[closedish]

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict & a handful of starters
WHAT: just a slutty little lad living his slutty little life
WHEN: what month is this anyway. Kingsway
WHERE: around the Gallows
NOTES: starters in comments, holler at me on plurk or discord if you'd like one

Comments

BYERLY

[altusimperius]

It's the beginning of the workday still, and Benedict is slightly late coming up to the Diplomacy office.
Not only is he slightly late but he looks dazed and ruffled with an unmistakeable hickey blooming on his neck, barely seeming to see Byerly as he nods hello on his way to plop down at his desk. Then he stares at the surface of it for a few moments, processing.

He has forgotten Byerly's coffee.

[bouchonne]

Byerly usually grunts a greeting at Benedict when he comes in. Today, though, he stares at him expectantly. And stares. And stares. And stares.

[altusimperius]

It takes an excruciatingly long time for Benedict to leave his own head long enough to notice Byerly's gaze. And then he gives a little start, blinking owlishly at him.
"What?"

[bouchonne]

"I believe," By answers, folding his hands primly together, "that there is something missing."

[altusimperius]

This is met with a blank stare, after which follows a furtive glancing around as Benedict takes stock of the room; fortunately for both of them, it doesn't take him too long to catch Byerly's meaning.
With a loud gasp, Benedict lurches out of his chair and absconds from the room.

He returns some fifteen minutes later, a mug in one hand and the carafe in the other.
"Sorry sorry sorry," he mutters, handing the former to Byerly and refreshing a heat glyph on a side table on which to set the other.

GABRANTH

[altusimperius]

The tourney was a small success, and it has done nothing if not endear Benedict further to Jone. He continues to spend every morning on the training pitch, if not working with her directly, then at least visible to her: making the effort. But on the flipside, there's someone he's been avoiding, whose opinion matters just as much; once again he's kicked himself straight in the mouth, but his memories of the incident and what he said to Gabranth are a bit foggy from their being tempered by adrenaline and however little wine he'd had.

Benedict has gotten increasingly good about facing his problems, but some of them, the Gabranth-shaped ones, are still a little too intimidating.
So it is that he doesn't even see him again until a chance encounter in the hallway, when Bene turns the corner and sees Gabranth approaching from the opposite direction. It's too late to flee, he's no doubt already been clocked, and... well, he's trying not to do that sort of thing anymore.

So he stops, and he waits.

sobs i,m so tired i forgot this sorry

[archademode]

And Gabranth, unhelmeted and straight-stared as he moves down the corridor, sets the full measure of his pale stare on Benedict, drawing nearer with heavy footfalls before—

Passing him entirely. Shunning Benedict's presence, as Gabranth has been known to do before, when disappointment sticks harshly to his own silhouette.

But his steps are slow. Deliberate and heavy. He makes his way to the training grounds in silence.

one million years dungeon (no shh kisses ur head)

[altusimperius]

A deep breath inhaled, exhaled, then sucked back in all at once as a horrified gasp when Gabranth simply passes him; Benedict looks after him for a moment, crestfallen, then begins to follow with a timid, "wait."

definitely the dungeon

[archademode]

Gabranth's footsteps slow to a halt, the heavy scuff of metal fading into abrupt quiet. He does not speak, but the set of his head turns— tilting by degrees back towards the sound of Benedict's voice, soft as a whisper.

It is perhaps a miracle Gabranth had heard him at all.

NO, KISSES

[altusimperius]

It hits on something deep inside, a crawling fear that should he fail to meet expectations, Benedict will simply cease to exist in the minds of those around him; that he's not even worth the effort of getting angry.
It strikes him clearly in the moment. He knows that to say the wrong thing will push Gabranth away, possibly for good, and the lonely little boy beneath the surface cries out at that reality.

"I'm sorry," he says, pausing some feet away from Gabranth, "don't go."

ADRASTEIA

[altusimperius]

The shift from summer into autumn has meant the evenings are darker and chillier, and there's less daylight for sparring or practicing magic out on the pitch. At least, that's the excuse Benedict makes to himself for why he's not casting, instead just sitting on a crate and staring contemplatively at a sparring dummy.

His hands are folded in his lap, his expression distant and tense, the light from a nearby sconce flickering against his increasingly shadowy form. Clearly, there's much to think about.

[kantikoy]

"A copper for your thoughts?"

Comes a familiar voice from an equally familiar elf, who had paused to watch Benedict before she realized that he was so lost in thought that he was unlikely to notice her without announcement.

"I understand if inflation has brought things up to a silver."

[altusimperius]

A quick gasp of surprise and Benedict turns to see her, abruptly aware that he has no idea how long he's been sitting here.

"Uh--" he stammers, trying to center his thoughts, and finally lands on gesturing to the dummy. "Sorry, did you need this?" As soon as he says it, he realizes that's entirely not the concern, but.
Too late now.

[kantikoy]

"No," she says kindly, "not even a little bit. You just seemed... rather preoccupied. Is everything alright?"

Adrasteia knows there's a war on, and that Benedict's immediate supervisor is a complicated man at best, decidedly difficult at worst. There's any number of things that could be true, here, but she'd be a very different person if she didn't express her concern over a person she knows.

[altusimperius]

"Oh. Just." He thinks a moment, looking back at the dummy, deliberating on whether or not to tell the truth-- and ultimately, he decides perhaps he should.

"...thought I'd do some spell practice." Which clearly has not happened yet, and probably won't.

DIABHALL

[altusimperius]

The dining hall is crowded and full of chatter, it being the usual supping time for Riftwatchers who keep normal daylight hours. Benedict is one of them (much to his initial chagrin), but is not involved in any socializing, instead having scooted off toward the wall where he eats in silence, smokes, and reads a book.

It used to bother him, the not fitting in, as much as it was and continues to be his own fault. But he seems content at the moment, having settled into a quiet routine of keeping his own company.

[loversinverted]

Diabhall, it must be admitted, is himself not one for socializing when he can make the choice not to. The dining hall is crowded for his tastes, and he immediately reels, searching for a corner where he might find some relative peace.

Luckily for him, there is someone reading quietly over on the fringes - and with his sketchbook under his own arm, he figures perhaps that might suit. Crossing the room with his meal, he feels...overstimulated, yes, that's it, overstimulated by the throngs of loud, chattering people. By the time he takes a seat nearby Benedict, he lets out a breath he isn't sure why he had been holding, brows furrowing a little in confusion at himself.

More anomalies. He really does need to see someone about potential brain damage.

[altusimperius]

It's rare that people just come over and sit down, with the exception of a few-- Benedict isn't a pariah, necessarily, but saying he's unpopular is something of an understatement.

So it's with a raised brow that he lifts his head to look at the newcomer, and clocks that he hasn't seen him before.
He offers a little grunt in greeting.

[loversinverted]

It takes the greeting a moment to reach Diabhall, lost in his own thoughts - and then a moment longer to realize he is being addressed. He shakes himself a little, giving a curt little nod in return.

"...I beg your pardon. I hope you don't mind my sitting here."

If Benedict has a reputation, he more than certainly doesn't know what it is. He saw a quiet man with a book, and that's where his thought had begun and ended.

[altusimperius]

"Oh. ...no." Giving a little shrug, Benedict takes a bite of his meal and considers the stranger for a moment before glancing toward his shard and giving a little nod.

"Rifter?"

EDGARD

[altusimperius]

It’s been some days. Weeks even, maybe, and they’ve never discussed it. Benedict has barely looked Edgard in the eye since the day he quit the room so abruptly, and has tried to ensure that they’re not both awake in the dormitory at the same time.

But tonight, he miscalculates. He’s unlacing his boots on his bed when Edgard walks past, and he casts a guilty glance up into his face.

weeks?? Jesus bene

[muckspout]

Edgard meets his gaze.

"Hello..." He says warily, half expecting Benedict to run off.

"Are we finally going to talk about why you're mad at me or--?"

He gestures to the door which to Edgard means 'or are you going to run away' but someone who is not Edgard might interpret it as 'get out'.

never underestimate a petty bitch (or just a coward ig)((or me))

[altusimperius]

Benedict doesn't run off, instead simply giving him a doleful look and heaving a sigh.

"Sorry." He's quick to be out with it, shaking his head. "I got... nervous."

[muckspout]

Edgard furrows his brow. That's it?

"Oh." He says lamely.

"Why didn't you just say so? Thought I fucked up again."

Edgard turns away a little, but it's clear he's pouting.

[altusimperius]

"Sorry," Bene says again, and feels even more like an idiot.

"I thought you'd think..." He sighs subtly. "...I'm a coward."

In other words, 'I thought you'd read me for what I am'.