wrong time wrong place | [rade]

[sbeeg]

Benedict Nolan

He'd been right on the money. All his savings were placed on that girl from four and she had pulled it off. Imagine the surprise when all of the tributes turned up alive. There was nearly a riot in the betting house, glasses were smashed and voices were raised. Eventually the poor kid behind the counter managed to let everyone know that money would only be paid out for Anatalia Morrisen and no once else.

Benedict had to admit, it was tons of fun walking in with a slick pair of shoes and a shiny new watch to show off. Nearly everyone had put their money on Bette Sublino, and he would have to, but his gut had pulled him in the opposite direction. Always trust your gut.

Despite there not being a Games in session, the building was still bustling. Drinks were poured generously and the nasty business of profiting off of death felt a bit lighter knowing all the tributes were on their way home.

Benedict wondered if he'd get the opportunity to tell Maxwell Temple that he'd lost him a hundred bucks by "dying" a slot too early. Probably not the best conversation to have.

He drank deep from his cup, letting the whiskey warm his stomach and flush his cheeks. While the party still drank hard, it ended sooner than a Games season one would. There was other work to do in the morning and money to be made elsewhere.

Benedict stepped out into the night air and immediately wished he hadn't. He popped up the collar of his coat, trying to protect himself from the stiff winds blowing through the streets. He pulled out a cigarette, his thumb fumbling with his lighter multiple times before finally lighting the damn thing.

He took a long pull, longing to feel the comforting warmth in his lungs. It wasn't enough to feel completely comfortable on his long walk home, but it was something to focus on. He turned down an alleyway, his usual shortcut through the factories to the more residential section. Alicia would be waiting for him and the thought sent a lightning bolt through his body down to his toes. Maybe it was the drinks, but he felt himself smiling just at the mere thought of her. He got to see her nearly everyday and yet the idea of feeling her in his arms was enough to make him quicken his steps.

I'm coming Alicia he thought to himself, I won't make you wait any longer.

[charade]

It hadn’t been the best day. Sebastian had only managed one meal and that had been hours ago. Rat meat wasn’t the most filling food and though it was better than nothing, he was still starving. Pretty soon he’d have to go to one of the canneries to see if any of the busted containers in the dumpsters out back had any food stuck to them. He crouched down in the alleyway and cracked his knuckles. Things had been so much easier when he had a gang. When they’d lived off the land and hopped the fence to hunt every now and then. But that was neither here nor there. He missed their hideout.

Most of all he missed her.

But Sebastian was nothing if not resilient. Like the phoenix of legend, he would rise from his own ashes and be born anew. He was the king of the streets. No one could take that from him. Of course, it’d be harder for them to do that if he had better weapons. He sighed, looking at his knife. It wasn’t a proper blade with a nice serrated edge or a real handle. It was a shard of glass with duct tape wrapped around one side so he wouldn’t cut himself.

At least he was covered in lean muscle. He spent every free moment he had on working out, whether it was push-ups and sit-ups by himself on the outskirts of the district, or lifting trashcans over his head. He’d learned long ago that the strongest leads.

At long last he heard footsteps. He’d been hoping someone would use this shortcut, and his mark looked like a real winner. Fancy pants, a shiny watch, even a real metal lighter. This would be good. Sebastian stepped out from the shadows, tapping his weapon to the long white scar that ran down his eye. He wasn’t wearing much. A pair of jeans with more holes in them than denim and a pair of ratty shoes. He’d decided a long time ago that he was allergic to shirts, and it wasn’t like any of the homeless girls he ran with now and then complained.

Though none of them were her.

Now  all he needed to do was threaten the guy. Stuffed shirt as he was, he’d probably piss himself. That was okay. It wasn’t like Sebastian was planning on taking his pants. But what to say?

You picked the wrong alleyway buddy. Meh, too nice.

Your money or your life? Nah, that sounded too fancy.

Here comes the pain train? No, too corny.

Then it dawned on him. The greatest combination of the English lexicon that was certain to work.

“Hey shitbird, give me your watch or I’ll stab you.”

The grin on his face stretched from ear to ear as he turned his homemade shank over in his hands.

[sbeeg]

Benedict Nolan

Benedict walked like a man very concentrated on walking normally. His spine was too straight, his strides just a bit to long as he made his way through his short cut. He blinked, trying to see through the dim moonlight. He blinked again and found the smudge on his vision not moving.

It wasn't a smudge at all, but a very large shirtless fellow. Benedict's mouth hung open for a second trying to think of something to say- anything- that might break the tension of standing in an alleyway like this.

“Hey shitbird, give me your watch or I’ll stab you.”

Well, at least he did it for him.

Benedict looked down at his wrist where his new watch, his new baby, ticked away the seconds. He only had a small amount of time to decide what to do. He didn't want to give up his watch but he didn't want to get stabbed either. His eyes flickered to the crude blade in the man's hand and decided he didn't want to catch whatever disease was festering on it.

"You look a reasonable guy," Benedict said, trying to appear casual, although in his inebriated state probably looked closer to absurd. "Wouldn't you rather have cash?"

Benedict smiled, his hands out as not to spook the guy. His right one went slowly to his pocket ready to reveal his wallet.

Which after a night in the betting house drinking, was very much empty.

[charade]

Now that he got a better look at his mark, Sebastian thought the guy looked a little drunk. Personally, he’d never seen the point in alcohol. If your senses were numbed, it just let made your reaction time slower. Made you susceptible to well, things like getting mugged. He chose to ignore the fact that he couldn’t afford a drink, even if he wanted one and focused on the watch. It would fetch a pretty price at the black market. Maybe enough to keep him fed for a couple days. Maybe he could even afford a new pair of jeans. Whoever this dude was, he was doing well for himself. Maybe he was a factory manager?

“You look like a reasonable guy,” the soon to be stabbed shitbird responded. “Wouldn’t you rather have cash?”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows in confusion. Am I being bamboozled?

On the one hand, he knew he was an intimidating specimen. On the other hand, people generally weren’t this lax when he held them up. Granted, he hadn’t held up a whole lot of people, but still. In any case, he knew he could take one inebriated beanpole with his hands tied behind his back if this was a trap of some kind. 

Sebastian lowered the knife and held out his other hand, motioning with his fingers for fancy pants to hand the wallet over. He snatched it and rifled through it, keeping one eye on the guy in case he tried to bolt. It didn’t take very long as it was empty. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Did this guy think he was a comedian? A wise guy? Sebastian bristled, tossing the wallet at the dude's chest and bringing the shank back up.

“You pull another fast one and we’re going to find out what the color of your insides are. Together. The watch. Now."

[sbeeg]

Benedict Nolan

The giant hulking mass of a man grabbed the wallet out of Benedict's hand as soon as it was out of his pocket. He opened it, searching the empty leather for what clearly wasn't there.

There is where you run, Benedict he told himself, watching the man steal his wallet with a small smile on his face. Yeah, I'm going to run so fast.

Only he didn't run. He simply watched, with a stupid grin on his face as the man found no money. Benedict nearly fell over when the wallet struck him in the chest. He juggled the item for a moment before finally catching it.

“You pull another fast one and we’re going to find out what the color of your insides are. Together. The watch. Now."

"Wait!" Benedict said, raising a palm to the man. His mind was a flurry of ideas, mostly all bad. He hugged his empty wallet to his chest and turned to spit in the snow. Drinking always made him need to spit so much. What was up with that?

He narrowed his eyes at the man, who was barely clothed at all much less in anything suitable for the weather.

"It was a metaphor," he said, his eyes hooking on the guy's face.

I'm so fucking smart. Alicia is so fucking lucky.

"You know, feed a man a fish you feed him for a day but teach a man to fish he lives forever," his fingers wiggled on the last word for emphasis. He stood for a moment and realized maybe he wasn't driving home his point.

"You want a job? Job has steady money for lots and lots of fish," he wiggled his finger again, sweat rolling down his forehead. God, this guy was big.

"Also my guts are red, so mystery solved."

[charade]

One summer, Sebastian had made the mistake of walking into a cloud of gnats. They’d buzzed around his head, crawled on his face, into his ears, and he’d swallowed one. It had been annoying as all hell. Kind of like this attempted mugging. Beanpole was the cloud of gnats, and God help him, Sebastian was about to swat him. He stared at the hand that the other guy held up and wondered how long it would take him to just cut the hand off and take the watch.

Then the dude threw up a little in the snow and Sebastian had to resist the urge to facepalm. This whole thing was a waste of time, and if he didn’t get back to the rundown warehouse he was sleeping in soon, he was going to catch a cold. It was a metaphor, the guy mumbled, locking eyes with him. Sebastian appreciated the attempt at smart-assery, as not a lot of people were smart enough to even know what a metaphor was in his experience. But then the drunk offered him another metaphor and a job. A job, of all things.  

Consider his interest piqued.

"You look like a smart guy. Sebastian replied.He flipped the knife down, facing it away from the man. He tended to take what he wanted. But the night was dark and full of terrors and pretty fuckin cold to boot. Not to mention steady food sounded good. His body betrayed him as his stomach growled. More money? Steady money? If this guy was legit, then with steady money and food, Sebastian could claw his way to the top, maybe even start messing with the black market. “If you’re trying to proposition me, this ain’t the red light district and I ain’t no whore.” He raised an eyebrow in false anger before smiling widely.

“Very funny. Red. Not a mystery. Ha!” Sebastian laughed, loud and deep, clapping beanpole on his shoulder hard and leaning in conspiratorially, ignoring the guy’s breath. “Okay, let’s say I’m interested in what you have to say. So what, you need someone stabbed? Name the target. Guy? Girl?” Sebastian paused.  “I don’t stab kids though. Man’s gotta have some rules right?" There was a beat of silence as he turned his sales pitch over in his head.  “Although, those rules are negotiable if the kids a dick.”

Sebastian glanced at the small puddle of vomit in dismay.

“Then again, you seem more like the kind of person that gets stabbed.” Yeah, gang boss material this guy was not. But to offer him a job, well the average citizen wasn’t in the habit of doing that, which meant this guy had to be something else. There was always the chance that he was just in a panic and didn't really have a job for him, but if that was the case, it would be simple enough to re-introduce him to the murder-knife.  “You need someone to walk you home? In the market for a bodyguard?” Sebastian grinned, clapping the guy on the back.


“I’m Sebastian.” He said bluntly.  “You got a name? Speak up, I don’t have all night."

[sbeeg]

Benedict Nolan

Benedict nearly fell over when the man slapped a hand to his shoulder. He stumble,d his dress shoes slipping on the icy alleyway. He quickly gained his balance, lips pulled into a nervous smile trying to laugh along with the hilarious joke about being disemboweled.

He watched in amazement as his bait was taken. He guy leaned in, offering to stab people of all things. Benedict gave the man another look over. He certainly looked like he needed the money and he also looked like he was pretty good at stabbing people.

Benedict didn't even have to sell it to him, the other man did all the talking until finally the word bodyguard was settled on. Another slap to his back and Benedict fell to one knee, his black dress pants soaked in the slush.

"I’m Sebastian. You got a name? Speak up, I don’t have all night."

He rose to his feet, wiping his hands on his jacket before offering one.

"Benedict," he said, cutting of his last name in case this went south and his new friend tried to hunt him down for an overdue stabbing session. "I've been on the lookout for a bodyguard for some time now."

He had not.

"You certainly look the part, and I bet you'll look even better wearing actual clothes," he smiled, praying he hadn't crossed a line of some sort. "So let's say to meet here, uhh, noon tomorrow and we can hammer out all the details."

Benedict wasn't entirely sure if was going to return, but he did know that he had the perfect out at the moment and he'd be an idiot not to use it.

He slapped his hand on the guy's bare shoulder and slowly began to back out of the alleyway.

[charade]

Benedict. Like the fancy eggs? Sebastian thought he remembered seeing that name in an old tattered cookbook in the group home when he was a kid. Good name for breakfast. Terrible name for a guy. Sebastian’s stomach growled again, but he ignored it. He gripped his hand hard as they shook. Bodyguard.

Yeah, Sebastian could see the appeal. Beanpole like benedict was sure to have enemies. Seemed like the kind of guy that mouthed off to the wrong people, maybe borrowed money from loan sharks. It was just a guess, but Sebastian thought he was usually pretty good at reading people.

He could see it now, Benedict eating at one of the few higher end restaurants in the district, a girl on each arm, and Sebastian standing behind them, glaring balefully at anyone who so much as breathed in their direction while gnawing on a turkey leg. The good life. He’d always dreamed of that. Made plans for it with…with…

Sebastian banished those thoughts as Benny boy made a crack about his clothes. Or rather, the lack thereof. Saying that they could meet up at noon the following day and figure out exactly what he’d be paying for. Sebastian nodded, made sense. Let eggman sleep off his hangover. The other guys started to leave and Sebastian moved to block him with another smile.

“Sounds like a plan, but Benny my boy, “I’m gonna need, whatchacallit. Collateral.” A down payment. Just a little insurance. “A guarantee that you come back tomorrow. Like say, the watch? Or hey, I’d  even take the jacket.” Granted, it probably wouldn’t fit him, but if Benedict had a pole up his ass about the watch, he wasn’t going to push the issue, not yet anyway.

“Whaddya say boss man?”

[sbeeg]

Benedict Nolan

His smooth get away hit a hitch, and by hitch it was a giant beefy man. Benedict exhaled through his nose, teeth clicking together more from his nerves than the cold. Collateral. The man wanted collateral.

Benedict's mouth twisted to the side as he considered the proposition. Now that he thought about it a bodyguard would be a pretty sweet thing to have on hand. He'd gotten into enough fight on his own to know he wasn't exactly great at it. Maybe he could even send him off to keep an eye on Alicia while she went undercover. Or was that creepy? That might be creepy.

Mental note: Ask Alicia is having her followed by a stranger with a knife is creepy.

He pulled his jacket tighter around his arms- it was too cold outside for him to give it up. Some of the people in the district weren't made of pure muscle. His watch, well, the guy could just take his watch and never turn back.

Maybe it was the booze, or the idea that he might actual finally help his fellow man instead of being an asshole, but Benedict open his very light wallet and plucked out a photo.

"All that stuff, it doesn't matter," he said, sounding a lot more sober than he was. His fingers held out a small picture of a red haired girl smiling at the camera. The flash made her look paler than she was, and cast the bar behind her in dim light. "No matter what I'll come back for this."

He ran his nose, now red from the cold, over his sleeve.

"That's a guarantee."

[charade]

Sadly, Benedict didn’t seem inclined to give up the jacket either, which was a real pity because it would have made a halfway decent blanket. For his legs at least. Then he opened his wallet and magically pulled out a photo, and it had to be, because Sebastian sure as shit hadn’t seen that when he rifled through it. It was a picture of a ginger in bar, smiling at the camera.

A redhead had broken his nose once; he was pretty sure. Hard to keep track of all the people he had gotten into fights with over the years. Benedict said no matter what he’d come back for it. Sebastian was inclined to believe him.

Sentimentality.

Sebastian grimaced. It was a weakness. But he believed him. Perhaps they were more alike than he initially thought. After all, everyone’s insides were red. He’d learned that the hard way, watching the big screen in the town square. What was a king without a queen anyway?

He closed his eyes for a moment, willing those images out of his mind. It was long past time that he got a new crew back together. He’d been in mourning for too long. He’d need to check in on Kovu too, though hell if he could remember how old the shrimp was.

Time had a funny way of passing when you didn’t own clocks or know when your birthday was. “I believe you,” he said quietly, carefully tucking the picture into what was left of his belt before stepping out of the way.

He didn’t like the feelings that were being dredged up. Before the night was over, he’d have to punch someone. “Go on then. I’m sure you’ve got someone waiting for you.”He clapped Benedict on the back a little softer this time, then did his best to look disinterested as he waited for the guy to leave.