escordvi | open 🪶 the world owes me a debt, and i've come to collect.

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open 🪶 the world owes me a debt, and i've come to collect.

Who: Benedikta Harman & you.
Status: Open.
Where: All around.
What: Oops, all MANTA stuff. And a not-date with Cid.
Warnings: FFXVI spoilers, foul language, suggestive content. The usual.

🗡️ i. bite-sized blessings

[Apparently, Benedikta's ears are looking quite delectable to one small, pink dragon today. This is why she hates Eltrut—half the time she comes here, no, a majority of the times she comes here, there is always something. A goose, a conning healer who sends her out to do his grocery shopping... Today, it is a small pink dragon that has bitten her ear and tries to do it again. She's attempted to swat it away, walk it off, but no matter how fast she moves, it follows her and nips at her, or finds joy in playing with her hair.

Fool her once, shame on her. Fool her twice—]

You little brat!

[—it's managed to grab at her hair, and it pulls, before swooping away from her grappling hands with a chirp, as if it thinks this is some sort of game!?

Someone please help this woman. Or this dragon. She has yet to hear all about how this thing is meant to be returned to Elah, so if you are looking for said pink dragon, here it is.]

🗡️ ii. a steamy winter heist

[It was the exorbitant prices that drew Benedikta to the job first. The black market was always open, and she was always willing. Call it doing someone else's dirty work, if it put a good sack of coin into her pocket, then who is she to complain? Besides, it's not as if stealing something off a ship in the dead of night was difficult—she's done it dozens of times before.

The fact that it was a special sort of tea was only a bonus, so of course she would pocket some for herself... Maybe a handful. Or maybe a whole crate if she could get away with it.

Now, that is the question, isn't it?]

༄ a. getting to the ship. [Perhaps it is your lucky night and Benedikta is feeling somewhat charitable. Charitable enough that she is willing to use anyone she finds as a decoy while she sneaks in to steal the goods. Of course, she isn't about to say as much, as she stands on the docks and stares out to the merchant ship coming into the shore, its lights blinking against the darkening sky.

She has her pipe between her teeth as she almost always does before a job like this, letting the smoke swirl on her tongue before letting it billow outward.]

So, that there is the ship? [She scoffs.] She is certainly impressive.

[As large as a rich, black-market-selling merchant's ship should be. Which is why she's agreed to a "two-person" job.]

༄ b. caught red-handed. [Or, maybe she wasn't feeling so charitable.

As if being caught matters all that much to her. She's in the middle of making off with a whole crate—and the last one, too; people have been busy—of these tea bags (there must be hundreds of them in here) when she hears footsteps coming. She hardly flinches, if at all, and stands there with it tucked haphazardly under her arm while she stares the other person down with a smile before she tosses her head back.

Yep. You saw right. A whole box.]

Sorry. As they say, the early bird and all. A shame you came all this way only to come out empty-handed, but try again another night.

[There may have been a threat underlining her voice somewhere.]

🗡️ iii. poke 'n prance

[Well, at the very least, being paired up with Benedikta for a challenge like this cannot get any better... or worse than this, depending on who you ask. Having a history of torturing others means that she knows exactly where to put the sword and how much pain it will inflict. After all, when fishing for information, it is best to poke and prod it out of someone, and you can't very well gain much from a dead person, now can you?

Which is why she walks up with her own sword in her hand with all the confidence and arrogance of a pretty peacock, her fingers caressing the sharp edge of her blade, from hilt all the way to its jagged tip.]

Now, pay close attention to where I stick you because we can only do this once. Perhaps twice, if you can withstand it.

[She smiles, so sweet and saccharine and sarcastic.]

So, consider this a valuable lesson.

🗡️ iv. coins of the crescent

[Well. What she thought would be a nice, peaceful ride out to this island to fetch some coins turned out to be... well, everything but. It had been fine for the most part, but as the island came into view through the fog, things had started to tip and tip and tip until everything went fucking tits up.

Not only did the crew start to howl and turn rabid, much like those stupid wolves she can hear in the distance, but so did the captain, and now the ship is wayward on the seas at the behest of the waves. Fortunately, she can use the winds to guide them true, but it will take a little more concentration than what she can afford as she drives her sword into the shoulder of one infected crew that lunges at her with what could only be thought of as a kitten's claws.

Don't worry, that won't kill him, but it will send him reeling to the ground wailing in pain, and she kicks him in the gut to quiet him.

Whoever might be standing near her, she will shout at them with no shortage of rage in her voice as she gives her sword a brandish, the blood spraying from her blade.]

Might anyone spare a moment to take care of them while I attempt to not crash this fucking ship!?

[Must she do everything!?]

🗡️ v. untitled goose bounty 2

[Well, this is certainly not what she was expecting to see when she arrived on Eltrut, or tried to. She'd heard sounds from above across the ship's deck first—the worried shouts of the crew and riftfarers alike. Benedikta had been enjoying the peaceful ride in her cabin aboard the Stormbringer, and had half a mind to ignore the noise and go right back to sleep...

...

Until she hears something else.

The loud, low, rumbling sound of a... honk?

Something visceral shatters through Benedikta's whole body then, forcing her to sit up when the flashbacks of those eight-headed geese attacked her not even a month ago. She rushes to her feet and then out the door, shoving people out of her way as she storms up to the deck where she beholds—]

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

[—an eight-headed(?) goose large enough that it could peck out Eltrut's eye.

Much, much larger than she recalls it being.

And she is pulled out of her reverie only by the sounds of magitech cannons being blasted off.]

I see it's come back for another taste.

🗡️ vi. wildcard

[None of these prompts work for you? Want to do something that isn't from the MANTA board? Feel free to hit up my plotting comment, or via plurk @

crystariums! I'm also around on the game discord, and PM works, too! Also open to texts/bottled messages!]

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Then... hope.

[She understands what he's saying, though... and she knows that neither of them is speaking about the characters in the story. They never were, to be honest. What she was asking was not about how their story ended, but how theirs might. Yes, she may be a pessimist and a realist, far too jaded now to see the world in any other light, to accept the hope that anyone might try to shine on her, but maybe that is why she had always clung so tightly to him. For where there is no hope for her to have, he could harbour enough to make up for them both. She remembers admiring him for that... once.

Now, she thinks it's all baseless. Not his words, but the idea of it altogether. One does not find anything simply by hoping for it. She had a long time ago, but it had thrown her into the abyss instead, and she was forced to climb and claw her way out of it.

So why do they make her heart flutter so?

She feels the touch of his thumb on her palm, warm and calloused, and she closes her fingers tighter around his, her head leaning just a bit further in his direction and her body following, her knee bumping again against his as her dress falls away from her leg.]

I suppose there is some fight left in them.

[And with a pensive look, she falls silent, her hand with his on her lap slipping out of his so that she can slide it over his knee, subtly, keeping her eyes turned to the stage to watch as the next song begins... though, whether she is listening or not...]

[It may be small, subtle, but also so very clear. And it makes him lean all that much closer to her until their heads lightly touch.]

Not just hope.

[His voice is quieter still, a low whisper against her ear that will drown out the music, the words, the applause, whatever may be happening on the stage below.]

Faith.

[Something to believe in.

His now free hand reaches for her own knee, sliding up slowly over the exposed skin.]

Strength of will.

[Slowly beneath the soft fabric as he turns just so so his lips now more firmly brush against her ear.]

...And a stubborn want and desire.

[To want something so much, so badly, that they would be willing to cast aside everything to achieve it. To become a villain to save the world.

Only now, he's done saving others. He just wants to save the one he couldn't before.]

[She doesn't turn to him, even when she feels him close in on her, his lips brushing right over her ear now, tickling the skin along her jaw. Her fingers tighten around his knee in a silent response, her chest hitching with a breath caught in her throat at his hand grazing over her leg.

Faith.

He says it with such ease, as if that's something that she has any room to have these days. Maybe when she was young and naïve, believed in everything that he and her king told her, but once again, she has a hard time grasping it now. It's something that he will, once again, have to carry for the both of them.

Even if there are moments when she wishes that she could. Fleeting moments to be sure, when doubt wriggles its way in, but moments all the same.

Everything else, though...

Her leg slides closer to his, exposing more and more of her skin. An invitation to him, as she keeps her eyes glued to the stage even while her attention is elsewhere.]

Does that not make them selfish?

...Perhaps they should be.

[His lips brush more against her skin, his hand traveling further and even pulls her leg so it's more over his now, more of her dress falling away.]

Be selfish enough to take what is rightfully theirs.

[Like he should have been. Should have listened to his own selfish heart instead of believing the lies and doubts. If there is one thing he will never forgive himself for, it's for letting things happen and escalate to the point it had between them. Letting himself believe it was just how it was going to be. To not do more, push more protest more.

Even if anyone else would have had the same problem, fallen the same way, unable to do anything locked in the same position he had been, that doesn't mean he still can't blame himself. So strong was that feeling of powerlessness despite having the greater "blessings" of an Eikon, and all because one man could easily snuff him out before he could try.

But not anymore. He won't hide anymore.]

And...?

[The word comes out short of breath, airy and light as the wind and so very quiet. Had he been any further away, he might not have heard her at all.]

This... is rightfully theirs?

[The hand that is still in his at her shoulder pulls his along, bringing it closer to her neck.

This, being them. Together. Whether she believes it with her whole heart or not yet, she cannot say for certain. Not when she's too afraid of what might be taken away from her should she allow herself to feel anything beyond what she feels now. The world has a funny way of doing that—giving her a scrap and then when she reaches out for it, snatches it away. She hates it.

But as his hand slips beneath her dress, as his voice and more importantly, his words, burrow their way into her, she finds herself wanting it anyway.]

Yes.

[There's no hesitation, and there's a deliberate use of that word—yes. As if to put more serious weight than the more casual term.

With her invitation, his fingertips slide over her neck, those little brushes of levin tickling her skin as he pushes her ever so slightly, his lips now at her neck as they brush over with each word.]

...They already lost each other once.

[His hand at her leg travels further up, tickling her inner thigh until he's just mere inches away from her center.]

They already paid that price.

[A light nip of his teeth.]

It's only fair they take what should have been theirs from the start.

[And with how much darker and lower his tone shifts, with how much more firm his touch digs into her skin and that stronger jolt of levin at her neck, a jolt hidden by her hair as it travels to hit many of her sensitive spots, it's becoming more clear he's not talking about the people on the stage or the story they're trying to represent.]

Edited 2023-12-18 03:31 (UTC)

[That chocobo has long since left the stable, so to speak—Benedikta already knew. Had they really ever been talking about the show? It's hard not to draw the parallels still, but for her, it's easier to use these fictional characters in this story to mask her own desires, her own thoughts, her own stubborn wants. So, she keeps up the façade knowing full well that he is not so foolish to believe otherwise.

Which is fine.

Between the both of them, she is the bigger fool here.

Her head falls tips slightly, baring her neck to him, and when she feels his hand journeying further, her knees part almost instinctively for him with another sigh.

Gods, what is he doing to her?

They're supposed to be watching this opera. Appreciating the arts or some such, but here she is, appreciating the levin that dances over the back of her neck instead, grateful for the tingling heat that it leaves behind.]

... And if she is too scared to try?

[The heat of aggression slows just a touch, the fingertips at her neck slowly circling and massaging against her skin.]

Then he'll carry her until she's convinced.

[He then moves his hand at her neck to gently tilt her face back towards him where their eyes will meet.]

But he doesn't want to live in a world without her again.

[There's no use trying to hide the truth and weight of emotion behind those words, in that gaze. And he knows he may once again being too much, but... This is the truth. This is what he's been trying to say—has been saying to her all this time. And he'll keep telling her until she can finally believe in him again.]

[Does he feel her pulse quicken at his words beneath his fingertips, she wonders? Can he see the way her cheeks flush as he urges her to look at him, and how she doesn't hesitate to? And when their eyes meet, even in the dim lights, he will be able to see those feelings stirring. Awakening with a vengeance, as if they had been asleep at all.

He holds her captive with his gaze, enchanted really, and no matter how hard she tries to tear it away from his, she can't, lest he see the mix of fear and desire sparking bright in the ambers of her eyes.]

... And she doesn't want to be left behind again.

[Abandoned, whether it is in watching him leave or in death. She wants to survive. She wants to live... live in that world with him. She always has. It never mattered whether they were together or apart—not back then—so long as he was there, somewhere. Breathing.

Now... she's felt that shift within her already, but now, as they sit here "pretending"—though, who are they fooling?—she finds that those roots have burrowed deeper until that feeling became more intense. Almost tangible...

But no less overwhelming.

And so, she darts her eyes away from him finally.]

I suppose he has a hard fight ahead of him, in that case.

[He watches her, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Try to read what she could be feeling, the secrets she can never seem to voice. He knows it's a long road, a tough wall that he has to break through. But he can feel it—the cracks, the chips as he continues to push and try and break it down.

So he's not deterred by her words. If anything, it only makes the corner of his mouth quirk up just a fraction before his fingers shift to first brush over her jaw, to her cheek, then to thread through her hair as he cradles her face, palm warm against her.]

Aye, but he's always been one to rise to a challenge.

[Softer, quieter words, almost playful—but no less serious.]

[Benedikta's eyes close at his touch, and though she may have snapped her gaze away when it all had started to become too much again, she wants to still leave him with these little hints that she wants him there. That although she might pull away just a touch, tonight he is allowed to tug her back and she will accept his attempts and gestures to do so.]

Stubbornly so.

[She turns to kiss the inside of his palm, never once meeting his eyes that she knows are bearing down on her still, but his warmth is too tantalizing to let it go unnoticed or unappreciated. He'll feel her breath hot against his skin as she moves to the inside of his wrist, the brush of her lips light and fleeting before she's straightening herself out again, but her fingers wrap around his wrist to keep him where he is.]

She should not make it so easy for him.

[This time he has a better impression that while she may still be afraid and shy away from that heavier, overwhelming tide of emotions passing between them, she is not running way completely. That she still wants him to reach out to her, to grab her and keep her close.

And keep her close he will.

So there is a low hum, her lips and breath on his skin tantalizing.]

She could give in just a bit.

[And now he's pushing her back down the loveseat, making them disappear from behind the balcony.]

Mm...

[She didn't want to watch the show anymore anyway. She wasn't watching to begin with. Not since he started this little game of theirs...

She purrs, her body not even protesting once as he pushes her back, every inch of her exposed skin tingling from the heat of his touch that lingers behind. Falling back, she props herself up on her elbows so that he can't force her all the way down, and while she tilts her head away from him, it all but exposes her whole throat as she adopts something of a thoughtful expression.]

She seems the stubborn sort, too. Too proud, even.

So he just has to be more convincing, hm?

[A low hum as he lightly brushes his lips against her chin then underneath her jaw as he travels down her neck. Meanwhile, his hand is still on her inner thigh. It wouldn't take much more to find what kind of undergarments she's decided to try tonight, but instead she's going to feel a sudden heat as he teases her with his levin instead, letting that be what shoots up her skin towards her center.]

[His lips force her head to fall back, but it's the levin that suddenly ribbons over her that has her arching her back violently, a small, soft sound leaving her that she's sure the people in the next box over would have heard if she were any louder... but founders, did she love his lightning, and her body loved to show him that, her fingers curling at her sides as she tries to maintain some semblance of control over herself.

But the buildup of the heat that had been growing between them all night, paired with that kiss that she had left him with in the alley, her grip on those reins she keeps so tightly wound around herself has loosened.

Her leg moves up to rest on the couch, her dress falling away at her hips as it lifts to hook around him, and from where she leans her head back, she grins and laughs in his ear.]

Perhaps in the right place at the right time, hm?

[As if she gives a shit.]

[And he knows it.

But it is true they can't really do much here... He'd rather not get interrupted and kicked out. So he just smirks a bit as he nips at her skin, his hand moving higher up as if to follow the trail of levin he had left behind.]

Consider this a preview then. And we can just leave after the first act....

[Or even before it even ends.]

[Her heel digs into the back of his leg where she has it hooked, and her thighs part just a little further, encouraged by both his hand and his teeth grazing her neck.]

And waste the Donnelley's precious coin?

[No need for the act anymore.]

You really cannot hold out until the final act?

[Says the woman whose skin is flushed and body is shivering under his, that craving roaring inside her.]

I could.

[A low laugh.]

But will you?

[He could pull back right now. But not before teasing her, fingering that lace and roving very close to that soft flesh, letting only another spark of levin to tease her before he starts withdraw, fingertips digging into her skin as he slowly drags them back...]

[Another sound, this one just a touch louder and more aggressive when he sends that spark leaping through the space between her parting thighs. She should throw him over the balcony for this—he had wanted to bring her here, had planned all of this out, and had somehow managed to convince her to not leave after the free dinner, and despite all of that, he has her pinned to the couch, the opera all but forgotten to the both of them.

Yet, here she is, allowing him to.

Urging him. Tempting him, she knows.

And when he starts to withdraw his hand, she won't let him get far. Her fingers snap around his wrist, and she presses his palm into her thigh, her head tipping back enough that she can see his face, and so that he can see that pining across hers.]

I could.

[A slight teasing echo of his own answer.]

But if I didn't know any better...

[She leans up to brush her lips over his jaw anyway first before she presses them more firmly to his cheek, leaving behind the light print of red lipstick there—]

I'd say you were trying to test me.

[—before moving to the other side and doing the same.]

[A playful grin as he lightly taps her skin with his fingertips, as if teasing and playing with her attempts, almost tickling her instead. Almost.]

And if I were?

Then...

[And now to his lips where she pauses just sort of a featherlight touch, but her heel digs in just a little further into the back of his thigh, forcing him to press more of his weight onto her.]

... You are fighting a losing battle. Were you not the one who started all this?

[A low chuckle as he just light brush his lips against hers, keeping that same distance as he only shifts just enough for her to feel more of his weight over her.]

Depends. The fact that you're being very encouraging means it's working.

[And now a hand will run down the length of her neck to her shoulder, to slip that strap down before sliding down to the side of her chest to start pulling down the fabric there.]

[There's some applause from the other side of the balcony walls, and Benedikta lets his words set in in the meantime, waiting for the noise to die down before she hums, almost pleased with herself when he's the one who pulls at her dress. And she'll reward him with a fidget of his tie, and the button that she had popped open earlier in the night.]

Whatever gave you the impression that I was encouraging anything? These are your hands working my dress and laces, not mine.

Hm, that's true. I suppose it is my loss then.

[Said with a cheeky smile, as if to say this is a loss he doesn't mind taking.]

Or I could just stop right here.

[Here, where he's already pulled the top of her chest to the point where just another tug and she would completely exposed, his hand already slipping in to palm the side of her breast as another thread of levin escapes past his fingertips.]

[Her body arches up to meet his, that lightning meticulously threading through every nerve in her chest and then back again, and that along with the heat and firmness of his palm leaves her half-laughing, half-gasping in response.

Founders, she hates him for this.]

I don't think you have the fortitude... my dear.

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