#ben s.

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked asked: are you a genius? did you ever take one of those tests?

CULLEN IS TIRED. However, with the air of humoring an inquisitive small child:

"One of what tests, Ben?"

He's a psych student. An academic. There are several tests, dozens of assessments, that come to mind.

[hanzobow]

ben solo organa   //    the child of the stars     -----     forged from supernovas     &     northern lights  .

                            HE CARRIES THE STARS IN HIS POCKETS.

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked said: "what was done to you wasn't normal."

CULLEN STAYS VERY STILL.

You see, Cullen Glass is not a violent man. He will not attack Ben Solo for this wildly inappropriate assessment of his childhood, his livelihood, his very fucking coming-to-be.

"This," he says, and he sounds incredibly cold, incredibly decided, "Is exactly what I was afraid of with this fucking rag."

He jams a finger onto his standard issue desk—the one they give all the adjuncts in all their sad little temporary offices at this place—and looks up at Ben, big and bold.

"You don't know anything about how I grew up. Nothing."

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked said: “we're supposed to examine what's wrong, or it festers.” Ben leans forward, knuckling his desk; a friendly lean in the scantest of manners. “that’s why you’re here, right? to set 'the record' straight?”

BEN MAKES CULLEN FEEL SMALL. It is not a thing he feels often; his ego is subtly, passively, comfortably large. However, Ben has something that Cullen needs; in addition, he's bulky and broad and, behind his standard corporate desk, makes the furniture appear dollhouse teeny-tiny.

Ben has access. Information. Influence. Cullen has a dirty last name and daddy issues.

"It's not like that," he half-heartedly insists, already frayed and fried. "It's not like I—my research is all about figuring out how groups like my father's come to thrive. I'm not trying to hide anything. Your assumptions about me—let me unpack them."

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked asked:

"[ TXT ] :  are you asking me to sneak out?"

CULLEN SCOFFS. He does text back almost immediately, though, which speaks for itself.

[ sms: Ben S ] Would you have to sneak?

As in: would they notice you were gone? He's the senator's son, you know, not the senator himself, and not, like, the Prince of Egypt.

[ sms: Ben S ] You seem scandalized [ sms: Ben S ] I'm not asking you to commit a crime [ sms: Ben S ] I wouldnt [ sms: Ben S ] I'm a good person

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked asked for: [ possessive ]  BEN resting their hand on CULLEN'S leg or the small of their back for two seconds while they’re sitting beside each other oh no. 

CULLEN HAS TO WONDER:

Is this the sort of bargain he was obligated to enter into? When Ben said what he would do for Cullen and Cullen's family—when Ben revealed, whether he meant to or not, how far he would go for, ultimately, this guy, was he not only exposing himself but also implicating Cullen in a contract riddled with unfair, perverse expectations?

Not even really the women. Including Cullen's family, which is really only his mother.

Not Fernanda. Not Professor Cain Rosales Villafuerte. None of them.

Ben's hand is of the size that its presence is unmistakable. Two seconds or half a second—either would feel just as profound.

Cullen's knee spasms so violently that he smashes it against the underside of the bartop.

He turns away from the bartender, attention focused with a violent, singular intensity on Ben Solo.

"Can I help you with something?"

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked said: "being a professional yourself, you should know, it wasn't personal.”

DAVY, INCENSED, CONVEYS HIS VEHEMENT DISAGREEMENT WITH A SHARP GLANCE. Too sharp, he realizes; he softens immediately. It's not in his nature to treat someone with disdain, even if vitriolic disdain is exactly what he feels.

"Even when I am working, I treat people like people."

Has Ben ever considered this?

[vitalphenomena]

@kylo-wrecked said all kinds of crazy stuff, such as: “some things are so horrible that the only sane response is a bit of madness.” Ben tosses the horrible thing in question onto the boardroom table. His aim is good. He likes how the jacket designer jolts; it’s the best part of his day. Sales nods. “find an audience for this. i don’t care if you have to peddle it to Columbiners, make it shoot off the shelves.”

THAT WAS REALLY RUDE. This is, he'd admit, the worst part of Davy's day. And the best part of Ben's! It's funny, how those things work—how two people can be so fundamentally incompatible in any context, particularly professionally. And Davy truly believes it can be attributed almost entirely to Ben's pathological crankiness and hostility.

"I am not going to make an appeal, subtle or overt, to that particular sub-culture." Maybe Ben isn't meant to be taken at face value. Davy struggles with that on a good day, of course, but his reckless reference deserved a direct address. Davy is acutely aware of how many people are in the room.

"Have you ever reckoned with your pessimism?"