WHO: Benedict, some other people, you?? WHAT: just a catch-all WHEN: tra-la, it's may, the lusty month of may WHERE: around and about NOTES: If you'd like something bespoke I'm happy to include it!
"Okay." She feels a bit numb, skin prickling where Benedict shoved into her, and nauseous thinking of him walking into that by himself. Maybe he will be fine. Maybe it isn't the same after all. "Let me know." It's an offer that doesn't expire.
But because she needs a distraction to keep from thinking of what it might be like to go down there with him she immediately asks, "What's entropy?"
Whether or not he'll be fine, he at least seems determined to try-- he gives a little nod of assent, he'll let her know, but is otherwise grateful for the pivot.
Sort of.
"It's... disorder. A sort of pulling apart." He gestures lightly with his hands, as if to suggest something dissipating.
"Spells that rend mind and body." He's clearly trying not to sound too bothered.
She's not judging him if he really does, but — it's ugly work. Benedict has never struck her as somebody who could comfortably do that to another person and not sort of lose their mind over it.
"I already sort of do." The kicker of it, that Entropy is a school of magic in which Benedict has already been taught, but so frequently shied away from using for obvious reasons.
"My mother wanted me to learn it. I had to practice on," slaves, "um, unwilling targets. So I stopped for a long time, after I left home." He gives a dismissive little shrug.
"But most of my spellwork is defensive, meant to confuse and delay, so it relies on someone else being there with me. Isaac offered to help, and I won't have to spar with anyone who doesn't want to."
Abby mutters, "There are willing targets?" but that's not really the point of what Benedict is saying. She folds her arms across her chest and looks at him carefully. She is putting two and two together, here.
"Is this something that you want? Because it kinda sounds like something your mom and Isaac want."
He stops, turning and folding his arms with a look back at Abby that's stubborn and, in its way, vulnerable. Invoking his mother never results in a pleasant conversation, even if it was he who did it.
"I put too much faith in defense," he mutters to the ground, "I don't want to be caught flatfooted again." He grips his thin upper arms uneasily: his clothes are still loose on him, the return to normalcy after his capture a constant but slow process.
They mirror each other standing there, staring at each other, arms folded protectively across themselves. Benedict is the first to break, his gaze darting toward the ground and Abby relents, letting go of herself, arms dropping by her sides. If he wants to do it because he wants to be able to protect himself she can't stand here and criticise him for it. She remembers what it's like to not feel safe, like anything could come along and take something (someone) away from you.
She shrugs a shoulder. "Okay. If you're sure. I can — I'll help, if I can."
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no subject
But because she needs a distraction to keep from thinking of what it might be like to go down there with him she immediately asks, "What's entropy?"
no subject
Sort of.
"It's... disorder. A sort of pulling apart." He gestures lightly with his hands, as if to suggest something dissipating.
"Spells that rend mind and body." He's clearly trying not to sound too bothered.
no subject
She's not judging him if he really does, but — it's ugly work. Benedict has never struck her as somebody who could comfortably do that to another person and not sort of lose their mind over it.
no subject
"My mother wanted me to learn it. I had to practice on," slaves, "um, unwilling targets. So I stopped for a long time, after I left home."
He gives a dismissive little shrug.
"But most of my spellwork is defensive, meant to confuse and delay, so it relies on someone else being there with me. Isaac offered to help, and I won't have to spar with anyone who doesn't want to."
no subject
"Is this something that you want? Because it kinda sounds like something your mom and Isaac want."
no subject
"I put too much faith in defense," he mutters to the ground, "I don't want to be caught flatfooted again." He grips his thin upper arms uneasily: his clothes are still loose on him, the return to normalcy after his capture a constant but slow process.
"I may as well use what I already have."
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She shrugs a shoulder. "Okay. If you're sure. I can — I'll help, if I can."
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"Thanks," he says, and means it, even if he's slightly regretting bringing it up.