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May. 20th, 2021 04:08 pmWhen they tell him they've got the prince of Gilboa, Sunny doesn't believe it. But then the picture shows up on his screen-- a man with a cut forehead, blood dripping down his face, eye shut against the ooze-- and with the features of the Benjamin family as clear in his mind as the sun, Sunny feels ten times more exhausted realising it's the truth.
We didn't mean to, some say when he arrives at camp.
The little bastard fucking deserves it, comes from others. A prince playing at hero? Who does he think he is?
Sunny, on his part, tells the men in the tent watching Jack Benjamin (with a sack on his head, for God's sake) to file out and leave them be.
He's not sure why he's here, really. Besides duty and following the orders he was given to assess the situation, he's not sure what there is for him to do as he looks at the man lying bound and blinded on the ground. Dealing with princes is far above Sunny's pay grade; he's meant to be out there fighting and not taking care of this.
Still, he walks with deliberate steps until he's standing by Benjamin's head. He crouches, grasps the end of the sack, and pulls it free from him.
The "shit" he wants to let out when the tales are confirmed once and for all is stopped by the firm press of both his lips together.
He should be concerned about Gilboa's precious prince truly being held captive. He should be hard and strong, like oak. Instead, Sunny feels a very distinct tug in his gut, and a heat prickling beneath his jaw, and a thrill down his spine that he knows isn't supposed to be there.
He grits his teeth, getting to his feet and stepping away with the sack crumpled in both his hands. All the times he's seen Jack Benjamin before, and he's never felt this-- the jump in his leg, the thump of his heart, the stupid, almost juvenile discomfort in his trousers...
"Your eye," Sunny says, walking with his back to Benjamin's gaze until he's stood far enough to throw the sack to the side. "Can you still see out of it?"
We didn't mean to, some say when he arrives at camp.
The little bastard fucking deserves it, comes from others. A prince playing at hero? Who does he think he is?
Sunny, on his part, tells the men in the tent watching Jack Benjamin (with a sack on his head, for God's sake) to file out and leave them be.
He's not sure why he's here, really. Besides duty and following the orders he was given to assess the situation, he's not sure what there is for him to do as he looks at the man lying bound and blinded on the ground. Dealing with princes is far above Sunny's pay grade; he's meant to be out there fighting and not taking care of this.
Still, he walks with deliberate steps until he's standing by Benjamin's head. He crouches, grasps the end of the sack, and pulls it free from him.
The "shit" he wants to let out when the tales are confirmed once and for all is stopped by the firm press of both his lips together.
He should be concerned about Gilboa's precious prince truly being held captive. He should be hard and strong, like oak. Instead, Sunny feels a very distinct tug in his gut, and a heat prickling beneath his jaw, and a thrill down his spine that he knows isn't supposed to be there.
He grits his teeth, getting to his feet and stepping away with the sack crumpled in both his hands. All the times he's seen Jack Benjamin before, and he's never felt this-- the jump in his leg, the thump of his heart, the stupid, almost juvenile discomfort in his trousers...
"Your eye," Sunny says, walking with his back to Benjamin's gaze until he's stood far enough to throw the sack to the side. "Can you still see out of it?"