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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 2:33:29 GMT -5
Benson's hands were holding fast to the railing as he hunched over, trying to think and listen to her harsh words at the same time. He tried not to come up with a ludicrous or otherwise idiotic answer (because he had such a white-knuckled grip on sanity to begin with...) but could find none. Taking his hand, he covered his face, wiping down, as if to clean his slate and start over, but then scolded himself because after touching the bridge his hands probably weren't for putting near his face.
He was a freak. He'd called him...a freak!
Tears sprung to Ben's eyes but he fought them away, winning this battle. "I dunno."
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 2:41:26 GMT -5
Andrua blew out a breath noisly and slumped against the railing. "Well, fuck," she muttered dejectedly. "I don't know either," she admitted miserably. She wasn't so much mad at him (okay, maybe a little) as she was feeling inadequate herself. She loved him so much and cared for him so deeply and yet she couldn't figure out how to help him.
She edged closer to him, hesitant, the very edge of her body touching his hand. "It just... It kills me to see you upset like this, Benson," she confessed softly, eyes on the ground. She scuffed her shoes a little, nervous.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 2:46:11 GMT -5
Clearly.
If he didn't know, he didn't expect her to know. Talking about his dad shouldn't be so complicated, but he wouldn't stand for being called a freak. Not by his own parents who made him and were supposed to love him no matter what he was... Well, fuck that. Some goddamn parents they turned out to be.
And what about Xander and Pip? Shaking his head, he let go of a heavy breath.
"Well, don't let it kill you," he scoffed, turning to look at her again, though her face was turned down, "then I'll really be a freak 'cause I'll have no one to hang out with." He offered a lighter smile, not wanting to bring her down with his issues.
He took in a loud breath, but paused, giving himself time to place the words just right. "Thing is," he started, chipping the paint off again, "I don't want to be...setting myself up for disappointment, y'know? If I go, are things going to be the same? Am I still going to get rejected? I just don't want to face shit like that if I don't have to."
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 2:54:27 GMT -5
She slid down the railing, sitting on the ground. She let her arms rest on her knees as she listened to him. Something caught her ear, though, and she looked up. Reaching, she took his hand in hers, holding onto it a moment. "You're not a freak," she stated simply. "You're a freak, I'm a freak," she reasoned, "and I'm not a freak."
She nodded as he went on. "I understand," she told him. "It'll be hard either way. I.." she stopped there, not really knowing what else to say. She pulled her lips into her mouth and tipped her face up to hold his eyes.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 2:57:55 GMT -5
"It'll be hard either way."
A frown was prominent on his face then, and he looked out over the water now, as opposed to looking into it like he had before, as if looking beyond the horizon would hold more options or opportunities or something of that prophetic or revelating nature. Benson felt no great epiphany fall over him, however. Sighing, he looked down to where she sat and held onto her hand.
"Yeah, I know."
When she stopped short, he waited for more, prayed for more, needing some other sort of insight. But it seemed this issue had them both in its grip, and it would be hard to break free.
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 13:30:05 GMT -5
She stood again and moved to him, sighing. "I'm sorry I'm no help," she admitted, smiling ruefully. "Whatever you want to do with this," she began slowly, piecing it together as she went alone, "is what we'll do. If you want to go home, or call your brother or just ignore the whole thing...then, fine. Okay?"
She shook her head, still feeling inadequate. "Okay, so I'm no good at that. But can I offer you a hug. I'm pretty good at hugs." She held her arms open and gave him a half-hearted grin.
[[short-ish; sorry!]]
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 15:38:45 GMT -5
"I can deal with that," he allowed, dropping his sensitivity for now, not wanting to force her to endure anymore of his distress. Without any sort of obligation, he took her up in his arms, hiding his face in her neck, occasionally pressing a chaste kiss to the soft skin there. His hands splayed out and ran across her back, as if to reassure him that she was in existence, here in his arms.
Benson sighed, nodding. "Thank you."
((Ditts. D: ))
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 20:58:19 GMT -5
She held him tight, hoping to sap up some of his distress, his sadness. She wanted to take him home and curl up on the couch with him, watch a crappy, funny movie to make him forget. She weaved her fingers through his short hair, stroking his scalp lightly. "Don't need to thank me," she said, enjoying the feel of his lips against her skin.
Exhaling, she leaned against the rail a little bit. "Do you want to go for a walk? Or we can just go home and watch some hilariously shitty movie." She just wanted him to not be upset, whether that took working through it or forgetting about it.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 21:04:29 GMT -5
Not knowing whether a hilariously shitty movie sounded like a good idea or a bad one, Benson nodded anyway, not wanting to debate over finding something else to do. Walking required energy, which he wasn't willing to give up right now, so he figured he'd settle for lying down with her on the couch and watching that shitty movie. Taking her hand, he started in the general direction of home, hoping she could lead them there.
"What movie did you have in mind?" he muttered, leaning his head on hers.
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 21:12:48 GMT -5
She twined their wrists around each other, pulling them so their sides touched. Walking back to Biella, she noticed that he seemed to lag back a little. Usually he led, if not they walked side-by-side. but Andrua adapted easily, stepping strongly toward home. At his soft question, she shrugged.
"Monty Python, maybe?" she suggested. "Or Dirty Dancing?" She rubbed her fingers over his knuckles gently. "Or, if you just wanna wallow we can just curl up in bed," she added on, voice not unkind. She knew sometimes you just had to brood over something.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 21:34:36 GMT -5
Dirty Dancing? Monty Python? And she said he was on something? Entwining their fingers, he kept his pace rhythmic, but slower than usual. The brief thought of taking her up on her second offer made him sigh, knowing he didn't want to subject either of them to that. While it felt like this problem was a cancerous irritant festering inside, he didn't want to think about it, because that meant trying to sort out a sollution.
"Monty Python," he chose with a sleepy nod. "Holy Grail."
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 22:00:21 GMT -5
Andrua giggled softly. "John Cleese it is, then," she agreed. She slowed her pace to step in time with him. They passed the rest of the trip in a relatively comfortable silence. A few blocks away, Andrua looked up at him through her lashes. It took real effort for her to not pry into his thoughts.
Normally it wouldn't have even been a question. She did not invade other people's minds, ever. But with the way he was acting, she wanted to be sure he was really on the road to recovery. It had just never been this way between them. Usually they would fight and the truth would get out in the open and they would work to the clear solution. But there was no clear solution in this part, only what Benson wanted. Which relied on how he felt and she didn't think even he knew that.
Too bad she hadn't gotten around to refining her empathy.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 22:14:05 GMT -5
He could feel her eyes on him but chose not to say anything about it. It came as a surprise that she didn't use her telepathy more often. In this case, it might have even helped them. He wasn't sure what afflicted him, actually, so having her go into his subconscious could find out what was truly pecking at his mind relentlessly. Benson himself couldn't put a definite finger on the many ideas floating around him.
This invasion of privacy was annoying to him on more occasions than less, but he trusted her.
Opening up the door to his Biella room, without taking no more than two steps in, he collapsed onto the couch face-first, as if he'd been struggling to walk for hours. Reaching his arm into the air, he snapped his fingers before pointing to the television, summoning her to start the movie, please.
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 14, 2009 22:25:58 GMT -5
She watched him fall onto the couch and obliged his request. She'd excuse the snap of his fingers that time; he was in emotional distress after all. Using her telekinesis, she set the movie up. As the opening credits and Swedish subtitles rolled, she padded to him. She stretched out on top of him, resting her chin between his shoulder blades, and gently laying kisses over the back of his neck.
Pressing her nose into the short hair at the nape of his neck, she murmured soft. half-words against his skin. "Love you, Benson Thomas," she told him unhaltingly. "I love you."
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 15, 2009 12:28:00 GMT -5
Not that he didn't love her back, but Monty Python and whispers of adoration did not exactly mesh together very well. After all, her mother was a hamster, and her father smelled of elderberries. What was there not to love?
Still, he was unable to hold back the smirk that was playing at his lips threateningly. "Uv you, foo," he mumbled into the cushion of the sofa, his head slightly turned so he could see the screen, but not enough to reach her lips. He puckered, as if wanting a kiss.
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 15, 2009 18:16:06 GMT -5
She laughed openly, able to see his face from her position. "you're a dork," she told him happily. Leaning over, she placed a quick kiss to his lips before shoving him over. She shifted so that she was laying in front of him instead of on top of him. She was careful to keep her head below his chin so they could both see.
As the knights and king argued over the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow, she pressed close to him body. This was good. Watching British comedy, laying close to him. This was good.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 17, 2009 17:09:09 GMT -5
The town's debate over witches brought up a thought, and he smirked as he looked down onto the top of Andrua's head. "I've an idea," he prompted brightly. "What if we tied my father up, and threw him in the bay? If he floats like a duck, we kill him. If he sinks to the bottom and drowns...well, there's not much we can do about it then, right? Sound like a plan?"
Hoisting her closer, he tickled her neck with the start of his new goatee, kissing lightly across the nape of her neck. "Yeah, I am a dork," he accepted in a mumble, not nearly paying enough attention to what words were coming out of his mouth.
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 17, 2009 17:21:31 GMT -5
"I've an idea," he prompted brightly. "What if we tied my father up, and threw him in the bay? If he floats like a duck, we kill him. If he sinks to the bottom and drowns...well, there's not much we can do about it then, right? Sound like a plan?"
She chuckled lightly and rolled her eyes. "Perfect. Except for the matter of patricide. The law kind of looks down on that these days, y' know." She took one of his hands in hers, bringing it around her waist. He could joke so maybe that was good; better at least.
"Yeah, I am a dork."
"Glad we're in agreement." She said. Giggled erupted her then and drew her shoulders up, hoping to stop the sensation. "Stop it," she said through her laughter. "Silly fuzzy-face," she muttered.
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Post by Benson Thomas on Nov 17, 2009 17:25:45 GMT -5
Chuckling lowly under his breath, he shrugged, glad to oblige to her motion around her waist, hand laying on her side under her shirt, the sudden warmth of it immediately taking away the nervous chill his hand--and body--had acquired during his contemplation. "So? Could always do it in secret. No one really has to see."
He brought a hand up to his chin. "What, you don't like it?" he inquired, truly wanting her honest opinion on his facial hair. Hey, if having a beard was going to keep her from making mouth-to-mouth contact with him, he'd shave it off in an instant.
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Post by Andrua Thomas on Nov 20, 2009 16:43:14 GMT -5
Andrua rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his elaborate murder plot. She liked his touch, though. Leaning into it, she turned her attention back to the movie. A laugh broke out as God approached the King and his knights. It was almost to one of her favorite parts, the Frenchman.
"What, you don't like it?"
Andrua shifted, facing him. Looking up, she considered the goatee. It wasn't bad, necessarily. Nothing wrong with it, he still looked damn handsome. She shrugged, rubbing a finger over the patch of facial hair. "We'll give it a trial period," she concluded before breaking into giggles. Dropping a lingering kiss to his lips, she turned over again just in time for the knights' arrival at the French castle.
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