#different cages

As a reverend’s son, Ben had always been taught that retaining ill will towards another person was wrong. One mustn’t covet, nor begrudge another man’s actions, and yet in this instance, Ben liked to believe God would forgive him -- nay, agree that his yearning for revenge was completely justified.

In a cruel twist of fate, his brother, Samuel had been arrested on a trip to London. He’d merely been speaking his mind in a tavern -- oh, Heaven forbid -- and the judge presiding over this trial had condemned him to prison...a prison where Samuel withered away, grew sick, and ultimately died a dog’s death. That sort of oversight could never be forgiven; not when this Turpin monster lived more than heartily in a mansion, while meanwhile everyone else starved and pleaded for crumbs. 

Ben wished to reverse his fortune. So now, leaning against the wrought-iron fence across from Turpin’s grand home, he pretended to read the book in his hand, occasionally glancing over at the small boy he’d hired to pose as a distraction. At long last, he could hear a commotion. The little boy was waving his hands, speaking loudly about an investment -- one that the judge had made, of course -- going “up in flames,” and that he’d been sent by “some nice banker” to come fetch him. Turpin, in all his greed, couldn’t resist this ploy, and immediately fetched his hat and coat before accompanying the child out into the street.

Miserable old miser.

Watching until the two had disappeared, Ben quickly rushed across the street and jogged up to the front door. In Turpin’s haste, the damned fool had forgotten to lock up, and with a breathy laugh of disbelief, Ben showed himself inside and quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly -- something, anything that could prove what a monster this man was -- so he took his time as he searched through the large house.

Before long, Ben became incredibly frustrated. None of Turpin’s desks nor potential hiding spots revealed anything of import -- not even a ruinous letter. Sourly, he headed for the final room in the upstairs hall (his last chance) and immediately froze once he realized it was locked. Oh... Well, surely this was a room of interest! No man with nothing to hide would lock a door, after all.

Giddy, Ben set to work on picking the lock. After a handful of unsuccessful attempts, the lock finally sprung open, and he pushed his way into the room, pleased with himself until he realized that...well...he wasn’t alone. A pretty young blonde was seated in the far corner, embroidering quietly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Ben scoffed, though at least this time, he had the grace to look amused. "I will forgive your conjecture, seeing how you are unfamiliar," he said, "but a lot of men do actually carry utensils on hand. Or at least, the p.rivateering sorts tend to come prepared."

Gabe glanced between them, appearing increasingly perplexed. Despite his confusion, he wanted nothing more than to please his friend, so he nodded at Johanna, albeit with hesitance. "Heck, all right," he agreed. "But suppose I need it to defend myself? What then?"

"Fortunately, you won't get accosted out in these parts," Nathaniel assured them. "Well...other than from the abundant sunlight, of course." Chuckling, he smoothed out the wrinkles from his blanket. "Shall we sit?"

Ben and Johanna, unfortunately, were still well into their latest disagreement.

"Madam, you may believe whatever you wish," he dryly said, "but I have far more pressing amusements than stirring you into a state --which, by the way, I only need to breathe in order to accomplish. So no, I am not intentionally trying to rile you up. You just make it so ridiculously easy!"

He chose to ignore her observation about his father. If Ben was being truthful with himself, such conjecture stung. He tried and he tried and he tried to be the very best version of himself he could possibly be, and yet he knew he would always fall short; he would always pale in comparison to the wonderful man Samuel had once been.

Nathaniel cleared his throat, sparing them all a warning glance, before Ben sighed and muttered, "Apologies, Father," and took a seat upon the blanket. Johanna and Gabe were quick to follow, though the former was much slower since she was intent on being mindful of her skirts.

"I tell you, it is common!" Gabe chirped. "You'll love it, I promise!"

Fond amusement shone in Nathaniel's eyes, and he inclined his head by way of answer. "Seashell gathering is quite common, yes, and certain circles enjoy the sensation of sand beneath their toes. In result, burying each other in said sand is a relatively normal amusement." Chuckling, he added, "But if you wouldn't mind, I would prefer to be left out of the latter activity."

"Aw, but Mr. T.allmadge will do it! Won't you?" Gabe goaded, looking to the taller man in earnest.