[M] Give and Take [Benton, please]

There might be waffles.

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
Topics: 14
Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Tue Oct 16, 2018 2:00 pm

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47th of Yaris, 2718
​​SHERRY'S PENINSULA | MORNING-ISH
​​
​​Sunlight filtered without shame through the open windows as the sea breeze tickled faded curtains, the sounds of seagulls drifting from over the bay that was just a few minutes' walk from the salt-worn old house that Corinth Wynngate the Third had claimed as his own upon moving to Old Rose Harbor and settling himself as Silas Hawke's left-hand man. The room was otherwise quiet save for the steady rhythm of breathing. The heat of Yaris hardly reached into the nearly empty bedroom, the entire over-sized house barely furnished save for a few necessary things. In this room, there was a bed and an armiore, a desk and a dresser. Elsewhere there were entire rooms devoid of anything but open windows. The dining room and kitchen were only slightly better kitted out than a ship's galley. The rest? The blond galdor was hardly home anyway and hardly cared for material things, unlike most of his kind.

Last night had been a blur, and he realized with groggy chagrin there was little clarity in the light of day.

The card game at the Black Dove had gotten particularly exciting, rowdy, and out of hand. Corwynn had been there for other reasons, but drawn in by the moment, he'd definitely allowed the evening to escape him all the way to the bottom of far too many glasses of Hoxian plum wine and far from unusual company.

Not the young man he'd once been, the galdor could only groan as he stirred lazily, the sharp pain of an angry hangover crawling through his temples like someone had simply put a bullet there instead. His tolerance for liquor was enviable, and yet he came to the quick conclusion that he'd definitely sailed right past the buoy and then some the night before. Stirring, he opened one eye only to regret it with a hiss, shutting it immediately and attempting to raise a hand to his face, only to realize in the shifting of his body that he was not alone.

Vaguely, he recalled who he'd needed to meet with. Vaguely, he recalled a roguish grin. Vaguely, he recalled a few other things from the night before, but most of those were a blur of flesh and a rumble of pleasured voices. Corwynn hummed, curling in the direction of the other warm body in his expensive, comfortable bed and tangling his limbs with the stranger he found within reach. Immediately aware that the man he moved to hold had no field, he didn't bother opening his eyes. Nor did he bother speaking right away lest he wake a creature just as horribly, irritably hungover as himself.

From somewhere within the depths of his house, Wavorly would be waking soon and the kitchen would be put to use. Breakfast and coffee were glorious thoughts, but until then, the blond gunman was far too simple a magical beast to do anything but savor the faint memories of that which he couldn't entirely recall from the night before.

After a few extra, delicious moments of quiet, lips against warm, tanned skin and senses full of the scents of a stranger, the Bad Brother mumbled groggily, testing the waters of potential response without a care at all toward caution, "Good morning."
Last edited by Corwynn on Tue Nov 13, 2018 10:52 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Benton Borteillo
Posts: 99
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 11:15 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Human
Occupation: Mr. Drug Dealer Drug Man- retiring.
: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Wed Oct 17, 2018 3:21 pm

47th of Yaris
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There were many details of the morning that struck Benton as odd. Here he lay with eyes closed, afraid to greet the percussive sunlight of morning with open eyes and arms as a pulsing in his temples warned him to stay in the darkness of sleep like an alarm. Still, the morning felt strange. The plush bed and blankets that embraced him gently in the shy warmth of morning were too pleasant to be his own thin mattress and worn blankets. The air was lacking the dampness that hung off the walls of the house like family portraits, lacked what he knew would be the stuffy warmth that was lifted from the floorboards by the rising sun. Too, the sounds of this morning were alien in his ear. Though the laughing of the seagull could be heard faintly from his own home, here it was as loud and robust as if he would open his eyes and find himself on the deck of The Papillon, the ship that had brought him to Anaxas, staring up at the swaying crow’s nest as the seagulls danced dizzily around it, guffawing at every turn. The sounds of wooden wheels tripping over loose cobbles, of men pushing past each other on their busy paths through Old Rose were missing. The smell of adventure and salt was far too potent, potent enough to be tasted in the air, tasted on his own lips as he reversed the dryness of sleep. If these details had not struck his sleep-slowed mind as odd, however, there was one final sensation that would not be overlooked. Warm arms wrapped around his body, embracing him gently as if scared to wake him. His nerves shivered away from the soft, warm comfort of skin-on-skin contact with pure curious excitement.

So he had gone home with someone. It was nothing out of character for him, though he truly had not woken up in a stranger’s bed in, well, longer than his age-denying self would like to admit. Now, of course, as he thought back to the night before, he knew that he wouldn’t recognize her in a crowd. He could remember the bar, the crowd, the lights, and, oh, of course, the gallons of alcohol he would consume, but as he tried to pick out the faces in his memory, his head pulsed annoyingly. The faces were muddled as if they were watery reflections disrupted by a stone and its ripples tossed into the pool. He instead melted back into the stranger that held him, partly to take inventory of her-

No, not her. His. The muscle and hair of the exposed chest of his body. Benton nearly laughed at the surprise of it all, but still, he relaxed into the man at his back, the warmth of the man’s chest comforting and safe against his back. He leaned more towards his heterosexuality, of course, but, to Benton, this only meant that the man had needed a bit more seduction- or alcohol. The mingling of body heat between them was every pleasant feeling Benton had felt, like the shift of a body in bed to find a warm spot untouched by the cold, the drifting of a cloud away from the sun to allow light and warmth to drip onto a body.

“Good morning,” the man rumbled in a voice lowered by fatigue and the quiet of morning. Benton smiled his lopsided grin as the man’s breath brush his neck with tentative fingers. He half-opened an eye to look down at the arms tangled with his own. The man was strong, thick, tanned arms wreathed with the thin ink of subtle waves. Benton closed his eyes again, extending his legs in a stretch.

“Morning,” Benton replied through a breathy sigh. He extracted his limbs from his companion just enough to allow him some room to move, rolling over to face the other man with crinkles smiling at the edges of his grey eyes.

He was a galdor by shape but not by colour as if someone had sculpted the galdor from a mould then painted him wrong. Wrong paint or not, the man was plenty attractive. Older, perhaps- certainly older than Benton, as lines traced there way through his face, but he really did not mind. His body was still well-kept in hygiene, well-kept in fitness, so age really did not make a difference to Benton. The man before him had blonde hair made wild by the bed and perhaps their interactions, and the hair crawled onto his face in stubble both light in density and colour. And he was tan, too tan for a galdor, but plenty tan for the liking of Benton’s eye.

“Nice to finally see you in sunlight,” Benton laughed, his smile deepening the lonely dimple on the left side of his face. “I can’t say I remember much of anything from last night.” He gazed upon his nameless companion for the first time in sober eyes. His memory began to fill in some of the blanks of the night with this man’s sea-salted lips crashing into his, this man’s commanding hands on his body, this man’s rugged scent enveloping him, this man’s rhythmic body rocking against his. The smile remained.
★☽★
Last edited by Benton Borteillo on Wed Nov 28, 2018 9:58 am, edited 2 times in total.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
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Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Thu Nov 08, 2018 3:28 pm

​​
47th of Yaris, 2718
​​SHERRY'S PENINSULA | MORNING-ISH
​​
The body he embraced shifted and moved, rolling like the waves just below the cliff his barely put together home sat above like a stalwart sentinel. Corwynn sighed, willing limbs to adjust to the other man's resettling of his larger, most likely human self as he turned to face the blond galdor. Eyelids fluttered heavily, still arguing for more sleep, but his crystalline gaze took in the smiling face so close to his when he laughed and he attempted to sort through the bits and pieces of the evening before like sifting over flotsam left strewn across the beach after a shipwreck.

Gods, he just wasn't a young thing anymore and that had been entirely too much alcohol, apparently. The card game had been a rowdy one, full of way too many of the Harbor's high rollers, most of them faces Corwynn knew personally and only two of them Bad Brothers, excluding himself. The Black Dove was self-professed neutral ground, and games of rooks were often the battle ground chosen by other rival gangs to air their grievances and vie for power over too much to drink and far too many hands of cards. He'd agreed to last night's game because he was after a name, because he'd grown tired of chasing rabbit trails—

"Benton." The gunman smiled, rolling the man's name off of his tongue with sobriety after he was quite sure he'd used the two syllables in much more devious tones just hours prior, "I tend not to forget a face, especially not one as pleasing as yours, though everything else is indeed improperly foggy. A few hands of rooks and a few drinks too many, it seems, but that's not a complaint."

Corwynn had not at all meant to bed this man: that clear afterthought filtered through his aching, groggy mind as he exhaled a sigh through his nose and arched a slim, blond eyebrow. Benton. The man whose name he'd wanted to learn, yes, but now he knew a bit more than he probably should have. Not that it mattered, the galdor all but basking in the other man's body heat as sunlight filtered through his windows and the sea breeze tickled their skin, tangled limbs and sheets,

"Did one of us bet more than we could pay? Perhaps it was you." Rough hands wandered, hands worn by decades of a criminal's life instead of anything proper or expected of his kind. He bit his bottom lip coyly in thought, sharp blue gaze not missing Benton's handsome dimple. With a sigh, the Bad Brother stretched in languid, animalistic slow motion, not straying far from his current companion's warmth, reluctantly trailing his less whole hand from a stranger's skin to rub a palm over his own well-aged face, the puckered scar where his right index finger used to be impossible to hide,

"I'd venture neither of us lost much, considering." His grin was devious and inviting all at once, implying their winnings had obviously occurred in the bedroom and he was very okay with that.
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Benton Borteillo
Posts: 99
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 11:15 pm
Topics: 8
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Occupation: Mr. Drug Dealer Drug Man- retiring.
: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Thu Dec 20, 2018 8:09 am

47th of Yaris
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Rooks.

So that’s what had happened. His memory began to fill itself in as if someone had spilled the water used to clean water-colour brushes onto the canvas, disguising the deliberate lines with a deluge of colour. He was not a regular at bars, preferring the drink he could pour himself in his own home much more, but Mordecai was so recklessly young. Mordecai was like a son to Benton without the moral responsibility for Benton to be a good influence. Mordecai had convinced him to go out for a drink, to hit the town just one night with him, perhaps moreso in an attempt to keep his youthful self out of trouble with a guardian, so-to-speak. Benton, however, had seemingly gotten himself into some trouble. He was, however, not worried about Mordecai; the man hit the bar nearly every night and still managed to survive, some nights better than others. He probably hadn’t even awakened to wonder where Benton had gone, if he even remembered Benton being there at all.

Benton.” He was almost surprised to hear his own name in the sea-salted voice of his partner. This face- he could remember the face from the bar, the bed, but, gods, what was the name?

So you know me, it seems,” he said, tilting his head against the bed in effort to stall for a moment, to give his thoughts that swam in the remnants of alcohol time to come back to shore.

Cor…” he said slowly, testing the sound of all three graphemes against the man’s face to test their correctness. He couldn’t quite remember what the three letters were short for. From Cormack to Corinth to Corrado, he decided it was best not to try his luck on whatever other syllables identified this man.

Benton shook his head against the pillow with a grin, tongue trapped between his teeth. He had, before, been known to get himself into some trouble in gambling due to his unending competitiveness. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hardheadedness, fueled by alcohol, had put his gamble too high, leaving his fate to the mercy of whoever won. He ran his hands over the smaller man’s shoulders, tracing his fingers down his arms, feeling the warmth of flesh and softness of skin beneath his fingers, outlining the thin lines of tattoos on skin kissed and warmed by the sunshine tiptoeing through the window and into the sleepy room.

May’ve been alcohol, may’ve been the gamble, but if we had another night, I don’t reckon I’d need much of any convincing,” he laughed.

I must say, I’m usually gone before my partner awakes. This is all a little out of character for me,” he laughed at himself, then pulled away from his companion to sit up. His feet soaked in the warmth of the floor, but his body still relished in the warmth of the blankets. He pulled his arms over his head to loosen the tense strain in his old shoulders, then ran a hand through his hair to survey the damage. He was, even without a mirror, undeniably a mess.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
Topics: 14
Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Mon Jan 07, 2019 8:39 pm

​​
47th of Yaris, 2718
​​Home on SHERRY'S PENINSULA | MORNINGISH
​​
​​"Corwynn." The older galdor hummed his name while the other man's hands wandered over sea-weathered skin that was freckled and tanned and a very different landscape from the soft, delicate expectations of his people. A stranger's fingertips traced the faded ink that had become the permanent souvenirs of his decade spent establishing the Vein between Mugroba and Anaxas and wherever else for the Bad Brothers, a decade of penance that he'd grown to not at all be entirely sorry for.

He stretched like some languid, content animal, chuckling almost coyly at Benton's comments, watching the human with his crystalline blue gaze as his handsome but accidental company from the evening before slid away from the comforts of his bed,

"Oh, you're one of those, are you?" The blond galdor teased, quite aware that he was but a rusty old pot calling the shiny kettle black with those words. His expression was pure mischief and he chose to curl up where the other man had been, reaching with his less whole hand to trail two fingers lightly downward over the hints of vertebra he was presented with a view of while Benton stretched, purring his continued retort with his cheek against a pillow as if it could hide the grin that disguised the distinct discomfort of a hangover, "Well, it appears you're just all out of sorts, then. And now I also have you to myself for whatever is clocking left of the morning. Too bad, eh? Had you crawled away hours before, you'd miss breakfast."

Corwynn considered the human carefully, his name familiar but his purpose foggy in his mind. Had he intended to sleep with him all along? Or was he important for reasons he'd just gone and complicated for his entertainment. Coffee would have to clear that stubborn bit of fuzz from his grey matter, for, clock the Circle, the older galdor couldn't at all remember in this moment the entirety of their evening, but as his bright blue eyes wandered so much skin and tousled hair, made more attractive by the knowledge he'd helped make all the mess, lingering deviously over all the scenic places, there were some delightful highlights of last night that filtered back through the thick fog of intoxication,

"I'm sure you're hungry. It's quite a walk from the Black Dove to Sherry's Point, and, well, I don't think we were at all tired when we got here. The question is—who was the better Rooks player? You? Or me?" The Bad Brother murmured before reaching up to run a calloused hand over his face and rub the palm across his stubbled chin,

"Your name is familiar, and I don't think that's my hangover talking—"

Somewhere beyond the sparsely furnished and yet strangely extravagant bedroom, beyond the very nearby wash of the harbor onto shore, someone else was awake in the house. Awake and in the kitchen, considering the sound of things,

"—Not that anyone is really much of a stranger to me in the Harbor anymore, but still."
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Benton Borteillo
Posts: 99
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 11:15 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Human
Occupation: Mr. Drug Dealer Drug Man- retiring.
: aka EON, Roswell Godfrey
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Fri Apr 19, 2019 2:46 pm

47th of Yaris
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Benton sent a side-eyed glance back to his companion, Corwynn, as the man spoke in a winding trail of vagueness. Corwynn was a name he was so absolutely convinced that he knew, one he couldn’t quite put together in the swimming soup of faces, names, and motives that he knew of Old Rose. It was a name, too, that he was sure he had only heard, not met before this night, but he couldn’t remember in the seasickness of the turbulent mind of a morning after. Yet, Benton knew many a person. This could be anyone, and, for the sake of the morning, Benton would let him remain as just an anyone until an identity- or clarity of mind- presented itself. Instead, Benton listened to Corwynn as he spoke in a tired, flowing way.

"Sherry's Point," Benton exhaled through his teeth in a surprised amusement at his own distance travelled in the night. He turned from where he sat with both feet on the floor to bring one leg back onto the bed so as to comfortably look back at Corwynn. He shook his head in amusement at himself. "I made it all the way from east edge of Castle Hill to Sherry's Point on drunken feet in one night for you. You must be good." He laughed again. "Gods," he chuckled under his breath. The sensory information of location made sense, now- he was at the Harbor's farthest and most ocean-bound point, completely opposite his home. A hell of a walk back he was going to have- an extended time of trying to recognize the backends of buildings he'd never seen in the sunlight and ruckus of the day.

"Good thing I stayed, then. I haven't been up in Sherry's Point in an age and a half. I don't know that'd I'd find my way back. Especially not on an empty stomach." He pulled the blanket away from himself and surveyed the floor where a discarded pile of clothes he recognized as his own mingled with what he assumed to be Cor's on the floor- and he was intrigued.

"I have to say I'm impressed," he said, rising from the bed to pick Cor's dress jacket away from the floor. He felt little shame in his naked body in the sunlight- Cor had seen him all night, after all. He held the coat away from him to examine it. "You've got taste. Not common for a man in the Harbor, I'm afraid. We may not be as odd a partnership as most one-nighters."

He laid Corwynn's jacket across the bed where he had risen from, now pick up his own clothing, an ensemble simpler and certainly cheaper than Cor's, but nonetheless tasteful and taken care of. Benton began to dress, the emptiness of his stomach ready to descend the stairs and the curiousness of his mind jumping to see the rest of the lavish house, a sight unfamiliar to Benton's poor eye.
In hell I'll be in good company.
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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
Topics: 14
Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Fri Nov 08, 2019 11:15 am

​​
47th of Yaris, 2718
​​Home on SHERRY'S PENINSULA | MORNINGISH
​​
​​The blond galdor indeed knew the name, and as Benton slipped away to shuffle about the spacious room with sunlight dancing off so much skin, Corwynn wasn't in much of a hurry to move. He watched the other man bend and stretch, bleary crystalline gaze taking in the way muscle and bone moved in familiar, comfortable ways in a body, studying a landscape of flesh that had seen the wear of time in a similar fashion to his own. It wasn't until the other man had sorted various articles of clothing, having taken his time to actually figure out whose was whose, that he sat up and slid his way from the fine sheets with only a hint of reluctance.

Scars traced a history over the freckled blond's body, most of which the galdor had purposefully chosen not to simply magic away. They told a story just like the faded blue ink of tattoos on his wrists and spread across his back and he wasn't about to change the tales carved into his existence, one fight at a time.

"Taste? Of course I do. Someone has to bring culture to this godsforsaken place, right? Though it depends on what circles you sail in—not everyone wants my kind of culture and that's clocking fine by me. I don't want it either half the time." Grinned the Taxman coyly, finding it personally unnecessary to be blatant about his King or his employment in Hawke's service. Surely even Benton knew him by name in the Rose, but even if he didn't, the gunman found himself unwilling to steer the conversation in such a glaringly obvious direction, "From the looks of things, you might enjoy a bit of the finer things yourself."

Perhaps he was implying himself. Perhaps he was commenting on the other man's clothes as they both dressed. Either seemed to apply. He didn't bother with his coat at this hour with the Yaris heat already radiating through open windows, sea breeze tickling curtains and caressing hints of still-exposed skin. He didn't bother with a vest or a cravat, either, and only half his buttons, yawning again while he studied Benton a little longer, slowly remembering things through the thick layer of what was obviously a hangover once he'd stood.

Wincing, he chuckled at the odd partnership comment, choosing not to comment just yet. Waving a hand toward the door, he led the way out of the bedroom into an upstairs hall that probably would have been lavish had it been furnished or kept well. It was kept, of course, but, that was about all that could be said of the place, Corwynn meandering toward the grand staircase that led downstairs into a chandelier'd foyer so he could lead them through the spacious, skeletal emptiness of his tumbledown mansion as far from the Harbor as he could stand to be.

He'd told himself the evening before he wouldn't bring this human home with him. He'd told himself the evening before that playing cards with a potential rival was just to gather a bit of intel and possibly make himself known. But, apparently, the drinks had been too many and his resolve in the company of attractive strangers too weak.

Sleeping with one's enemy wasn't a new experience to the Taxman. Not at all.

The question was how much the handsome other thing suspected or remembered or premeditated on his own. It was too much of a question in this moment, Cor admittedly too hungry and too wrung out to clocking care.

"Wavorly should be up by now, putting something together since I have a guest." He purred, winking as he led them through another lavishly furnished sitting room and then another barren hall to a large dining room.

The table was already set for two, and while there was a small bowl of fresh Dry Season fruits from the markets, even the blond galdor was disappointed to see there was not yet a steaming kettle waiting for them.

"Make yourself comfortable." He murmured, pouring himself into a seat and craning to glance toward the kitchens in hopes of catching sight of the wiry old wick he called his friend.
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