If seeing me won’t make you happy, please don’t respond. Her words were left with him when she exited the room. What had she meant by that? Had he given her the impression that it wouldn’t make him happy? Maybe she was picking up on more of his internal struggle with this than he would have liked her to. With that statement, though, she’d put the ball back in his court. She wasn’t going to contact him again until after she was married — married and returned from a honeymoon somewhere — and then it would be up to him how to respond.
Fuck. He needed a drink. Maybe a drink and a cigarette. He’d picked up the habit in Canada and had since kicked it — it was too hard to come by cigarettes in the quantity he wanted, over here — but there was something about this moment, and this feeling in his chest, that felt more appropriate to the thin, tinny taste of cigarette smoke than a cigar. Cigars were for celebration, or relaxing at leisure in a club somewhere. Cigarettes were for people who just needed to make it through the next five minutes — and right now, Ben felt like he belonged to the latter group.
Was Art at this party? Because he could use someone to talk to, too. Someone who could maybe kick some sense into him before he ended up deciding it was a good idea to do something stupid… but who also knew enough of the backstory on Melody Finch not to just dismiss him as crazy and past hope for having come this far.
He finished dressing and slipped out — unnoticed, it would appear — back into the party, where he made a line for the refreshment table. After he’d gotten a glass of wine, he started scoping out the men at the party for anyone who might have a cigarette — or, hell, maybe something stronger, if that was an option. Anything to put off having to deal with this kind of decision right away.
He was talking to a group of men from Excalibur and working up to the request (because one did not, no matter their emotional state, just start out by asking for drugs) when he was approached by… Miss Melody Finch. Again. For a moment he could only stare at her while he tried to parse together that ridiculous thing she’d said about firewhisky and her fiance. She just wanted to get him away from the rest of the group, that much was clear. But why? She couldn’t possibly want a repeat performance?! It had been all of twenty minutes, maybe less, since they’d finished. But it wasn’t as though they had anything urgent to talk about. If she had something on her mind, there would have been plenty of time to bring it up before, during, or after they’d done the deed.
Unless someone had seen the two of them talking earlier and questioned her about it, and this was some sort of cover story. Oh, Merlin. Was she actually going to force him to go talk to her fiance? About firewhiskey? The only thing Ben wanted to do less at that moment involved physical torture.
He drained his wine glass and set it on a nearby table. If he was going to go have to pretend to be interested in making a business deal with Mr. Whoever-He-Was, future husband of Melody Finch, he was certainly going to need the extra kick. “Alright, let’s see about it.”
MJ made this <3
Fuck. He needed a drink. Maybe a drink and a cigarette. He’d picked up the habit in Canada and had since kicked it — it was too hard to come by cigarettes in the quantity he wanted, over here — but there was something about this moment, and this feeling in his chest, that felt more appropriate to the thin, tinny taste of cigarette smoke than a cigar. Cigars were for celebration, or relaxing at leisure in a club somewhere. Cigarettes were for people who just needed to make it through the next five minutes — and right now, Ben felt like he belonged to the latter group.
Was Art at this party? Because he could use someone to talk to, too. Someone who could maybe kick some sense into him before he ended up deciding it was a good idea to do something stupid… but who also knew enough of the backstory on Melody Finch not to just dismiss him as crazy and past hope for having come this far.
He finished dressing and slipped out — unnoticed, it would appear — back into the party, where he made a line for the refreshment table. After he’d gotten a glass of wine, he started scoping out the men at the party for anyone who might have a cigarette — or, hell, maybe something stronger, if that was an option. Anything to put off having to deal with this kind of decision right away.
He was talking to a group of men from Excalibur and working up to the request (because one did not, no matter their emotional state, just start out by asking for drugs) when he was approached by… Miss Melody Finch. Again. For a moment he could only stare at her while he tried to parse together that ridiculous thing she’d said about firewhisky and her fiance. She just wanted to get him away from the rest of the group, that much was clear. But why? She couldn’t possibly want a repeat performance?! It had been all of twenty minutes, maybe less, since they’d finished. But it wasn’t as though they had anything urgent to talk about. If she had something on her mind, there would have been plenty of time to bring it up before, during, or after they’d done the deed.
Unless someone had seen the two of them talking earlier and questioned her about it, and this was some sort of cover story. Oh, Merlin. Was she actually going to force him to go talk to her fiance? About firewhiskey? The only thing Ben wanted to do less at that moment involved physical torture.
He drained his wine glass and set it on a nearby table. If he was going to go have to pretend to be interested in making a business deal with Mr. Whoever-He-Was, future husband of Melody Finch, he was certainly going to need the extra kick. “Alright, let’s see about it.”
MJ made this <3