This has gone wretchedly, Benedict already knows he's far overplayed his hand and made a fool of himself like he always does, and he shoves another bite in his deeply frowning mouth to stop it from either talking or quivering. Abby thus gets a word in edgewise, and although he bristles in response, he doesn't argue-- say what you will about Benedict Artemaeus, but he'll never talk with his mouth full. By the time he's finished chewing again, Abby has said her piece, and the wind has left his sails.
"Well," he says in an attempt at his usual primness, "I don't. Want anything bad to happen to you. ...guys." He's thrown off momentarily by the colloquialism, squinting as if he isn't sure he's saying it right, or that he should be saying it at all.
Abby doesn't really notice him tripping up over the expression. She's eating the shredded bits of her roll to remove the evidence of it, brow furrowed. Mouth curling down at the corners, jaw set and back teeth touching each other painfully when she chews, sensitive from being ground in her sleep.
"I know." And there's no talking the other out of it, is there.
A pause. She nibbles bread. She adds, less angry and worried, more sulky, "I didn't do anything to that fucking sign-up sheet, you know."
Despite her grouchiness, seeing Benedict start to smile makes Abby slowly grin too, ruefully. She's shaking her head.
"She's so dramatic. She messaged me about a week ago telling me that somebody had filed a suit against me and she needed to know where I was for the whole day."
"No. I really only just met him." So maybe she fell for it, a little bit. It was quickly rectified anyway. "He told me that somebody else fucked with the sign-up sheet, but he didn't tell me who. Or how he knows."
Though, now that she's sitting here considering it, the argument did drum up some sympathy for her. And people promptly crawled out of the woodwork to defend her precious study too, including the idiot sitting opposite her at the table, she has not forgotten about that. "... Would she?"
"That would be awfully vindictive, if she had," Bene points out, playing his own devil's advocate, "does she have any reason to want to make you look bad? Apart from her disagreeing with you."
But she could have been rude without realising it. Or fully realising it. She's good at doing both of those things. "It's not like we cross paths often."
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Abby thus gets a word in edgewise, and although he bristles in response, he doesn't argue-- say what you will about Benedict Artemaeus, but he'll never talk with his mouth full. By the time he's finished chewing again, Abby has said her piece, and the wind has left his sails.
"Well," he says in an attempt at his usual primness, "I don't. Want anything bad to happen to you. ...guys." He's thrown off momentarily by the colloquialism, squinting as if he isn't sure he's saying it right, or that he should be saying it at all.
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"I know." And there's no talking the other out of it, is there.
A pause. She nibbles bread. She adds, less angry and worried, more sulky, "I didn't do anything to that fucking sign-up sheet, you know."
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He looks up, taken entirely out of his head by the remark.
"...the one for the study?"
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"Yeah. I didn't do that."
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Did something happen to the signup sheet? After he put his name down he just went on living his life.
"...wait, is that what Wysteria was going on about?"
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A snicker spills out of him before he can stop it.
"She made it sound like someone tampered with the lyrium."
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"She's so dramatic. She messaged me about a week ago telling me that somebody had filed a suit against me and she needed to know where I was for the whole day."
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Maybe it was him.
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"Maybe Wysteria did it."
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Though, now that she's sitting here considering it, the argument did drum up some sympathy for her. And people promptly crawled out of the woodwork to defend her precious study too, including the idiot sitting opposite her at the table, she has not forgotten about that. "... Would she?"
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“Maybe a little of both,” he admits, “but—- either way, blaming you for it wasn’t right.”
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She said, caringly.
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But she could have been rude without realising it. Or fully realising it. She's good at doing both of those things. "It's not like we cross paths often."
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