[There is always the possibility of unpredictable moments, with Ben; within these, the possibility of violence is almost a given. He is at his least predictable when his perceived responsibilities to the very, very few that hold his unwavering loyalty are at odds.
His last solid memory was of being on the hunt for people that look like people he knows but are not, that are nomlies, that are infiltrators, that must be hunted down and brought to those he has sworn himself to; now, Anya is one of them. Now, Anya is a Nomlie.
He short circuits into anger because it is near to hand, because he will kill her because he must, it will be quick because he will be merciful, but it offends everything he has built his happiness on: she has changed before, in floods. Sometimes. But this has never been a flood, and now?
Now he sees someone stammering a promise that he'll get her back, echoing the implied outcome of his previous hunt, and he makes a small, hurt sound in his throat even as he lunges to his feet. The Admiral asks much of him, to allow Anya to be switched, to be changed.
But he will get her back. The promise isn't this stranger's to make, but he leaps on the truth of it anyway, tattooed as soundly into his heart as the barcode on his neck.]
Stop talking! [His order is petulant, a child's, but a strong child, a fast child, a child that was never a child but instead a soldier. His hand flashes out for her wrist.] You're not the Lady, you can never be the Lady, but I will get her back...!
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His last solid memory was of being on the hunt for people that look like people he knows but are not, that are nomlies, that are infiltrators, that must be hunted down and brought to those he has sworn himself to; now, Anya is one of them. Now, Anya is a Nomlie.
He short circuits into anger because it is near to hand, because he will kill her because he must, it will be quick because he will be merciful, but it offends everything he has built his happiness on: she has changed before, in floods. Sometimes. But this has never been a flood, and now?
Now he sees someone stammering a promise that he'll get her back, echoing the implied outcome of his previous hunt, and he makes a small, hurt sound in his throat even as he lunges to his feet. The Admiral asks much of him, to allow Anya to be switched, to be changed.
But he will get her back. The promise isn't this stranger's to make, but he leaps on the truth of it anyway, tattooed as soundly into his heart as the barcode on his neck.]
Stop talking! [His order is petulant, a child's, but a strong child, a fast child, a child that was never a child but instead a soldier. His hand flashes out for her wrist.] You're not the Lady, you can never be the Lady, but I will get her back...!