"Wh-- ow-- stop," Benedict stammers, scowling as he steps back and away from Edgard with every shove.
"Well I didn't know that," he snaps, taking a few larger steps back and standing his ground, "and you wouldn't have an opinion on this if you hadn't been listening in, so."
He folds his own arms.
"What're you gonna do? Beat me up, out here in front of everyone?" He gestures around to the courtyard. "I didn't do anything."
"That's the problem!" Edgard explodes. "You never do anything! You let everyone else fight and do the work and you lie to get out of it. You've been training. This is what it means!"
He shoves him again and yells, "And no one cares if you get beat up, Benedict! Except maybe me! So there wouldn't be an issue!"
"Stop--" Bene stumbles back again, flailing to catch his balance and managing, though likely not without drawing the attention of one or two passersby.
He lets Edgard finish, but anger boils in him, manifesting as an indignant sneer: "that's not fucking true and you know it," he snarls, suddenly stepping forward to push past.
"Fuck you, Edgard."
He might admit to lying, eventually: but never doing anything? Days of being at Byerly's beck and call, training in the yard, and biting back every poisonous instinct set in him by twenty years of parental training amounts to nothing?
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"And what isn't real about it?" He breathes evenly, deliberately.
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He shoves Benedict lightly with every word in the next sentence.
"That's what they said when they assigned me to it."
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"Well I didn't know that," he snaps, taking a few larger steps back and standing his ground, "and you wouldn't have an opinion on this if you hadn't been listening in, so."
He folds his own arms.
"What're you gonna do? Beat me up, out here in front of everyone?" He gestures around to the courtyard.
"I didn't do anything."
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He shoves him again and yells, "And no one cares if you get beat up, Benedict! Except maybe me! So there wouldn't be an issue!"
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He lets Edgard finish, but anger boils in him, manifesting as an indignant sneer: "that's not fucking true and you know it," he snarls, suddenly stepping forward to push past.
"Fuck you, Edgard."
He might admit to lying, eventually: but never doing anything? Days of being at Byerly's beck and call, training in the yard, and biting back every poisonous instinct set in him by twenty years of parental training amounts to nothing?