So continuing onwards from the log posted in "Upon a downward spiral," Bene is sat drowning his continuing sorrow in an Enorian tavern this time. However, he gets an unwelcome visitor...
Rashar comes to a halt in the doorway, his hands coming up to rest on the top of the darkwood frame. His expression is curious, gray eyes unreadable, and he sways slightly as his grip takes up some of his weight. "How much whiskey does it take to get a feller of your size drunk?" The rumble is both teasing and light but somehow tinged with insinuation.
You have emoted: Benedicto glares drunkenly at Rashar, his jaw chewing through any number of replies before he finally admits, "A bit."
Rashar grins at Darxa and separates from the door, moving into the large room on light footsteps. His bare feet carry him in a lazy circuit of curiosity before he comes to settle to the front and slight aside from you. "I know," he rumbles, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I'm not quite as large as you, and it takes a bit. There's a reason I carried three kegs around with me."
You have emoted: His pearl-white gaze following Rashar's circuit of the room, Benedicto straightens somewhat in his chair. "Well, bravo." His response is laden with sarcasm. "Would you like me to get my manhood out and lay it on the table? You could get yours out and we can measure them to see who has the bigger <male chicken>!"
Rashar barks a laugh, and his bottomless eyes actually seem to lighten by a shade or two at the comment. His hands come out, lift with his shoulders in a bemused shrug. "If you'd like," he rumbles matter-of-factly. "Is that what you're sitting around here for? Just looking for an excuse to see some feller's <clock minus the "L">?" His finger waves, pointing at you and bouncing slightly in the air. "I could have arranged for that with much less dramatics, you know."
You have emoted: Benedicto snorts in amusement despite himself. "No. I have no doubt that should I want to, I could see as many <a doodle doo> as I desire." His grin widens somewhat and his posture relaxes as he continues, "All I would need to do is position myself outside the entrance to Bloodloch and watch them as they come and go."
Rashar reaches out without looking and slides a nearby chair over. He settles into it, rocking back almost immediately in some habitual lounge to settle on the back two legs. "If you're going to stand outside of Bloodloch, do take me with you." His lips twitch, and he winks before adding, "I do like a bit of mischief."
You have emoted: Benedicto's grin fades and his scaled brow creases as he watches Rashar take a seat. "Mmm. I recall." He replies with heavy meaning. "What do you want Rashar?" He states bluntly.
Rashar tilts his head, and that expression of curiosity once again replaces the near-perpetual crooked smile on the Yeleni's face. "Maybe I just wanted to say hello," he says mildly. "Or maybe I'm curious as to why every time I've seen you in the last month you've been sitting at one bar or another." His hand reaches out, tapping fingers on the table next to him as he considers.
You have emoted: Benedicto lowers his eyes to the table where his large, webbed hands fidget with the drink in front of him. "I don't see why it's any concern of yours. You don't know me Rashar. Perhaps establishments of this nature are where I prefer to spend my time." He finally grips his drink and brings it unsteadily to his lips. He manages to successfully get the majority of the fluid into his mouth, though unfortunately, a small trickle of alcohol escapes.
Rashar snorts once again, though the response is quieter this time. His rocking continues, swaying slowly back and forth on the chair legs in time with some rhythm only he can hear. After perhaps a half a dozen heartbeats he replies, "I can count the number of times I have seen you visible to my searching on two fingers," he rumbles softly. "Last month, and this. And both times, you were sitting at a bar." His shoulder rises and falls, and his free hand comes up to pull a few errant locks of hair from his eyes before he continues, "Enough of a change to make a feller wonder, anyway. Don't call me the judge, here. I'm the one with three kegs in his pack, though I haven't had a drink in nearly two years."
You have emoted: Benedicto wipes his mouth and cheek with the gathered sleeve of his robe. He lowers his drink back to the table and stares at Rashar. "Why? Have you been keeping tabs on me?"
Rashar raises his eyebrows. "I keep tabs on all of His, Benedicto. As well as anyone else that ignites my curiosity."
You have emoted: Benedicto grunts and looks about the bar, his pearl-white gaze flitting from Darxa, the Orc bartender to the troll refugees. "Have you spoken to our Lord?" He asks suddenly, though apparently without care, as he continues to watch the taverns assembled patronage.
Rashar's lips twist again, his smile somewhat wry. "I have," he says. A pause, and he shrugs. "Several times, actually."
You have emoted: Turning his attention suddenly back to Rashar, Benedicto's lips twist and his scaled brow furrows in sudden anger. His open hands curl into fists that tremble with the force of his emotion. "I see." He grates out from between clenched teeth. "He sees fit to speak to you and not to me."
Silence draws heavily about the room, and even the sounds of the other patrons seems to dim. Rashar watches you impassively for a time, content to let the anger seep out of the larger Yeleni. Slowly, very slowly he rocks forward. *Click* go the legs of his chair as he sets them to the floor, and the wood beneath him creaks a slight protest as he leans forward. Chin resting on his laced fingers, he finally murmurs, "Ah. There we go, then." A slow blink, interrupts his penetrating stare for a second. In that second, his eyes darken slightly, acquiring a much more neutral hue.
You have emoted: "So He has completely disdained me. My service." Benedicto ignores Rashar completely as his voice becomes filled with bitterness and anger. He focuses on some unknowable spot on the table between the two, himself and Rashar. His anger seems to build as each moment passes until it's almost a palpable aura around him.
Rashar snorts derisively. "That's about enough of that," he rumbles. "You have no idea why He spoke to me, or whether it was I that approached Him. You have no idea what our conversation consisted of." His head tilts to the side again, and the smile grows wider. "For all you know, he could have had me in a shack, kicking the <pewp> out of me." The words come out light, almost teasing, but there is a glimmer in his eyes that indicates something behind them. "Is that what you've been doing, Benedicto? Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself?" He looks almost surprised, and he slouches to the left to rest his chin on one palm. The other hand taps against his thigh, seemingly incapable of ceasing movement.
You have emoted: "Do not make a mockery of me!" Benedicto hisses venomously, his pearl-white eyes blazing at Rashar. He leans suddenly across the table to slap Rashar's supporting arm from beneath his chin. He stands, towering over him, his chest rising and falling with the sudden swell of fury. "I have been Slyphe's right hand since before you were even a twinkle in your father's eye! I have given him nearly all of my life. I awaken to find that my service is discarded and I am shamed and punished without even an ACKNOWLEDGEMENT!" He cuts the air in front of Rashar with his hand, dashing his drink from the table. It sails through the air to ricochet off the head of a nearby troll.
Rashar's eyes flash, an instant of something fiery hot and savage, but he reins it in with effort. Slowly he rises, getting off his chair to stand, unflinching, before you. Though he is forced by necessity to look up at you, he seems in no way cowed or intimidated. "You are upset because you were demoted," he muses. "You will have to blame that one on me, I believe. I am the one who asked Him to remove my title, and reduce me to the lowest rank." His hands slide into his pockets, and though his jaw clenches between words he seems content to simply stand. "Perhaps I gave Him the idea, eh?" For a time he remains silent, studying the furious face glaring down at him. "Perhaps His attention has simply not been here during the few occasions you have been awake, Benedicto." He shrugs, the gesture seeming almost disdainful as he continues, "Or perhaps when He looked to you, all He saw was a feller real upset about not having a <chicken chicken> title anymore, and not really concerned with doing work beyond smoldering over the 'slight' he has received." His brows raise, and though it looks like he has more to say he pauses, awaiting your reaction.
You have emoted: "What did you say to me?" Benedicto whispers quietly, dangerously. An icy calm seems to settle over him as he places his fists upon the table between you two. He leans forward so that his face is mere inches from Rashar's. "You think that I'm bemoaning my -title-? My loss of -position-?" He turns his head slightly, though his eyes remain level with Rashar's as he spits on the floor beside him, the meaning clear. "My anger comes from the fact that He did not see fit to even talk to me. Not a message. Not a letter. Not even through my son." He stares into Rashar's eyes for a long, tense moment before he pushes himself back and away from him. "I don't expect you to understand." He states disdainfully. "After all. You are a fair weather follower. You have been allowed to get away with how you've behaved to the rest of the Order purely because you are His favorite. You would not understand the depth of how it feels to be betrayed when you've given everything in your service. Pure service. Service that has lasted more than one and a half centuries."
Rashar's eyes twitch at the corners, a subtle shift in the flesh there indicating some movement. A rolling, perhaps, of the featureless gray orbs. Is he rolling his eyes at you? "Say what you want about me, feller," he rumbles quietly. "Fair weather follower? Ignorant, and false." He rises onto his toes, something challenging in his gaze as he brings himself that much closer to you. "I have given my entire adult life to Him as well, Benedicto. Do not lessen that because I happen to have been born after you." A slight tremble ripples through him, as something within struggles to escape. "More of this favorite <bullpewp>? From you?" An abrupt wave, dismissive and scathing in nature. "What have I been given? What have I been -allowed-?" His lips twist into something very close to a sneer and he takes a half step forward. He looks very close to traveling down that path, continuing on that vein, but with visible effort he pauses and collects himself. A shift in topic as he continues, "He is a God, feller. Since when does He answer to us? As for me, I'd rather wait for Him to personally speak with me than receive a letter, but I suppose desires vary. Who are you, Benedicto?"
You have emoted: Benedicto snorts derisively at Rashar, turning so that he faces Rashar's advance. His stance almost suggests an eagerness, a desire to find a physical and violent release for his anger. "Given? ALLOWED?!" He returns incredulously, an expression of disbelief on his face. "Did you not quit the Order in a fit of pique after driving some of His longest serving members away? Where you not then inducted and re-promoted to be a Scion in the space of a month? There are other, far more deserving Order members than you." He sneers at Rashar. "How can you not call that favoritism?" He sniffs and dismisses Rashar from his attention as he looks away from him to walk towards the bar. "Yes. He is a God." He says finally over his shoulder as he raises his hand to signal Darxa, the Orc bartender, for another drink. "But any Lord has a duty to His followers. After what I've suffered for Him I -deserve- to be acknowledged by Him. Even if it is to shame and punish me. I would rather be shamed and punished than so....disdained."
"I removed Haven fully expecting Him to bring him back. And likely to punish me." Rashar shrugs. "Again, you make assumptions as to why I left. Likely listening to others rather than finding the source, I'd say." After a steady glare, he begins a slow pacing. "I served Him outside of the Order as well as I did within," explains, seeming frustrated at the necessity. "The Order is a collection of fellers. It isn't a requirement to be His. I recruited for a group I did not belong to. I preached His path, I did His work. When I came, I certainly didn't -ask- for a position back. Nor did I ask for any other I have held. Read over the duties of the Scion of Impetus, if your time away has made you forgetful, and tell me truly who deserves the position?" He snorts, one hand coming out of his pocket to take the hair from his eyes. "No matter, Benedicto. I gave up that position, or attempted to, to save Him the accusations. I will never again hold a title within His fold. And you know what? It doesn't change a <EARMUFFS> thing." Now his hand comes across his chest, hard enough to resound within the room. "My service comes from here, and is as steady as ever." He turns to you again, silent for a while. "Good job, though. Twisting this away from you, onto me. Who are -you-? Are you Benedicto, Avatar of the Maelstrom? Is that all you can be? How about Benedicto, the man who -became- the Avatar of the Maelstrom. Be that man, and you will find yourself at His right hand again, if that position is so important to you."
You have emoted: Benedicto grunts, ignoring Rashar completely as he's handed another beverage by Darxa, the Orc bartender. The bartender looks over at Rashar and says quietly, "I think that's your cue to leave lad. He can be pretty stubborn when he's in his cups."
Rashar laughs quietly. "Pretty stubborn when he's not as well, so I hear." A final glance at you, and a softly rumbled, "Order can't afford to have you moping, feller. Can't afford to have you being disdainful towards fellers who are just trying to get people involved, like you did last month with Mariena. Especially from someone they look to for leadership." With that he turns, stepping out the door.
You have emoted: Benedicto looks down into his drink, his anger seemingly evaporated. His expression is unreadable, though there almost seems to be a hint of regret on his features as he searches for some hidden meaning within the amber liquid.