contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[bouchonne]

[ Clipped: ]

Get to it, then.

[altusimperius]

[Though a dark look is cast Byerly's way, its origin perhaps not as clear as it may seem, Benedict slouches off to do just that.

It's several hours later that he returns, still very much in a sulk, but not as much of one as it might be if he hadn't managed to clean himself up properly after the ordeal-- his hair is still damp from the bath he took.
He barely glances to Byerly as he finally sits down at his desk, determined to salvage some of the day.
Or perhaps just making a point.

Should Byerly check his work at any point, he will find that the erstwhile chamberlain actually did a job up to his own standard, which is to say, the privies are all but sparkling.]

[bouchonne]

So.

[ At some point, By speaks, his voice bone-dry. ]

What did we learn?

[altusimperius]

[His tone grates on Benedict anew, and it yields a sullen look.]

If I poke someone in the eye again, you'll be the first to know.

[It strikes him as soon as the words leave his mouth that that was the wrong thing to say; with a touch more humility, he adds,]

...and I'm not going to.

[bouchonne]

[ Good boy. ]

Because if you do so, I'll be the one who gets screwed.

[altusimperius]

[His hackles lower. Byerly isn't mocking him.
At least not overtly.]

...I know.

[Benedict chances a furtive, melancholy glance his way.]

I'm sorry.

[bouchonne]

[ A dismissive wave. ]

Don't be sorry. Be smart.

[altusimperius]

[With a little nod, Benedict lapses into silence and tries to focus on his work. He's exhausted, smarting from the recent succession of hits to his pride, and, worst of all, he realizes once again how much he cares what Byerly thinks of him.

It's not something he wants to vocalize, and inevitably worsen by shoving his own foot in his mouth-- instead, he resolves to simply get through the day without being a problem.

This manifests as hunching over his desk as if deep in concentration, allowing a gentle quiet to grow between them.]

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly allows the silence to stretch out a long time. But, finally, towards the end of the evening, he speaks. ]

The man said you acquitted yourself well.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict, having ruminated for so long now that he's all but counting down the minutes until he can finally leave work and go be unobserved for a while, looks up quietly.]

...I... tried to.

[His reticence, at least, doesn't seem to come from fear of what Byerly will do or say, as before. He's exhausted, from exhausting himself.]

[bouchonne]

Well, you succeeded. Well done.

[ What the hell else is there to say here? Maker, Byerly hates the way the boy acts when he's like this - cringing and miserable. It'd be so much easier if he were the sort of person who reacted defiantly, rather than miserably. He'd almost prefer someone who spat in his face. ]

[altusimperius]

Thank you.

[The words are an unexpected (but welcome) balm, yet somehow just manage to make him all the more aware of what a disaster today has been. He needs to go smoke something, maybe mash his face into a pillow and throw a fit like the spoiled brat he is, release some tension, but only where no one can see or hear or judge.

In the meantime, he's lucky to still be here.]

...um,

[But perhaps the point is made.]

...could I take off a bit early?

[bouchonne]

[ Please. Please, go. Save me from this. ]

You may.

[altusimperius]

[Without any further ado, Benedict rises and takes his leave.

They Are Free]