[open] a little bit freaked out

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: bad dreams + demons + homeschooled mage problems
WHEN: During Nightmare Time
WHERE: The Gallows (mostly)
NOTES: hmu if you want a specific starter

I. Nightmares

Though normally a quiet and inoffensive sleeper, lately Benedict has been talking in his sleep. Anyone listening carefully would notice that it usually begins calmly, perhaps incredulously, and escalates from this to whining protest and the inevitable gasping awake in a cold sweat.

The first few times, he tried to go back to sleep afterward; now, he'll get out of bed and pace the room or leave it entirely, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms and shivering, compulsively pushing his hair back out of his face.

As time wears on, it becomes less and less likely to see Benedict in his bed at all.

II. No Rest for the Wicked

If everyone weren't having such awful dreams, it might be less clear why Benedict seems to have gone on a sleep strike. He can be found in odd places at night, folded around a book in the library or staring into the middle distance while submerged up to the ears in the baths, usually with a cup of coffee nearby and terrible dark bags under his eyes in defiance of his obsessive skincare routine.
After months of improvement he has also become unusually terrible in his combat training, and the reason for this is clearly the exhaustion he's imposing on himself.

On more than one occasion, he's simply walked facefirst into a wall, a door, or even another person, then stood looking a bit lost, like he isn't sure how he got there.

III. On the Job

Those coming to the Diplomacy office looking for Byerly generally have to get through his secretary first, but lately there's a 50% chance said attaché will be asleep with his head on his desk and a half-drunk cup of coffee next to his face. Perhaps a word on a page becomes a scribble, a long inkstain leading from the last intentional stroke across the desk to where the quill now rests on the floor.
The chances of this being the case grow higher with each passing day.

IV. Wildcard

Comments

[notathreat]

"Oh damn," Ellie mutters as they head into the room, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hair as she takes it all in. She shrugs off her backpack as they find a place to sit, and she takes one next to him. Pauses for a moment to watch him light the fire -- and make a mental note.

He's a mage. Somehow, she doesn't think it'd come up before. Had it? Fuck.

Maybe she's tired, too.

Ellie snatches one of the blankets, drapes it over her lap, and passes the other to Benedict. It's warm in here, cozy, and it smells faintly of old, sweet smoke. It's nice in a way she hadn't expected.

[altusimperius]

He accepts the blanket with a tired smirk, noticing an echo of the comfort he'd feel when Athessa was around, when they'd smoke and fall asleep with Colin between them. It wasn't all that long ago, but it seems like ages, and he finds himself nearly drifting off right here and now as his mind wanders. It's hard not to, as his body acknowledges the softness of the pillows and the warmth of the blanket.

He flops down with his back to the fire, watching Ellie blearily. She's not such a bad sort-- or maybe he'll wake up robbed blind, but she won't get out with much, so there's hardly a point to worrying.
"Use it if you like," he murmurs, barely able to nudge his head toward the hookah, "any time." His eyelids drift closed of their own volition.

[notathreat]

Ellie gives a nod, slides a sketchbook out of her bag. She's tired, too, and might sleep a bit. But not quite yet.

Leaning to one side, she twitches the blanket over one of his errant limbs, then settles down to listen to his breathing, to the crackle of the fire, and to let her mind wander. She works absently in her sketchbook to have something to do with her hands, all the better to keep an eye on him.

Just in case.

[altusimperius]

He almost immediately drops off, lying completely motionless, his breathing slow and measured. It remains this way for an hour, then two, and before too long the sky through the window begins to lighten. It'll be dawn soon, but Benedict shows no sign of waking up.
At least it doesn't seem like he's been dreaming.

[notathreat]

"Poor guy," Ellie breathes aloud, sinks down into her cushion, and keeps on sketching for the first hour or so. By then her eyes feel heavy, and the warmth and quiet is nice, the walls solid enough. She crosses her arms for a little more warmth, tips her head to one side, shuts her eyes.

Sleep still doesn't come easily, but she sinks into it with about half of her mind, still primed for small cries, for someone to need her in the night.

If he stirs, she'll be there.

[altusimperius]

It isn't a nightmare that wakes him, thankfully. It's Benedict's internal clock, which recognizes the moment he returns to a hypnagogic state that he has overslept by a good hour, and jolts him awake with an anxious gasp.

He sits up and rubs his eyes, giving a little shiver-- with both of them having fallen asleep, the fire has died down, and the room is drafty.

[notathreat]

Ellie's fallen asleep at what looks like an uncomfortable angle, her arms crossed across her chest, head tilted onto one shoulder, a sketchbook open across her lap. She's sketched what looks like a rendition of Noose, ears up and tongue out. It's loose and sleepy.

Her fingertips twitch now and again, puppylike.

She looks younger, asleep.

[altusimperius]

In that first few minutes of waking, Benedict goes through the familiar struggle of having to decide he won't blow off his duties for the day and go back to sleep. He sits there with his eyes fixed dully forward, longing to simply flop back down and pretend this never happened.

But he's expected, and even if he'll need to make up his training later, he shouldn't be late for work. ...or fall asleep at work again, but that's a bridge he'll have to cross when he gets there.

Stretching out his arms with a crack, he then leans over toward the fireplace to pick up another log, which he tosses on the dying flame. A few lazy stabs with the poker and it's picking up again, and so is he, rising to his feet with blanket in tow.
He arranges it over the sleeping Ellie as he passes her, and removes the sketchbook from her hand to place it on the ground with her fallen drawing utensil nestled in the page crease for easy recovery. Then, soundlessly, he takes his leave.