He picked a good time to visit, or possibly the worst time, depending. The setting is Benedict's childhood bedroom, with a gentle storm rolling outside and a very un-childlike scene transpiring on the bed: Benedict's hands are tied together and to the bedpost with colorful ribbons while someone lies between his legs, administering cheerfully to his nether region with their mouth. Their face changes intermittently, sometimes an elf, sometimes not, but always a man, and Benedict moans softly and writhes with all the unabashed enjoyment of someone who is likely feeling the results on more than just the imaginary plane.
The carnal tableau is as uninteresting to Atticus here as it would have been in the physical world, save to inspire the same, dull sort of distaste in him that he has always felt when confronted with any overt display of sexuality. Like blood magic, it is self-indulgent to the point of mindless excess--though, unlike blood magic, it at least provides the ancillary benefit of balancing the humors.
He doesn't interrupt Benedict--not directly. Instead, he crosses the room absently towards one of the shuttered windows and yanks back the curtains. In dreams, the act amplifies the sudden flash of lightning and ensuing clap of thunder that follows; the rain picks up in earnest, lashing itself against the glass with fury enough to leave suspicious, claw-like scratches rather than rivulets of water.
The lightning startles him as intended, and everything changes very quickly, but not dramatically. Looking around, Benedict gasps deeply when his gaze lands on Atticus-- it's a face he hasn't seen in some time, and which has never been welcome. Abruptly he becomes aware that the person below his waist is Octavius, whose attentions he now desperately wishes would cease. Tugging at the ribbons, he finds that they've become rusty chains, which pinch his wrists familiarly, calling to mind what he was forced to wear in Kirkwall's dungeon.
"Oh no," he whimpers, glancing frantically from Octavius to Atticus, "no no no--"
Octavius' face is--unexpected. Atticus stares back at his son, whose startled expression must be a mirror of Benedict's own; it's intolerable, watching him debase himself like this, even knowing that his presence at all is the work of Benedict's imagining.
It is undoubtedly a projection of his own will that has Octavius remove himself from the bed with more dignity and composure than the boy likely possesses in life. Atticus wills him to dress himself with his back turned, then turns an incising stare on Benedict where he remains pathetically chained. He raises his eyebrows, unsympathetic. "No?" he repeats, slowly approaching the bedside, and if behind him the rain hurls itself with even more terrifying intensity against the glass, Atticus doesn't bother to temper it. The howl of the wind sounds more like a pained moan.
He leans in and seizes hold of the chain still attached to the bed frame. "This is a cage of your own making. Why protest against it now?"
(He's speaking to himself more than he realizes--Benedict is just an effective lightning rod.)
In theory, Benedict could will all of this back to how it was; but one of them is a somniari, and the other is not. He's at the mercy of the stronger influence, and thus he remains naked and chained, now without Octavius or anything distracting him from the monster in the room. Needless to say, any enjoyment he was feeling-- or showing-- has effectively vanished.
"I did what I had to," he frantically insists, giving a fruitless tug at his bonds, "I couldn't spend my life in a cell!"
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timeasmymeasure
Santa??
Date: 2019-02-12 07:53 pm (UTC)Their face changes intermittently, sometimes an elf, sometimes not, but always a man, and Benedict moans softly and writhes with all the unabashed enjoyment of someone who is likely feeling the results on more than just the imaginary plane.
you're fired
Date: 2019-02-12 08:11 pm (UTC)He doesn't interrupt Benedict--not directly. Instead, he crosses the room absently towards one of the shuttered windows and yanks back the curtains. In dreams, the act amplifies the sudden flash of lightning and ensuing clap of thunder that follows; the rain picks up in earnest, lashing itself against the glass with fury enough to leave suspicious, claw-like scratches rather than rivulets of water.
"You always were a tedious disappointment."
no subject
Date: 2019-02-12 08:17 pm (UTC)"Oh no," he whimpers, glancing frantically from Octavius to Atticus, "no no no--"
no subject
Date: 2019-02-12 09:37 pm (UTC)It is undoubtedly a projection of his own will that has Octavius remove himself from the bed with more dignity and composure than the boy likely possesses in life. Atticus wills him to dress himself with his back turned, then turns an incising stare on Benedict where he remains pathetically chained. He raises his eyebrows, unsympathetic. "No?" he repeats, slowly approaching the bedside, and if behind him the rain hurls itself with even more terrifying intensity against the glass, Atticus doesn't bother to temper it. The howl of the wind sounds more like a pained moan.
He leans in and seizes hold of the chain still attached to the bed frame. "This is a cage of your own making. Why protest against it now?"
(He's speaking to himself more than he realizes--Benedict is just an effective lightning rod.)
no subject
Date: 2019-02-12 10:05 pm (UTC)Needless to say, any enjoyment he was feeling-- or showing-- has effectively vanished.
"I did what I had to," he frantically insists, giving a fruitless tug at his bonds, "I couldn't spend my life in a cell!"