Benedict awoke with a splitting headache. He rolled over, and peeled an eye open to look at the clock. It was precisely five forty-five, according to the ancient looking wind-up clock on the bed table...exactly when he wanted to get up. He sighed, and sat up, focusing his mind on the tasks he had to do today. There was a lot...almost overwhelming. Of course, the whole situation was almost overwhelming when he stopped to think about it, but he shoved that thought aside for the moment.
The new Captain of the Guard got up and headed towards the bathroom, to get cleaned up. The first thing he did was check his foot, since it was hurting horribly, and was probably what caused the bad dreams...and probably what caused his already disappearing headache. Ah...least one thing is going to go my way today... he thought to himself, as he unwrapped the bandages. He grimaced slightly upon seeing his foot for the first time upon wrapping it. It wasn't pretty. His middle two toes were broken, and the littlest one all but crushed. It had swelled something fierce since yesterday, since he had to spend most of his day on his feet, but he could wriggle one of the toes now. A good sign. The bone was mending, but it sure felt like stepping on fire every time he put his foot down. Have to get decent care for it... he thought as he rummaged through the closet, looking for adequate bandage material and antiseptic to clean it out again. Of course, his room had the things he was looking for, but his room was also trashed, which is why he bunked down in a guest room.
He found some washclothes that would do the trick once cut down so he could bind his toes properly. He set to work doing that, loosening the bandages on his arm to do so, as the tightly wrapped bandages there were getting in his way. As he did this, he blanked his mind out, just letting himself relax as much as he could. On autopilot, he fixed his foot to the best of his ability, first washing out the wounds, and then tightly wrapping the toes, to make sure the bones healed straight. That being done, he set his foot down firmly, and just stood on it for a while, to get used to the feeling. He didn't want to be too much off his game today. He strode briskly around the guest rooms, all but eliminating any limp he'd have.
It hurt, but he'd put up with worse. It was liveable.
Benedict returned to the bathroom, and finished unwrapping his arm. Once it was unwrapped, he stared at it in a kind of horrified shock. His first thought was That's not possible!. His second, following immediately thereafter, was What if it spreads? After that, he sat down hard on a chair, just staring at his arm in a terrified wonder.
It took him about ten minutes before he could do much of anything while he tried to deal with this...disfigurement. Not wanting to examine it closely at the moment, not really closely, he got up and started to clean himself off best as he could. By the time he got to shaving, his hands had mostly stopped shaking, and by the time he was done pulling his hair back in a ponytail, he was perfectly calm again, at least on the outside.
After that, it was simply a matter of getting dressed in the uniform that had been laid out for him. He did this quickly, as he had wasted too much time as it was. The only thing he changed about the uniform was to pull on a pair of thin leather gloves, which looked rather like fencing gloves, but with more of an open cuff, so it wouldn't look too off with his uniform. The family...they might know something's up...I never wear gloves, he thought to himself, discarding the thought moments later. If he didn't know them because of his absences, they certainly didn't know him. They wouldn't know he rarely, if ever, wore anything on his hands.
About that time, there was a knock on the door. "Enter," he said calmly, checking himself out in the mirror. Everything was in place.
The door opened, and a young serving lad came in bearing a note. Benedict took it from the kid, and dismissed the servant. After scanning the note, however, he barked out, "Wait! Come back here."
The lad peeked his head around the door, "Sir?"
"Who sent this?" Ben asked, curiously. It was an invitation to a luncheon, with no signature, and no guest list.
"I don't know, sir," the kid replied.
Benedict frowned in irritation, "Well, who gave it to you?"
The lad opened his mouth to reply, then stopped and frowned. "I-I don't know, sir. I don't remember."
At that, Benedict blinked, and looked over at the kid. He felt the urge to ask inane questions, like 'What do you mean you don't remember?', but upon looking at the kid again, he decided to let it be. The kid seemed confused, and a little bit scared because it wasn't the answer the Prince wanted. Ben dug into a pocket and flipped out a coin--he didn't even look to see what. "Never mind. Go about your business." The kid, catching the coin easily, nodded his head and practically fled from Ben's sight.
He reexamined the note, looking over the handwriting. It was unfamiliar to him. He turned it over and over in his hands, looking for something, some sort of clue, but he could find nothing. He set the note aside and left his new rooms, figuring that he'd just show up and find out who sent it. It was most likely one of the family, being cute or something. He headed to his new offices.
Upon reaching the Captain of the Guard's offices, he quickly reviewed the guard's schedule, taking a bit of time to memorize each of the shift commander's names, and racking his brain for anything that he remembered about them from his days in Amber. There was a bit, enough to make a sort of speech, he guessed. That being done, he went outside and waited for the shift change, writing a speech in his head. Something to make him seem friendly. If what he heard was right, all these guards were incredibly demoralized, and sometimes...sometimes...the right words could help. He didn't think so in this case, but he wanted to try and do his best. It wasn't their fault that Oberon and Dworkin got kidnapped. No, if whoever...or whatever...it was that did it was powerful enough to take those two out, it was far beyond the guard's power. Unfortunately, that was one of those facts better left unmentioned.
As the shift changed, he motioned the commanders over to him, and told him to assemble their respective troops. Once they were assembled, he addressed them, telling him what he wanted from them, and what he expected from them. He used as many positive anecdotes he could think of, especially any relating to any of the guards present. He did, in other words, what any good Captain would do. After that, he dismissed them, and tried to catch up to Flora at breakfast, since he'd promised and all.
Unfortunately, he missed her. She ate at seven exactly, and the guard change was at seven. He swore under his breath and went back to his offices, hoping that she wasn't mad at him. He had a feeling that he'd piss off most of his siblings before his tenure of Captain was up, and he wanted to at least try to avoid that. However, he didn't think it was possible since emotions were running high during the current crisis.
He called in his staff, and sat down at his desk, being glad he was off his feet. He got a summation of their investigation from them...it didn't take long. They had nothing. He nodded, and asked a few more brief questions, then had them point out the paperwork for him to go through, so he could get caught up to speed. Other than that, there was nothing else for them to do, except keep up with the day to day things.
Ben's stint of reading was only interrupted twice. Once by Bleys, who Trumped him to see how Ben was doing. Benedict gave him a quick summation of what had happened with Gerard, and shrugged off most questions. Fact was, he didn't know. He didn't know what Gerard had done exactly, he didn't know what had happened to Gerard exactly, and he didn't know where Gerard was currently. Bleys nodded, looking a bit tired and peaked himself, and cut the contact.
The second interruption was Llewella, who had also received an invitation to lunch. She wondered if he had sent it, and he said no, mentioning his own invitation. She asked him to take preparations, and he nodded. That was all.
At around ten or so, Ben pushed paperwork away, and started making those preparations, making sure to have his best and fastest swords there to protect Llewella, not just himself, and to make sure that an escape route was done and established. They ran through a quick drill twice, testing out the route, and fixing any possible snags that he could think of. By the time that was done, it was nearly eleven-thirty, and Llewella had wanted him there early, to see who showed up or something. Plus, his foot was killing him, so he copped a squat at what would be his seat at the table. The kitchen staff brewed him some tea, and he sat there, watching people show up.
He didn't say much to anyone, nor they to he.
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