Not Wrong; Just Different

draco--pavlovic​:

Only interesting people are different. The rest are normal and boring, so you can consider yourself lucky. And I did not say I do not like it. Where is fun in telling all secrets from beginning?

{Benji’s laugh sounds strange at first; a little rusty, like a rarely used instrument slowly falling out of tune. But there’s nothing about it that immediately gives Draco the impression he’s being fucked with or that Benji is being insincere. If anything he gets the feeling that there really might not be any more to the story.

Maybe Benji’s just awkward, or Draco’s people reading skills have gone to shit since D-Day. God knows they’re all traumatised in their own way - maybe Benji simply hasn’t had anything to laugh about in such a long time that he’s near forgotten how to. Draco can hardly blame him for that. The lingering suspicion that there’s something more lurking behind the shadows doesn’t dissipate entirely, but it’s enough that the beast lowers its head and withdraws for the time being.}

I think depends on if you plan on ever telling anybody. If you do not, when does secret stop being secret and become lie? {He shrugs, still leaning against the table.} I am open book. I have no need to hide things because I am proud of everything I have done. That is only way to live good life, my friend. Past is past and you cannot change. Only thing to do is make sure past is so good, you would not want to change even if you could. There are many more important things to do than hide secrets in place like this. There is only so much time until someone asks wrong question and everything comes out. Why live with stress of that? If there is something you want to know, I am happy to tell.

[’When does secret stop being secret and become a lie?’

It’s an interesting way of looking at it. And this man like a serpent has a lot of interesting ideas, it sounds like, and Benji is discovering this as he listens. He listens, and looks again for signs of what the Darkness might tell him about this Draco, but he gets nothing concrete again. Usually, he doesn’t mind, but today he feels curious. 

But maybe it’s like Draco is saying: he has no secrets. Could that really be true though? Could a man really have no secrets at all? Could he really be proud of everything he’s done? ]

[It’s an interesting notion, though. Or perspective, at least. To not believe in regret. That’s admirable. Benji nods.] That’s a respectful way to live, yes. [He pauses.] I also try to live without regret. But pride? [Huh, he’s never thought of it this way before, exactly, but hearing Draco phrase it like this... yes, there’s definitely a separation there. He shakes his head.] I don’t think I have regrets, exactly. But I’m not proud of everything I’ve done. That’s admirable. Many people would envy that. [Or envy the ability to lie to oneself about it in a convincing way.

He doesn’t really have specific questions for Draco, because he’s not... used to connecting with people in the same way as the average person. But he finds there’s something about Draco’s invitation that Benji doesn’t want to disappoint, somehow.] 

annie-perrault​:

[It gets very confusing sometimes, this world. It doesn’t make sense by its very nature, but Annie still gets the symptoms of sleep deprivation, like auditory hallucinations, but then also Benji just says unexpected things sometimes. The ‘you’re very beautiful’ is slipped in so casually that it almost feels like Annie made it up because she wants to hear it.

She looks up with a slow, curious blink. It’s difficult to know for sure. And if he did say it, is she meant to say thank you? Or say a similar compliment, even? Or would that just come off contrived? And if he hadn’t said it at all then it would be weird if she just blurted it out that she thought he was attractive.

But she finds that regardless of whether he actually said it, she’s pretty sure he really does think it. Annie never considers that people might genuinely be attracted to her (not even if they’ve kissed her) but the way Benji looks at her is different. Like he sees her, not just for the sheets of long hair that swing in front of her face, or her awkwardness, or her gawky height, but he really sees the things that matter.

The last bit that Benji says, about forgetting to live, makes Annie smile because honestly? His hope there is totally unfulfilled.] 

I think I probably do forget. Not even because of death, but because things scare me. Consequences, the unknown, stuff like that. I never feel totally free to live my life, because I’m always like… performing. But it’s a pretty vague concept anyway, ‘living’. Because it means different things to different people. Like, for a lot of people it’s about socialising and making connections, but you’re not at the bar every weekend going crazy. The way you live isn’t how a lot of people live.

[Annie isn’t sure where she falls on that scale, from Benji keeping to himself to party animals going out all the time. Probably closer to the Benji side of things, but leaning a little more towards the centre.]

[She’s not wrong. The way he lives isn’t most people’s definition of ‘living’, but then again, he doesn’t mean living with his body, per se. He means living with his mind. He smiles at her quietly, nods.] You’re right. But I think what I mean is...it’s not about people or expectations or... likes on social media. It’s about being present. With your mind. Committing to the now and being content with it, not... ignoring it while you fantasize for something else.

dante-carrington​:

[Benji is right. It says something. Dante still feels perturbed, though, by how easily Benji had zeroed in on that something. It makes him feel incredibly uncertain of himself; even moreso than usual. Nobody ever looks at Dante long enough to identify the façade he wears. Now, he is forced to consider just how flimsy the façade was all along; always translucent, it was just a window nobody had cared to glance through before.

Between this, and Teilo causing him to crumble at the first gentle touch, Dante is beginning to remember just how fragile he’s always been. Or perhaps fragile is too kind a word, and weak would be more fitting.] 

I think me being afraid of myself is quite a jump from there. [The nice thing about having a reputation for being unbearably tense and uptight is that it’s consequently more difficult to tell when Dante is specifically upset about something. Of course, as an Empath Benji probably has the upper hand. It feels uncomfortably like he will always have the upper hand, because he actually looks. He studies the world around him with a rare intensity. As they have mercifully begun to approach Brink, Dante takes the opportunity to make his excuses.] If you’ll pardon me, I must shower before I get back to work.

[It’s not a lie, anyway. He really must wash up. The timing just so happens to suit him well; he wants to escape Benji’s penetrating gaze, and his probing words.]

[One thing he feels loud and clear now, despite Dante’s ‘calm waters’, is discomfort. With fear stitched inside. Tight and tucked and impossible to unwind. Benji has made Dante uncomfortable, which isn’t surprising, or unusual. He’s used to making people uncomfortable. But a part of him thinks it’s a little funny that the therapist may think he is fooling anyone—even himself. With the way he emergency ejects from the conversation, the way he spitfires a weak, paper-thin defence. It’s not convincing. He doubts Dante is convinced, either.

But he doesn’t say anything as the man excuses himself. Only nods and lets him go. Watches his back briefly. When the doctor is out of earshot, he mutters to himself.]  Fear will chase you forever, sir.

draco--pavlovic​:

There is hayloft? I will check out. {How rustic. He takes a moment to ponder the line-up of the shot before taking it, smirking a little as the ball he’d been aiming for disappears down the corner pocket. Sweet success. The winning streak lasts another two rounds before it’s the cue ball that sinks, but instead of handing the cue back to Benji, Draco leans against the side of the table to fix his opponent with a heavy stare.

He still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off about Benji- like there’s something dark and a little bit cruel haphazardly disguised as timidness with a hint of modesty. Draco usually prides himself at being a fairly good judge of character, with no reason not to trust his instincts, and there’s just something going on here that he can’t quite put a finger on.

It’s not even Benji’s unwillingness to share too much personal information or anything regarding his past. Not everyone is as open and happy to share as Draco is, and he can respect that to an extent. But this feels different. Like Benji isn’t keeping secrets for the simple sake of maintaining privacy. Like he’s keeping them because he has something to hide. The way he’s talking about his sister is just… weird. It doesn’t take growing up with siblings to catch that.

So naturally Draco, not possessing a fraction of tact, steams in head first.}

Are you always playing so mysterious when people make conversation with you? Is not a bad thing, do not think I am attacking. I am only curious. I thought people here would not care much for keeping their past life so secret. Is almost like you have something to hide.

[Benji blinks a moment, before he laughs. It’s a rare thing, when he smiles, and despite the fact that he doesn’t miss it, when he’s not doing it, it feels nice. Like the spray of the ocean on his face, like a catch of warm breeze, that’s caught him by surprise, just the way this question has caught him by surprise. 

Draco holds the cue like it symbolizes his holding of the power. He asks questions and he says what he thinks and he stares, and Benji chuckles, nods. He can admire the straight forward approach, if nothing else.] 

I didn’t realize I was ‘playing’ at anything, [he replies. It’s the truth, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know that people find him ‘mysterious’. He shrugs.] People think a lot of things about me. I’m different—not wrong. Just different. But sometimes people don’t like that. They don’t like things they don’t understand or can’t categorize. [He pauses, looking to the table—ball, ball, solid, solid, stripe, stripe, solid—a jet black sphere, like a hole in the universe, when it’s not catching the light.] 

annie-perrault​:

[If Benji is concerned by what Annie said, she doesn’t notice. She’s extremely paranoid and concerned with what people think of her, but she’s also bad at actually reading people and realising what they’re thinking or feeling. Because she’s so comfortable around Benji now, she tends to just run without a filter.

He disagrees with her thoughts on death, but it doesn’t make her feel insecure. It’s a vast topic, not the sort of thing you really expect everyone to agree on. She likes hearing Benji’s opinions. They always feel like little secrets, something special and exciting and Annie always tries to make sure to remember them.] 

Yeah, maybe, but I think that would be nice too. Just like, rest. Obliviousness. Like before you’re born. Like… [She scoops up a small handful of earth, letting it trickle through her fingers, like sand through an hourglass.] One day that could be me. Or you. Maybe it already is. Maybe the Benji in another world died and turned into the earth and now this is the only trace of him left.

[She sort of hopes it’s not true. At least, she hopes he’s not dead in the waking world. If she remembers this when she wakes up, maybe she can even find him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person that would have been on social media so she’s not sure how exactly she’d achieve that, but it would be a fun, romantic adventure.]

[He watches the dirt leave her hand, the way it trips off long, spider-leg fingers, her nails painted and bitten, and how it lands back where she’d found it. He thinks about what she’s said, as he watches her pale skin cling to particles of the dirt she’d touched, and put back to the earth. It touches her too, now. It’s left a bit of itself with her, and Benji wonders what it be like to do that, too. To leave a bit of himself with her. To touch her in a way that can’t be undone, so she can’t again be untouched by him. 

Does she really believe he’s dead? Benji doesn’t know what he believes, except that he can see her breathing—he can see the way her skin flushes at her cheeks and nose, he can see the air leave her body in a fog as it touches the cool morning air. He can see the pulse flexing in her neck, he can see the bob of her throat—an Adam’s apple he’s never quite noticed before. 

He wonders if her thoughts on welcoming death should worry him. In a way, they do, because he finds he cares more about her safety than he’s cared about pretty much anything else in a long, long time. But he also thinks she sounds at peace with it, and could she hurt herself in a world where she already believes herself to be dead?]

Maybe it is, [he agrees softly. Because the world they both know of could be nothing more than an illusion. It could be a dream, they could be living out that tiny, fraction of a moment before death, only it feels like a lifetime because it’s a vivid, fever dream where their brains are dying and rejoicing and spurting out colours and creativity; dreaming, one last time. They could all just be fragments of a dying brain. Maybe hers. But does it make a difference, if they feel alive? Would it make a difference, if all this were real or not real, when it’s felt as real as they know real to be?]

Though there’s rest, and then there’s oblivion. You can’t have rest if you’re unaware of it. [He pauses, looking at her. For a beat, he just looks at her, thinking. She isn’t like anyone else he’s ever met, and he likes that about her.] You’re very beautiful, Annie. [Inside, he thinks, as well as outside.] And there’s nothing wrong with having peace with death. I just hope you don’t get so busy wondering about death, that you forget to live. Because real or not real, we are here, and this is what we have.

dante-carrington​:

[It’s generally quite difficult to rattle Dante. He’s seen and heard it all before, and he’s had any number of insults thrown his way. Insults that guess or poke fun at parts of him that may or may not be true. But something about the intensity of Benji’s question perturbs him, because he’s not being insulting, nor is he defensive. Just quietly analytical.

Usually Dante would be able to shrug it off, but in this case he can’t quite keep a straight face. He feels his brows buckle and furrow, and he pauses as the door swings shut behind them.] 

What makes you say that? [His voice is, as usual, quietly controlled. It feels as though Benji is peeling back his layers, a moth pinned to the board, and Dante isn’t sure how to make him stop.]

[The doctor doesn’t exactly make himself known for being verbose, or overt. But this is the least pensive, most abrupt response he’s given Benji so far. What makes you say that? There’s a ripple somewhere, in Benji’s sixth sense. He turns the dial up, just a bit more. Tries to listen. May as well; they’re discussing it properly now, anyway, and Benji is curious.

He looks at Dante plainly, at first, before shrugging.] Why else would you be happy that you’re difficult to read, if not because you have something to hide? [Another shrug.] You asked me to read you, and when I didn’t have a clear answer, you seemed relieved. I think that says something—don’t you? 

annie-perrault​:

[Hearing it said back to her makes Annie aware of how weird the notion is, but she’ll stand by it. Benji doesn’t make her feel embarrassed about it – he seems more curious, like he’s eager to know more about Annie’s world view. Annie would like to know more too, honestly, because she’s so uncertain about life lately that sometimes she finds she can only find her conclusions by talking them out.] 

Yeah. Because, like… [At this point the Elite in charge begins giving a few brief instructions. It’s not rocket science; the Elite is obviously only there to make sure things run smoothly.  Annie keeps talking, now in a softer voice. She wouldn’t usually talk while an authority figure is addressing the group, but… she really likes talking to Benji.] When you die, we don’t know what’s next. Maybe it’s nothing, or maybe it’s a new adventure, but either way all the bad stuff in this life goes away. Maybe when I die here, I wake up in the real world. There’s enough nice stuff here that I’m not in a rush to get there, but it’s nice to fantasise sometimes, I guess. it just feels like… potential, you know?

[This is firmly filed under ‘things Annie wouldn’t say to a therapist’ because she knows full well how it sounds. But it’s not about her feeling depressed or anything, it’s just that she thinks there’s so much more to life than the basic facts they understand currently, and she’s looking forward to learning more some day.]

[In hindsight, he should have expected this. The Shadows had tried to tell him, the way they’d wound around her ankles, her earlobes—woven into raven wings and kissed her bony shoulders. Death; it has her. It doesn’t threaten her, but it has a hold on her anyway. He just hadn’t realized it’d been willingly. 

He feels both... compelled and concerned by this. Sickened and... thrilled. She longs for death, like it’s a lover she’s never had. One that will take away her pain and make her feel loved, feel hopeful. Is this why she’s so drawn to him? Is this why he’s so drawn to her? Is he meant to love her and lead her to it, the way he’d loved his sister, and carried her to Death in his arms? He’d only killed her because he’d had to, because the Shadows had warned him what would happen if he didn’t, but Annie’s apparent infatuation with death is... chilling. 

He wishes they were alone, now. Back in the baths, again. Where the Shadows do not go and where she is warm and close to him and where she doesn’t have to whisper. 

He thinks about that, before he responds. But when he’s done, he doesn’t nod.] I understand. But personally, I don’t think there is anything after death. I don’t think it’s some fantasy that we don’t get in life. I think we have life, and then we have nothing. And then we just... become the plants and the air and the sea. 

dante-carrington​:

[Dante hadn’t really been certain what he was expecting, but Benji’s answer is surprisingly descriptive. He’s a strange mix, this man, of bluntly realistic and just a little bit fantastical. Certainly an interesting case.

And he’s relieved to learn that even to an Empath, he’s hard to read. Dante had been worried Benji might look at him and say quite simply that he felt broken. Or sad. He’d take taut control and anger over those things any day. It’s probably not the most flattering opinion a person could hold about Dante, but he’s not really interested in being flattered. The opposite, in fact, because he prefers people at arm’s length.] 

Good. [Dante feels a little foolish for asking, as though in the act of asking the question he revealed entirely too much about himself.] I don’t think I’ve ever been described quite so… poetically before.

[And he’s not sure how he feels about that. There’s a small furrow between his brows as they reach the main door of the Colony, Dante holding it open for Benji.]

[ ‘Good’ is an unusual response to being told one’s hard to read. ‘Good’ is what Benji would imagine a lot of people would think when told, but not something people would say out loud. And it’s highlighted by the fact that Dante had asked about it in the first place. 

What do I feel like? Can you hear me? Can you see me? 

A flash of a face on fire. Tears of anger, screams of agony. Blistered, flashing glimpses of parallel universes or maybe memories and then they’re gone. He doesn’t want to be seen. He’s glad that he remains a secret. It’s sad, in a way, and Benji looks at him, curious.] 

Does it make you uncomfortable? [Benji asks plainly, to the comment about being described poetically. Benji pauses as he steps through the door being held for him. Looks at Dante all the while. Curious, curious, curious.

He licks his lips.] You don’t want to be read, and you don’t like to be made into metaphor, either. You’re afraid of something? Yourself? 

[It’d be interesting to undo this man. So controlled, so taut, so fragile and still. Still, still, frozen. Fearful of himself, of his own reflection. Turns his water into ice so that there isn’t one to look back at him, anymore. Just a murky, fractured shadow. A greying mirage. There a moment, gone the next. 

annie-perrault​:

[His phrasing is interesting; a little weird. ‘Give life to something fragile’. It’s weird in the way a lot of Benji’s words are weird, just very different from the way most people talk. Maybe that’s why Annie feels comfortable around him: because he seems like this isn’t his world, either.

She also wonders if that’s how he sees her. Something fragile that comes to life under his touch. It’s how she feels, at least, but she doesn’t ask him because it feels like a weird thing to ask. Instead she just watches him curiously. It’s something she does increasingly, these days. Just looks at him, and wonders what’s happening in his mind, and these days she doesn’t look away when he catches her.

To his question, she predictably shakes her head.]

No, I don’t like doing stuff that might make me too, like… muscular. [She looks down at her skinny frame. It’s probably not a necessary worry.] Training’s bad enough. I’ll definitely be happier doing this; I like the way cold earth feels. It’s really… I don’t know, refreshing? Like a grave but I’m not bound to it.

[It’s the sort of thing she’d be horribly embarrassed about if she said it to just about anyone else, but she knows Benji won’t judge her. Even if he doesn’t totally get what she means, he won’t laugh at her. Annie just thinks about death a lot, because she thinks about life a lot, because hers turned out far different from what she prepared for. Getting trapped in a nightmare is enough to make anyone a bit morbid.]

[Benji chuckles a little, breathy, mostly to himself. It’s a huge misconception that many women make about lifting heavy things and putting on muscle. As though it’s easy to put on bulk. As though people can do it without really trying. They can’t, that’s simply not true. Even with people with masculine hormones can’t just bulk up that easily. She wouldn’t become magically muscular from construction, and hardly even from training. The training they have around the Colony is good for toning, and sliming, but there’s hardly anything they do in classes that actually put on muscle. 

Still, he won’t say anything about it, because there’s no need. He doesn’t want to embarrass her, anyway. Besides, he’s far more interested in what she says next.]

dante-carrington​:

benji-imes​:

[Dante talks, and Benji nods. Listens, as he always does, as he’s practiced in—but he likes when Dante talks, he decides. Dante seems like a man who doesn’t speak easily, who doesn’t share easily, and so when he talks, Benji feels like the doctor is exposing himself a little bit. Painting an otherwise faded part of a mystery.

And maybe that’s just it. Benji likes when Dante talks because Dante isn’t easy to read, and that’s fascinating to Benji, because so many people he meets are so surface. So predictable and similar to one another. Boring in their simplicity. So he always likes the ones who aren’t, the most. The ones who feel like puzzles. Like the clocks and locks he used to take apart and put back together. 

To know what makes them tick. ] 

It was like that at first. And it can still be… a lot, at times. It makes some parts of the Games pretty exhausting. It’s part of why I prefer to be alone, in quiet. [That’s true and not true at the same time. He’s always been that way, long before the Infections. But being an Empath only gives him more reason for it, now.] 

But now… [he thinks. Licks his lips. Shrugs.] It’s more appealing, I guess, when you can control how much you’re taking in at one time. [A beat.] It can be a little addictive for me, if the mood is right. Sort of… thrilling. [Stirring, exhilarating. Arousing, sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. He’ll keep that to himself.]

Besides, It’s not like reading minds, so it’s not as… personal as that. It’s just… feeling. Experiencing like you’d experience a windstorm or a heatwave or the rain.

[He can feel his interest growing in Benji, and he has to reprimand himself for that. At Altcourse, Dante had always been told to maintain a careful distance between himself and the inmates. Never let them get close.

Of course, Benji isn’t an inmate. He’s just committed crimes similar to them, and Dante does tend to tar people with the same brush. But the young man’s steady demeanour is oddly intoxicating, like he has his own gravitational pull. His voice is quiet, but not in the way that you can tune it out: in the way that you want very much to lean in and catch every word. It perturbs Dante, particularly as can see many similarities between himself and this man.

Not just the violence, but the introverted nature, the thoughtfulness, the curiosity. Their lives had taken very different trajectories but they weren’t so dissimilar, really. It was humbling to realise that. It is also fascinating, because the one real difference between them is that Benji doesn’t seem to feel much. Dante has always felt far, far too deeply.] 

I would think emotions were more intimate than thoughts, in a way. [He’s not disagreeing with Benji, since Benji is clearly more qualified to speak on the matter than Dante; rather, he’s just expressing his surprise.] What do I feel like?

[It’s a totally self indulgent question, and one Dante almost immediately regrets asking. He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. He has always known that he walks on a thin line, that his control is a thin, thin veneer, and he is morbidly curious as to whether or not that comes across to Empaths.]

[‘I would think emotions were more intimate than thoughts, in a way.’ Benji doesn’t disagree with that. He also understands what Dante means. But he doesn’t say anything about it. It’s a different sort of intimate, anyway. But maybe Dante is stuck on this idea because he feels protective of his own emotions. Of other people feeling him. And Benji is given reason to believe he might be right in assuming that, when the Elite asks him his next question. 

Benji pauses, very briefly, but his answer comes without much hesitation. A small, incremental smile slips onto his mouth.] 

Stillness, [he supplies.] ... Taut. Controlled. Angry. And still. But still like a.. frozen river is still on the surface, but rushing underneath, unseen. Stillness like... that of a quiet wood at night. When you walk through it, you feel alone in the dark expanse of it but you can’t stop looking over your shoulder, anyway. You’re... hard to read, actually. 

draco--pavlovic​:

Ah. I am sorry to hear about sister. {Having grown up as a single child, Draco can’t really relate to the experience of having siblings, but most of his friends and the people he’s spoken to have confirmed that it’s either something brilliant or something horrible. He can’t exactly gauge Benji’s relationship with his sister from the tidbit of information he’s been given but regardless of the circumstances, it must have been a traumatic experience.

It’s not hard to piece together that Benji decidedly does not enjoy answering personal questions, so Draco decides to drop his line of enquiry. There’s little point trying to make conversation about a topic the other person has absolutely no interest in discussing. Channeling his efforts into questions that’ll actually get him answers might be more rewarding, but Benji doesn’t seem like a talkative person in general.

Draco accepts the cue with a low hum, taking a moment to consider the table. There aren’t any obviously easy shots available so he takes the next best one, hoping the cue ball doesn’t accidentally nudge one of Benji’s into a pocket.}

What is your favourite place in Colony? I am still looking for good places to get some peace, or to hang out without interruption. Maybe you have recommendations for this? You seem like person who appreciates secret place for quiet alone time.

[Benji nods calmly, not looking up from the table.] Me too, [he says simply, his tone even and composed. And it’s the truth. He is sorry about what had to happen to his sister. In his own way, he missed her after the incident, and he felt for his parents too—also in his own, detached sort of way. He’d not enjoyed watching them struggle with the loss of her. Then again, he’d not had to do it very long, given how quickly he was separated from them. 

He watches somewhat idly as Draco looks for and lines up a shot. The question, stilted and pretty, in that melodic accent of his, makes Benji smile the tiniest amount—he’s not even sure why. He does appreciate his quiet alone time—though there’s not much to be found here at Col22.] 

Hmm. I don’t know about secret places—[he doesn’t think he’s ever explicitly looked, now that Draco mentions it—] but I enjoy the baths a lot. It’s always very quiet and it’s a good place to think and relax. The steam rooms too. I also quite like the stables and the hayloft. It gets less traffic than the library, and horses are quieter than people. 

annie-perrault​:

[He doesn’t look at her like she’s weird; he smiles, even, and it’s fond, like he really does think it’s nice of her to have swapped so they can spend time together. There’s something very honest about Benji, so it’s easy to trust that he really means what he says. It’s interesting because in many ways he’s antithetical to Adrien, but Annie thinks they do have this one thing in common: honesty. Ajay just blurts it all out like he can’t help but say what he’s thinking, whereas Benji is careful and measured and doesn’t waste a word.

It’s why Annie likes them both. She often gets anxious that people are nice to her just to be polite, but when she trusts a person’s honesty she believes they’d not bother with her if they didn’t want to.] 

Okay. Good. [She visibly relaxes as Benji makes it clear he doesn’t think she’s done anything out of the ordinary. It’s surprisingly easy to relax with him, in general. Although she’s often amped up and stressed out, she does find that there’s a distinct upper limit to her panic levels when it comes to Benji. He’s so relaxed about everything that it’s hard to do her usual catastrophising. The greenhouse helps, she’s also learning: the smell of earth and the cloying warmth so particular to greenhouses is soothing. Annie’s dad used to love gardening, and sometimes Annie would help him, so the atmosphere here feels like a nice memory.

The gardening will be a lot nicer for her than the construction, but she knows that won’t be true for everyone.] 

Will you miss it? The construction, I mean? [She knows Benji well enough now – she thinks – to be pretty sure construction suits him better, and she wants to hear him talk about it. Maybe because he’s so quiet, it’s always exciting to hear him talk about himself, the things he likes, the things he wants. Benji is a puzzling person, but Annie thinks she is slowly piecing him together.]

[He feels his small smile on his cheeks and lips. It’s like molasses and melted cheese. Moving, but not slippery, not liquid. Just pliable, easy and warm. She takes what he assumes is a guess, but it’s a good one. Does she know him, a little? Maybe so. He’s not so used to people knowing him, especially not anymore. He thinks he might come to like it, actually, if it’s Annie who’s knowing him.

He nods.] Yes. Probably. But I think... I’ll give gardening a chance. [He shrugs.] It could be interesting to give life to something fragile. 

[Just as he’d taken life from something fragile. Just like life, in and of itself, has proved itself such a fragile thing. Will it excite him as much? Maybe not. But he’d not done what he’d done for pleasure anyway. And he’d not been an Empath, then. Now, he enjoys the recognition and sensation of life’s fragility because there’s something thrilling about holding it in his hands. So maybe it would be the same with plants—their lives still in his hands. So fragile, so helpless to his choices, his decision to help or to hurt. And maybe growing something from nothing is as much a puzzle as taking mechanics apart and putting them back together in order to understand them—just a puzzle of a different kind. Still precise, still meticulous. ] 

felix-tee​:

benji-imes​:

[The little one’s emotions are thick and chaotic—they fill the space like a swarm of bees, like a cloud of mould, or gas. He is loud in more ways than one, but he is not fierce. He is fearful. Pitiful.

Benji is quiet for a beat, staring back at him. And then:] You take up a lot of space, for such a small person. [He says. He doesn’t know what ‘derro’ means, but he doesn’t have to. Benji isn’t easily insulted. Words don’t have a lot of meaning to him, especially not out of context. Actions have meaning. Words are just sounds. Just things people say to make themselves feel better, or feel something. But Benji doesn’t feel the way people expect him to, so words don’t have much power over him, if any at all.] 

[He starts to back away. He isn’t angry, but he also isn’t confrontational. If this little bird wants to throw a hissy fit and sulk by himself in the woods, let him.] You should be careful who you make enemies out of, Little One, [he advises, his tone calm and simple.] We both know you’re not just physically fragile. 

[Because Benji had felt that fragility. He’d felt the way this little lost kitten’s spirit had twisted and shuddered and cracked under the loneliness, under the pressure, under the stress. He knows it, and so does Felix.] 

[ ‘You take up a lot of space, for such a small person’.] Thank you, [Felix spits back, mostly on reflex. But it’s true—even if he doesn’t really know what the Torren is trying to get at, necessarily, the way he sees it, that sounds a lot like being ‘small but fierce’ which is totally his aesthetic. So like, fuck whatever Benji’s trying to say, if it’s meant to be mean or not; Fee sees it as a compliment and he’s going to rub that in the Torren’s stupid, smug face.

But his eyes narrow at the other’s next words.] ….Excuse me? Is that a threat? [He can feel his hands trembling, his shoulders shaking, his body quivering—his heart is a messy, uneven pattern and his breaths is shortening by the minute. When he gets angry, he sometimes feels like a tiny little bird about to pop like a feathered balloon. He feels frightful and fragile, and scared of himself. Without the courage to face what’s about to happen, but unable to stop himself from barrelling ahead, anyway.] 

You know this? Why, because you’re some Infected freak who can read my mind or something? Whatever, I’m not scared of you, you bloody mutant. Do you have any idea who my father is? Don’t threaten me with your stupid little ‘powers’ or whatever. I could easily make your life hell.

[Except he is afraid. And he’s even more afraid now that he’s said all those horrible, mean words. Even to him, they sound mean—but Felix is mean when he’s defensive, and when he’s afraid. And Felix, in this moment, wants to be mean because Benji had been mean to him. He’d wanted to hurt, but now he’s looking at this much thicker, taller man—not towering, but not slight, either—and he is afraid. He knows he’s no match for most people, much less someone as scary looking as this bloke, and if he’d wanted to snap Felix’ bones, he probably could. In the blink of an eye, probably. It’s a scary thought. 

But Felix refuses to let himself look scared, and so he just glowers at the other instead. How dare he treat Felix this way, anyway? What a creepy, perverted bully. Well—Felix doesn’t know that Benji is perverted, he just gets that sense and usually he’s right about people.]

[He is full of words and promises, and he thinks those pointed features and slatted eyes make him intimidating, but they don’t. His voice is shrill and his threats are empty and his hands—they shake. Benji watches them as Felix steps closer, spitting wilted droplets of fire, hoping they’ll spread, they’ll catch. 

They won’t. Benji sees right through him. Those droplets are made of salt, of sweat.

The Darkness comes to life. Shadows swirl and twist, spinning circles around the boy’s belly, collecting there like a witch’s cauldron, and they snake around tiny driftwood wrists, form a necklace at his throat like a noose. Bound. Bound to his lies and bound by himself. Trapped, and this is probably why he reacts like a cornered animal. So much to prove, so much at stake. 

Benji holds his gaze.] It is a threat, [he finally replies with a nod, in a low voice, too unconcerned to be a whisper.] And you should be afraid, Little One. [Barely blinking, he leans closer—closer and closer until he is close enough he could have tastes the shell of Felix’s ear, had he wanted. This time his words are a whisper.] Ask your Daddy, why. 

[He doesn’t know who Felix’s father is, but he can assume, with a name drop like that-- ‘do you have any idea who my father is?’ -- that his father is an Elite, someone important enough to be able to look up Benji’s file. Usually, he wouldn’t consider himself a violent person, or a threat. He’s not made of indecision or spontaneity. He's not a time bomb, or a loose canon. He’s just observant. Deliberate. He’ll act when the situation calls for it. 

We leaves without another word. Felix is a danger to himself because he doesn’t know when to shut up. If Benji doesn’t set him straight, someone else will, and they might not be as kind. 

But Benji doesn’t intend to be this kind twice. ]

dante-carrington​:

[For some reason it surprises him that Benji hadn’t liked his Infection. Obviously Dante knows that plenty of people have difficult relationships with their Infections, but knowing it and fully understanding it are two different things. It makes Dante think, how uncomfortable he would be if the shoe were on the other foot and he were Infected.

He’d never thought about Empatheia in those terms; it’s one of the rarer Infections so he encounters it less. But he would hate it. It’s invasive to have someone else know what you’re feeling, but it’s probably just as much a violation to have other people’s emotions encroach upon you, unasked for. He gives Benji a brief, appraising look as they cross the grounds.

He’s not sure how to take the comment about not feeling things like other people do. It’s unusual. The way Benji describes it isn’t entirely in line with psychopathy, but perhaps something dissociative. Depersonalisation springs to mind. No doubt something Benji has discussed with his therapist at length, but Dante’s professional curiosity is piqued.] 

Sounds rather invasive to me, experiencing other people’s emotions; even if you can control it to an extent. [But then, Dante says that as someone with a full emotional range, which Benji apparently lacks. Maybe it’s just an intriguing new experience for him.] It’s more than I’d want to know about people.

[Dante talks, and Benji nods. Listens, as he always does, as he’s practiced in—but he likes when Dante talks, he decides. Dante seems like a man who doesn’t speak easily, who doesn’t share easily, and so when he talks, Benji feels like the doctor is exposing himself a little bit. Painting an otherwise faded part of a mystery.

And maybe that’s just it. Benji likes when Dante talks because Dante isn’t easy to read, and that’s fascinating to Benji, because so many people he meets are so surface. So predictable and similar to one another. Boring in their simplicity. So he always likes the ones who aren’t, the most. The ones who feel like puzzles. Like the clocks and locks he used to take apart and put back together. 

To know what makes them tick. ] 

It was like that at first. And it can still be... a lot, at times. It makes some parts of the Games pretty exhausting. It’s part of why I prefer to be alone, in quiet. [That’s true and not true at the same time. He’s always been that way, long before the Infections. But being an Empath only gives him more reason for it, now.] 

But now... [he thinks. Licks his lips. Shrugs.] It’s more appealing, I guess, when you can control how much you’re taking in at one time. [A beat.] It can be a little addictive for me, if the mood is right. Sort of... thrilling. [Stirring, exhilarating. Arousing, sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. He’ll keep that to himself.]

annie-perrault​:

[Oh god, oh no, he’s coming over. Which is specifically what Annie wanted; it was the reason she swapped chores, because she wanted to see him, but now he’s coming over and she’s panicking.] 

Hi. [It would be  a great start, nice and normal, if she’d not looked so flustered  as she’d said it. The quick glance she is brave enough to take of him reveals his usual calm, steady demeanour. He’s got really nice eyes, Annie thinks, and hates herself for the cliche. It’s very true with Benji, though. They’re so dark they’re almost black, but in the sunlight the comes through the greenhouse roof there are lucent hints of gold and honey. They always look warm and safe, reminiscent somehow of the way Annie used to crawl into her wardrobe and hide in the dark. It was safe there; nobody could sneak up on her, and that’s how she feels with Benji.

Not that you’d know it to look at her. Though he makes her feel safe, he also makes her feel intensely flustered. Annie picks up a plant pot, just to have something to do with her hands, and turns it over several times. The greenhouse is still quiet as people filter in, and Annie is acutely conscious of that. Her voice is always quiet, a self-conscious murmur, and it drops a little softer still.] 

I, um, wasn’t meant to be here. But I swapped with someone, because I heard you were on this rotation and I… um… wanted to see you. [Stupid JR, acting like this was a good idea. Annie felt an urgent need to blurt out the truth because it would be far more embarrassing if  she didn’t tell him and then he found out the truth later – but she’s still mortified, and has to wonder what the hell she was thinking. Obviously there’s no way for this not to be weird.] Not for any reason or anything. I just thought… Just wanted to, um… yeah.

[It starts to make sense, why she’s so flustered—even more than usual—when she rambles out an explanation Benji hadn’t asked for. It makes sense, that she’s acting like she’s been caught in something, because Benji realizes, she thinks she has been. 

Not that that’s true. He hadn’t know who was in this rotation, because he hadn’t checked or paid any attention. So the ironic thing is, it was a bit more like she turned herself in, rather than she’d gotten caught.  If she’d never told him, he wouldn’t have known. 

Still, he’s glad that she did and he does. It’s nice watching her fumble, seeing her so open and vulnerable. And she’s exposed to him in more ways than one. She likes him, so she goes to him, she talks to him and shares with him. But she’s also nervous around him—which fills Benji’s gut with an interesting thrill he doesn’t feel outside of her influence—or the influence of others, anyway—and he likes the way that feeling is just a tip-toeing dance between fear and excitement. Something special and exactly in between. 

He smiles gently, watching. Always watching. There’s so much of her to look at, and it feels like it’s always changing. Even as he looks, she changes. He likes that. ]

draco--pavlovic​:

benji-imes​:

[Serpent. Serpent. 

The Shadows stir and hiss. Benji waits a moment, expecting them to show him something, expecting them to make themselves and their ideas known, but they don’t. They stay quiet, pooled in the Darkness at the edges of his mind and they offer him nothing. 

And so he doesn’t quite know what to make of this Serpent, Draco. This Snake among men. Benji doesn’t feel anything negative coming off of him, in terms of his Empatheia, but his Infection and the Shadows don’t always agree. In fact, usually they’re saying different things entirely, on entirely different subjects. As though they co-exist, but never cross paths, uninterested in each other. 

He strikes like a Cobra, prying questions, pointed and quick. Benji doesn’t react, but he wonders what people’s fascination with ‘origin stories’ is about.

He finds a shot and leans over it, carefully lining up his cue.] This is the only Colony I’ve ever been at. I was picked up by the Crusaders with a few other survivors. [He takes the shot. The white ball snaps forward and into the yellow solid he’d been going for, and even though it nearly misses, it lands in a pocket with a satisfying smock and clunk.] Less than 6 months after D-Day, I think. Give or take. [He shrugs.] 

.

{Benji doesn’t offer up a lot of information concerning his past which Draco finds a little… odd. For Draco, his history and his identity have always been so very important. They’re a part of him, and in this new world where everyone seems quite content to be able to start afresh, he clings to it.}

Where were you when Crusaders picked up?

{He tilts his head, curiosity only further piqued by how elusive Benji’s being.} Your accent is America, yes? How did you manage to end up all way out here?

[His pauses. The snake, the serpent. Questions, questions. He likes information, he likes to know. 

Benji isn’t often asked about how he came to be in the UK. He doesn’t know if that’s strange or not. He’s talked about where he’s from before, but somehow, he’s avoided coming face to face with the question about why he came here in the first place. 

Maybe that’s because he’d avoided people and conversation so much. Not for any reason other than his own discomfort with socializing, but it could have had that secondary pay off nonetheless. Not having to explain. Not having to talk about his sister. Not having to lie.

He wouldn’t say he’s ashamed of his story. He doesn’t know if he can even categorize how he feels about his stay in the care facilities. Sort of neutral, he supposes. People didn’t understand his reasons for killing his sister, and he couldn’t explain to them how he knew what she was going to do, that he was saving his parents from her. He couldn’t force them to understand, wouldn’t even know where to begin. So if those were his consequences, then he accepted them. But he had no regrets. He knows he’d done the right thing.

He shrugs.] My mother was born here. My parents wanted to be closer to family, after my sister died. So we moved here. [Simple, clear. And in many parts, true. Just not the whole truth. He leaves out his inpatient care at the mental health facility, but only because it would invite more personal questions, which he's never been fond of.]

the-original-charley​:

[It takes her a second longer than it really should, for her to place his reference. But as she does, she offers a quiet laugh and a nod and agrees,] Like the Web.

[She smiles at his own short introduction, mentally repeating his name a few times- until it’s connected with his face. Charlotte doesn’t hide the brief confusion his question brings her- though after a moment, she knows that it’s her own fault that, that’s Benji’s assessment. She didn’t exactly show any enthusiasm towards the one French report she’d pointed out.] 

No, actually. I quite enjoy French. Well, [A bob of her head, as her mind reminds her of her true feelings.] generally speaking anyway. It’s beautiful and complex, but no language is perfect. What I don’t enjoy, is forgetting one of the rules a language has- but that’s on me. Not the whole language. [She shrugs her shoulders, glancing back at the pile of reports and references.] I’m more annoyed at that specific report. If it were possible to send it to hell for a little while, while I take my break, I would. [A slight glare forms as she looks at the offending pad, and she sincerely hopes that the inanimate object can feel her disdain for it.]

[She wears her emotions and thoughts on her face, like a mask, bright painted colours, readily accessible. He doesn’t need to be an Empath to watch the emotions as they roll through her, create little ripples in her high brow and sweep over her sharp cheekbones and pointed nose. 

He thinks for a moment, looking down at the pad she’d been working on, but not really seeing it. Just words and notations and hurried, crossed-out lines. Some of them more impassioned than others. She’s doing a job, not because she wants to, but because she has to. She may have enjoyed the languages once, or more in other contexts, but now she’s tasked with something she can’t turn away from. At least not for long.]