P: IF YOU DON'T LIKE UGLY WORDS, DON'T READ.

This chapter was incredibly hard to write because when I first began it I told myself, "It's a bridging chapter, it won't take much." then it grew into this ugly monster that I couldn't contain.

Thanks so much for your patience! I hope I don't destroy it by this...

/

Ben walked. He walked for a long time, until he forgot where he was in the city or why he was still walking.

He wondered what he looked like, dressed as he was. His red army vest, when cleaned very proper, was busted open, revealing his undershirt in a very messy manner. Much of his hair was still in what place it had been when he awoken on Page's couch. As well, he hadn't realized it earlier, but the night before when he had been drinking, he had vomited on his left boot (also very proper looking when cleaned), leaving a ugly whiteish mark where it had landed.

Bowerstone was as busy as it ever was. People were everywhere, scattered about in their business. There was a bard playing down the street from where Ben was walking. He could hear the gossip about Aurora, how it's people were strange and couldn't be understood. He heard about Brighthall, how it's people were all hicks who had farm dirt where their brains should be. He even heard even a mention of Gunk as he walked, a distant echoing voice saying the word, but when he looked in the direction people only stared, startled, in return.

His eyes moved over the people surrounding him. They were returning the suspicious looks ten fold, pulling their children close and whispering to their company. He looked like scum. Like a criminal. Something ugly that he had fought his entire life not to be. He felt ashamed and proud all the same.

His brothers. He looked like his brothers.

He looked like his brothers all rolled up into one, messy, hung-over package. He was a gambler, a pick-pocket and a scoundrel. He scowled at himself, hating the thought.

At the bridge over the river, just outside of the market, he stopped. He stood with the beggars and watched the clouds move over the sun. It was going to rain again.

How much rain they had received, Ben didn't know, but it had been a significant amount. It rained often in Albion every year before hand, say two to three times a week, but from what Ben had seen, the rain was almost a constant throughout the days that Esther had been in rule. Even Logan's rule was filled with sunny days, perfect for children to play. That was if they weren't in a factory working their fingers to nothing.

There was one last shine from the sun before it hid itself away behind the clouds that gathered. Ben looked around.

People were beginning to recognize him, their eyes lingering on his uniform for more than what was deemed comfortable. Ben frowned. He picked up his boots and kept walking.

It had probably been hours since he had left Page. How many, Ben didn't know, but lunch had come and passed, followed by tea. The more he walked, the fewer people he saw. From the market district onward, the numbers were slowly decreasing. The buildings around him seemed to mirror this, their frames growing old and tired, lurching forward toward the cobblestone streets.

Rain had begun to hit the streets, slowly and calmly, from the sky above. The grey had turned to black, from the weather or the puffing smoke from the factories. Ben could tell that he was well within the depths of the Old quarter, falling apart as it was. People with money often avoided the area but since the revolution, more and more the squatters had moved in, taking over the abandoned homes as their own. It was dangerous to be there past dark. Or any time of day, really. It was outrageously unsafe, even for a well versed army general as Ben was.

Realizing this, he eyed the streets around him, looking for an exit. Much was unrecognizable from what it had been. He went left for the sake of going left, he really had no idea where he had ended up. From the far distance, he could see the castle. It was lighting up, the city growing dark around it. From the top, one by one, a light was put on. He could see Esther's study go alight and he looked away, frowning. He thought it best not to think about it, lest he be overwhelmed by angst once again.

His eyes went over a shadowed alley and caught a quick movement. Too sharp to be anything natural. His hand instantly went to his rifle at his side. Except it wasn't there. It was at home, in a chest, locked and safe. Of course, a trip to the castle for a routine wouldn't require a rifle. Idiot, Ben cursed himself.

Curiosity, however, got the best of him and he was pulled over to the alley. Slowly, he approached, his breathing quieting. There was a voice, hushed and rough. From this distance, he couldn't make it out. He came closer, pressing his back against the crumbling brick standing in for a building. He held his breath.

"You're prett' ain't ya?" The voice said. "Just like 'a flower."

A muffled scream.

Ben was out from behind the wall before he had realized it. He was full of rage, his body screaming to ring a neck. Preferably a would-be rapist's.

They were there, the two of them, hidden in the shadows. In coming closer, he could see the details. The white's of her eye's, the knife he held to her throat, the ugly yellow of his teeth. He was fuck ugly, which was no surprise. He felt disgust ripple through him.

Her eyes found him first and his followed quickly.

"Oi!" He cried. "This ain't no show, move along."

When Ben didn't respond, attempting to contain his rage from boiling over, the man grinned. He was missing a tooth. Or five.

He chuckled. "Ah, you're looking to double team, eh?" His face grew closer to the woman's. She attempted to flinch away. "Might not be such a bad idea, she looks feisty."

Ben was on him within a second, pushing him off the woman and onto the ground. He slammed his fist into the other man's face, breaking something with the blow. The fiend was stunned for a moment and Ben took the chance to slam his fist down again. And again. And again. He kept punching until his hand grew raw.

"Kill 'im!"

Ben stopped, startled. The woman had remained. He eyed her, suddenly aware of what was around him. He suddenly felt very cold.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" The woman cried. "Kill 'im!"

Everything was rushed, too quick. His breathing felt uneven and he blinked a little, confused at his own actions. He looked toward the man but couldn't catch a good before the rapist was on him, his own fist pummeling into Ben's features. Each hit was increasingly sharp pain, echoing throughout his body. He thought of getting shot, he thought of what it would feel like to die, his face beaten beyond recognition. He thought of Esther, in a vague sort of way, distant like the day they met.

He struggled against the beating, trying to grab at the other man's arms, fists or whatever his raw fingers could grab a hold of. But he was too quick, too full of manic rage. Ben was a solider no – Captain, like Swift – and he was about to die in an alley, vomit on his boot and at odds with the queen.

The world grew fuzzy and bloody. In the back of his throat he felt the blood drip his soon to be broken nose. His hands still wildly grabbed at the ragged cloth of other man's sleeves, begging for a reprieve.

And then suddenly there was. There was no pressure of fists, no pain of broken bones. He croaked out a breath, aware that he hadn't breathed in what seemed like hours. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Avo had struck down his attacker.

He blinked a little but couldn't because his eyes hurt too much to open them. He got up, very slowly, his body aching from every possible joint. Every breath felt like paradise in Hell, it hurt so much to do so. His lids veiled his vision, surrounding everything a greyish sort of fog. His ears rang like nothing he had heard before but in the distance, he could hear a woman, screaming in terror. The whore. He glanced about, looking for any person. His eyes were too swollen to see anything

Then there he was again, pounding his knee into Ben's stomach, gushing the air from his system. Blood spewed from his mouth onto the moist pavement. He fell to his side.

"You're goin' to get me fuckin' caught!" The man exclaimed. "I'm goin' to get hanged for this!"

Ben looked up toward the sky, seeing the man's panicked face as he did so.

"She buggered right, didn' she?" He cried. "Right off to th' guard."

Ben sucked in a painful breath and said, "Serves you right."

When the man's eyes, yellowed and blood-shot, met his own, Ben spat and finished his sentiment.

"You fucking ugly cunt."

The man's boot heel came fast and furious toward Ben, but it seemed slow for a brief period of time. He thought of nothing except silence and perhaps a peace, but it was short. The heel slammed his harshly against forehead.

Then,

there was

nothing

but

black.

"You know what hope is,

Hope is a bastard,

Hope is a liar,

A cheat and a tease."

-Picture Window (Ben Fold & Nick Hornby)