, even for a skull in a jar.

"I could read to you," he says idly, after a moment, "seeing as we're both stuck here, there's not a lot else in the way of entertainment."

[skulltasm]

Honestly, what's the point of keeping a boy in the dungeon if he's not being actively tortured? This passive torture nonsense is so, so, so, soooo boring.
"WHAT'VE YOU GOT? WHAT SORT OF THING DO THEY EVEN ALLOW DOWN HERE? THE DAILY DUNGEON? SUMS FOR DUMMIES? THE HISTORY OF PAPER?"