faderift | [closedish]

Entry tags:

[closedish]

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

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Edgard frowns and sighs.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Not like I do this regularly. Not like I want to hurt friends."

He huffs.

"But, don't want them to die or be used either."

"I don't know," Bene admits with a groan, and flops onto his back on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling. "I suppose I could read about it. See what's most likely to happen, what's in fashion these days."

He presses his hand over his eyes with a dramatic frown.

"I know how my mother would go about it, and possibly her friends, but it's not like you can do blood magic."

Edgard's eyes widen in alarm.

"Maybe we should start with something less extreme and work our way up to it?"

If at all, his tone seems to say. He shrugs.

"Remember that one time I kicked you? Could do that again."

Benedict winces at the memory, but hesitates, then gives a defeated shrug.

"I suppose."

He hated it, he was sore for hours after, but isn't that sort of the point?

"Maybe we should find someone good with healing, just in case."

Edgard grimaces.

"Didn't need a healer when I kicked you! I barely touched you."

Edgard shakes his head.

"Was just to get you out the door, not to hurt you."

"Well it hurt," Bene sulks, but doesn't hold onto it for long, recognizing that to do so would be counterproductive.

"...still. Just in case." He finds his resolve dwindling; nobody likes to be uncomfortable, and Benedict arguably likes it even less than the average person.

"Would you just... beat me up?" This conversation is fucking absurd, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries not to realize that.

Edgard nods and lets out a long breath.

"Like...you're a kid caught trying to knife some other kid beat up or like..."

Edgard makes an expansive gesture with his hands.

"...you killed my brother beat up?"

There's levels, Benedict.

"I'm asking you," Bene says helplessly, but it's a fair question nonetheless.

"...maybe... start at the easiest one?"

Edgard nods silently and cracks his knuckles.

"Now? or do you want me to surprise you?"

Bene thinks on it.

"Whichever," he decides, leaning forward to rub his temple, "...but... somewhere private." No need for anyone to think it's open season.

It's decided.

"Probably won't be a surprise then. Not too private in many places."

He motions to a bed holding who Edgard still assumes is Marcoulf, but is whoever the heck lives in these quarters now.

If asked, Benedict would clarify that it is very much not Marcoulf, but that is a conversation for another day.

"...yeah." He'd suggest the hookah room, but Maker forbid his one sanctuary become a place associated with various awfulness.

"Maybe not a surprise then. But there're... storage rooms. Like the one we went to before."

"...That you ran away from."

Edgard adds, bringing the conversation full circle.

"Should I stop you if you do that again?"

He asks the question earnestly and not with a threat.

Benedict stares at the floor a moment. Then he nods, his gaze miserably lifting to meet Edgard's.

He nods twice and claps him on the shoulder.

Good man, Benedict.

Benedict's shoulder limply gives under Edgard's clasp. This is a mistake, probably.

Mistake or no, Benedict is minding his own business one day when Edgard claps a hand over his mouth and drags him into a nearby closet. He tosses him on the floor and then says, almost business like,

"Is now a good time for you?"

A strangled cry emanates from behind Edgard's hand, and Benedict's fingers fly to his temple as if to cast mind blast-- but then he catches a whiff of his captor and realizes what's happening, that he shouldn't try to fight just now. He's vaguely aware of where the blood in his body is rushing, and knows that not all of it is to his face, but hopefully it's dark enough that it won't be an issue.
Alas; Marcoulf is missed.

He has, however, dropped a stack of documents that he was carrying. From where he sprawls bewilderedly against the wall, Benedict motions back out to them.

"Can you just," he breathlessly requests, "pick those up first?"

If Edgard notices, he doesn't judge or thinks anything of it. People have weird reactions to fear sometimes.

He pauses, cracks his knuckles, and then gestures to the papers.

"Go ahead." He says, very patiently.

With a wince, Bene crawls just far enough out to scoop his hand around the papers and pull them towards himself into the closet, where he quickly realigns them with one another by tapping the stack on the floor. Satisfied, he turns to place them carefully on a nearby shelf, then looks back up at Edgard with a silent nod.

Edgard frowns a little. He's not going to enjoy this. He hums to himself for a moment, thinking.

Then without warning, he kicks Benedict in the shins.

Watching him carefully, Benedict still doesn't anticipate the kick in time. He makes a sound like a yelping dog, hugging his arms around his shins to put pressure on them.

"This was a bad idea," he decides through gritted teeth.

Edgard slaps Benedict's face a little in response.

"Don't back out now." He says in a harsh, stern tone.

He slaps the other side of his face. Then Edgard takes a breath and punches Benedict in the stomach.

"Ow-- ow!!"

Already tears have begun to form in his eyes, Benedict's brain launching into distress mode at even this restrained style of violence.

"Fuck!" he manages to choke out before the punch lands, and he curls around it with a miserable groan.

"I wanna back out," he whines, holding one arm around his curled knees and the other shielding his face."

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[closedish]

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