P: Quick, hey? Well, I thought I would work on this before my vacation was over. I go back to work tomorrow, so expect some lateness.
depositink: Thank you so much for your review! Mumford & Sons are pretty much one of my favorite bands. Some angry man angst always does a writer good, I think, no matter what gender. Here's your next chapter. Hope you enjoy :DD
Oh, and thank you for the people who are following. My inbox is full of you guys now. Feel free to review too, though. Your thoughts are always appreciated.
I do have some sort of wibbly-wobbly plan but would love someone to help me work it out! Email or message if your interested in being my beta.
Enjoy!
/
It was not raining when Ben awoke. It was sunny and bright and it was hard to see much of anything other than a bright yellow that over took the room around him. It hurts his head. It hurts his chest. It hurts his toes. In fact, it occurs to him, everything attached to him hurt. He could almost feel his finger nails aching as they slowly grew against his skin, his entire being was so sensitive.
He smelt incense and water damage and realized that he had not fallen asleep in his bed, nor had he even fallen asleep in his own home. It hurt to open his eyes more, to scan the room. It was small, with cabinets of old books tipping from age, a sink somewhere far off in the corner and elderly stairs snaking upwards into another floor. Ben immediately regretted awaking. He also regretted even being born, knowing that he would have opted for the womb if he had any knowledge that this was where he would have ended after a drinking binge.
Ah, yes, he had been drinking. It had taken a moment for the memories to rush back into his rather foggy skull. After leaving the castle, he had wandered in the rain until reaching a less than savory pub in Industrial District. He had no idea how long he had stayed or how much he had to drink but doubted he really wanted to conjure up the memory. He was well known among his comrades in the army for spilling his secrets when under the influence.
He allowed his head hit the couch cushion behind him in exasperation. Avo must have hated him to allow him to drunkenly crawl up her steps. He must have hated himself to allow himself to get so royally pissed to mistakenly believe that she would offer anything other than disdain.
"You're awake, then."
And there she was, in all her frightening glory. Page had appeared about half-way up the stairs, arms crossed. She looked even more fierce than she ever had, the shadows causing her features to grow even more noticeable.
"Unfortunately." Ben replied, his voice heavy with sleep.
It also hurt to speak, apparently.
"It's not my fault that you insist on drinking you're problems away," She had begun to step down the stairs. They squealed with protest. "Or that you showed up at my doorstep at three this morning."
"Was it really that late?" He asked, quietly.
She had made to the bottom of the steps then, her body seemingly large above him. She always seemed larger than him. Better in morals, better in being clever, she always knew exactly how to intimidate people. Perhaps that was why Ben was so fond of her. Her weakness was never shown to anyone, not even to him. Even on the two occasion when he had a lot of her.
"You should know better than to get into a tiff your girlfriend." Page said. "It only makes you mope."
Ben blinked. "What?"
Page sighed, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward in the room, past the couch and toward the large bay window that faced the street. Her shadow grew long, bending up the wall behind her. Ben watched her move, noticing the attractive bend in her waist as she walked. Her words sunk in, seeping through the ale haze that still over took his mind.
"Oh," Ben mumbled. "You mean Esther."
Her only response was a humorless chuckle. The action caused Ben to think of his long dead mother, buried in some rotting hole outside of Gunk. The thought made his stomach more upset. He arose from his lying position, much to horror of his limps. A long groan escaped his lips. He should have known better than to have drank. He always knew better than to drink, but when the want was strong enough he could hardly stop himself.
His body tingled uncomfortably as his stomach shifted inside him. Page remained still, her eyes watching the traffic outside her home; the people milling to and fro. Factory workers, most of them. Page had chosen to settle closest to the worst factories after the revolution. Not to mention keep a close eye on Reaver's activities. The scumbag had changed alligances so easily, it was enough to peak anyone's suspicions. Ben knew she wanted to feel the worst of Albion, to see what needed to be fixed first.
"That girl is going to run Bowerstone into the ground." Page mumbled, gazing out the window.
Feeling an electric current run through his spine, Ben shot his head up. He watched the woman before him. She remained very still, which was rare. Usually she was a fully of action, planning, fighting. Her body was a silhouette from the sunlight. He could barely tell the blob that was her head from the blob that was the rest of her body. He clenched his jaw and watched his tongue, daring not begin one of their verbal battles.
Page turned, her face covered by sunlight. She appeared nearly angelic.
"What, Ben?" She asked as he stared harshly at her. "She doesn't know what she's doing... You know I'm right."
His jaw was sore from the strain. Page was right, of course, Esther hardly knew her left hand from her right when it came to running a country. She was much more adapt at running down enemies with her sword than conquering her dissenters with words and bureaucracy. Ben had seen her struggle endlessly with her temper in the throne room and more than a few times, she had indeed lost it, storming from the throne room in a rage.
Ben knew that Page was thinking of one such time, not that long ago. Page wanted to rebuild the Old quarter, which had fallen into ruin when they rushed that castle. The regent had opted for the more cost effective choice of leaving it as it was, wrecked and broken, in order to allocate some of the funds to the coming war effort. Page scoffed, anger rising.
"I wonder if I was right in supporting you," She hissed. "If this is any indication of your reign as queen."
The queen rose, red faced. Walter, stumbled toward her, to calm her, but it was too late. She had made up her mind.
"Out!" Esther proclaimed, a solitary, ruling finger pointed toward the door.
The relations between the two women had not been the same since.
"What is she?" Page was continuing. "Eighteen?"
"Twenty." Ben corrected quietly.
"Too young to rule a country in any case." Page mused.
Ben looked away, struggling to keep quiet. His gut cried to correct her, but his mind agreed solemnly with what she was saying.
Instead, he mumbled:
"Page, please, I just woke up."
She had moved from her place at the window to over sized arm chair that sat across the room from Ben. They sat in silence for a few, long, minutes, Ben leaning forward, hoping not spill his last meal onto the old hardwood.
"What happened yesterday?" Page attempted.
"Nothing really." Ben said. "Me and the queen had a wicked fist fight is all. She whopped my ass." He grinned sheepishly.
Page sighed. "No, really. What happened?"
"Walter gave me a wedgie?" Ben tried.
"Ben."
"She called me several mean and, I would say, politically incorrect things?"
Page leaned back, waving her hand to silence him. "Never mind."
The silence return in a giant wave, covering the room. Outside the clouds loomed over the golden sun, threatening to steal it away.
Clearly, Ben's attempt at lightening the mood had failed for both parties as Page's face had returned to the stiff, worried, look it had been just moments before. Ben could hear her coming words before she said them and could not steal himself against them, instead feeling his irritation rising with each passing second.
"How hard is it for her-" Page began and Ben broke.
The good humour he attempted to foster slipped from his mind just as easily as it arrived. All the resentment he had been suppressing for the last minute or two suddenly boiled to the surface.
"What do you want Page?" He asked quickly and lowly. "Would you rather having a strong hand like Logan?"
Page physically felt the statement. She sat up straight, her chest coming forward as though she were to march into battle. Ben felt a part of him begin to cower in fear but he held himself steadfast. He was tired, hung-over and wanted to be left alone. If that meant that he had to fight to get it, then so be it.
"You know that's not what I want." She said. "You know I want what's best for Bowerstone – for Albion."
"Then have some faith in your ruler." Ben mumbled, running a hand through his mop of blonde. "Your queen."
Page raised her hands in annoyance, standing as she did so.
"I am supposed to have faith in a naive little rich girl who knows nothing about real struggle?" Page asked. "She clearly can't even handle you and you're fucking in love with her!"
Ben felt if the wind had been kicked out of him. He glared at Page, his face growing red with fury and shame.
"Shut up." He growled. "Just shut it."
"What!" Page was riled up. "Can't handle the truth? Well, Ben, that's the truth. She's a shit ruler and you're in love with a child."
Ben stood suddenly, feeling his body scream in protest. His headache had worsened. He really did want to sleep but knew that his sudden rise of emotion would not allow for him to be in the same room as Page for any moment longer. He made for the door.
Page saw this and said, "Good, get the hell out of my house."
They shared one last, burning, look before Ben had swung open the door and made for the street. The door made a harsh slam behind him. Once again, it was just him and the streets of Bowerstone.
"How can you say that your truth is better than our's?
Shoulder to shoulder,
Now brother,
We carry no arms."
I Gave You All (Mumford & Sons)
