Benedict Smeethington considered himself a connoisseur when it came to a select number of things in this world - beautiful women, the stars, and... mood-altering drugs.
Which was why the previous night had been so upsetting. Ben thought he knew a thing or two about certain substances, but one taste of the delicacy that Silverbell had gestured towards and he’d very quickly realized that he knew nothing. Everyone else seemed lighter, more free, and the male had been so certain that he would follow suit. But Ben had never felt more weighed down, trapped in a perpetual mist and seeing horrors that he had worked so hard to block out. Water filling his lungs, no one there to help, escaping just to be trapped in a confined space. Distant memories, or perhaps even nightmares, that were never meant to see the light of day were playing out before his eyes, and he was the sole beneficiary.
Yo ho, etc.
Squinting into the harsh morning light, Ben had barely allowed himself to get up and crack open his door before he was reclining back onto his bed - a pitiful sight for the girl who had just called upon him. Were it any other day Benedict may have attempted to offer some false cheer and charm, a suggestive comment falling from his lips playing off of the fact that he was being sought out in his chambers. However, Ben was too tired, too full of thoughts and feelings to put up the façade. Did Cosette even really need to be presented with one at that point?
“I do not think that I will be able to offer much company today,” he murmured as he let his eyes fall closed. “I do hope your bacchanal was superior to mine.”
@cosette-gothel
