2025-02-14 - Eggs Benedict

On big weekends, the Cozy Cottage sometimes does a stealth-open for the Arena team, the chefs serving up a massive breakfast spread for the hardworking knights, squires, heralds, minstrels and all the assorted behind-the-scenes staff. It's a big show with a big cast, and on a day like Valentine's Day everyone knows the spectators-- and the dollars they spend-- are coming in droves. The extra investment up front for an early, catered breakfast always pays off in a long day of breathtaking shows.

While most of the cast and crew are filtering in, none of them are dressed properly for work yet. It's a closed-door event but if one did manage to sneak in, one would never know who's a knight and who's a stablehand. Well... mostly.

Brandon O'Donnell, with the build of the champion athlete he was as a teen and the pop-idol good looks of the rockstar he was rather more recently, could never be anything but a featured performer. That said, the damp-haired young man with the plate full of biscuits and sausage gravy-- never mind a few extra sausage links-- is heading back to a small, windowside table, face still flushed and slightly windburned from a morning run concluded less than an hour ago.

If it were any other day, Benedict would be having the exact same breakfast he always has: a veggie scramble with whole wheat toast. So what is he having today, at this sumptuous buffet put on by the Cozy Cottage staff?

...Well it's also scrambled eggs and toast, okay, but this time he's gone extravagent. There's cheese on his eggs and he's in the process of adding jam to his toast.

He also brings the exact same lunch every day to eat on his break (some combination of chicken, brown rice, and steamed vegetables) that has become something of an in-joke at the Arena. So now he couldn't bring something different even if he wanted to, because that would probably let people down.

Like usual when he's not on duty yet, Benedict is in his usual getup of a black sweater and black jeans, both tailored and probably more expensive than someone on a themepark performer's budget should own, but he's been wearing the same rotation of clothing since he arrived at the beginning of Spellbound's existence. Souvenirs from his previous life as an actor. He looks up from previously aforementioned toast-jamming to nod at Brandon when he returns to their shared table. "Ah, biscuits and gravy," he says with the kind of practiced disdain that his posh British accent can make sound so good. But he cracks a smile, and reaches for his coffee. Is it alright to joke before people are properly caffeinated?

"It's a Southern thing," Brandon replies dryly, cracking an ironic grin at Benedict's implied disdain. "And I'm not from the South. Actually, my band almost got run out of Columbia, in South Carolina, once," he admits. "But they know how to make a good breakfast down there."

Settling in across from the experienced Actor-with-a-capital-A, Brandon tops off his coffee with a lengthy pour from the insulated carafe already waiting on the table. "You know," he adds as he glances across at Benedict, smoothly shifting subjects, "I didn't get the chance to thank you properly for being on the other end of my little pageant the other night."

The other will know Brandon had never had the 'starring' role in a Joust of Champions before, winning the day and crowning his Queen-til-11PM. It was a big deal for the younger performer.

"Right, right," Benedict says good-naturedly, and he chooses not to drag the joke out any further. He raises an eyebrow at Brandon's talk of his band being run out of somewhere, but only takes a sip of his coffee as he looks across at the other man.

He's about to return his attention to the food in front of him when Brandon offers him a polite thank you, and Ben pauses. "Well, it is the point of a villain to make the hero looks good, isn't it?" is what comes out of his mouth first, sort of on autopilot, but then his expression softens a touch.

Fork in hand, he frowns thoughtfully down at his plate. "I'm glad to have done it, though. And I hope your date was well-pleased with it all, yes?" Benedict's eyes lift to glance over at Brandon, and then his attention skips away, looking out at the crowd assembled for breakfast. "You have to know that any one of us would have been happy to help, though. Strange as it is, we've got quite the crew going here."

Brandon accepts the welcome and the demurral alike with an amiable nod, enjoying a mouthful of biscuit smothered in creamy gravy while Benedict speaks. After washing it down with a sip of black coffee, he can't help but offer his own take.

"It is odd, isn't it? Half of us have had... well, shoot. You, me, Neville. We've done things." Things in the arts, he means, clearly. They've all known a measure of fame and notoriety. "Some of the others are long-time re-enactment types. Some are academics who've actually studied the fighting we're pretending to do... but you're right. Despite all our different backgrounds, lately and more than ever, it really feels like a team."

He pauses then, takes another sip of the miraculously legal wonder-drug, caffeine. Sets it back down.

"This place just has a vibe. Would you have imagined doing this before you actually... you know, were doing it?"

Brandon talks and Benedict eats, taking a measured bite of his eggs as he listens. His head tilts to the side after, and he casts another one of those looks across the other tables before his focus returns to their own.

"Everything has become remarkably cohesive," Benedict agrees, in a roundabout sort of way. "I think it must have something to do with the length of time we've been at it. You can't run a production like this, at least not with as consistent a cast as we've had, without either people coming to blows," and here he pauses, expression briefly going a little guilty before he shakes his head and continues, "Or figuring out how to work together seamlessly."

After, he mirrors Brandon with his coffee, and goes to refill his cup after that last sip. "A product of familiarity, I suppose."

As for Brandon's last question, "Oh no, I applied here on a lark. Didn't think they'd actually accept, but once they did I realized it was an opportunity to escape, so I took it."

The practical benefit of Benedict owning a reasoned, well-thought-out opinion and then elucidating said opinion in thoughtful terms is that it gives Brandon time to eat. Attacking the biscuits-and-gravy with gusto, he listens attentively to the older man's musings, and then the answer to his own question. It's only after another sip of coffee, and Benedict mentioning escape, that Brandon joins in again.

"If I can ask... what were you escaping?" Perhaps sensing it's a fairly personal question, the sandy-haired 'White Knight' pre-balances the scales by volunteering, "I mean, I guess I did the same thing. My best friend, my songwriting partner... passed away," that bit's still not easy to say out loud, "and our band was on ice. My ex became an ex in a fairly vindictive way. I was in a pretty dark place, and escaping that is a fair way to describe it."

That question doesn't seem to be entirely unexpected. He'd left it fairly open-ended, there, and Benedict wouldn't have been able to resist asking if their situations were reversed. So while his eyebrows do go up, he only tips his head in mute acknowledgment. Busy as he is with doctoring up his refilled coffee with cream and sugar - let it be known the man does allow himself to enjoy some things - he listens as Brandon shares a response to his own question. Once or twice his mouth thins into a line in sympathy, as Brandon goes on.

"I also had an ex become an ex rather vindictively," Benedict says, studiously looking down at his coffee as he stirs it rather than anywhere else, lest they be able to see the amount of emotion that brings up. "But that wasn't really it. Not fully, at least." It seems an opportune time to take a steadying sip of coffee, so that is what he does. And then he sighs, steeling himself. "I had an experience with an older castmate that was... less than ideal." He gives no further detail, only takes another drink, then sets his cup down.

Going back to eating after that feels hollow, so he pushes his half-empty plate away and leans back in his chair.

Brandon's face falls a bit as Benedict admits that much and nothing more, and those middle-class Midwestern manners push to the fore. They're never too far from the surface with him, anyway. "Oh. Shit, man... I'm sorry I brought it up," he says, the words leavened with a healthy measure of apology.

Another bite of his breakfast, for the moment, allows the ensuing silence to pass with only a vague air of awkwardness-- then Brandon says, "Anyway, maybe you could tell me how they do that with the darkness? The whole Black Knight FX? Is that mechanical or is that... you know, you?" In compensation, he adds, "Obviously, the spotlights for the White Knight weren't me. I've got a few cool tricks here, but I can't do that."

"It's perfectly alright," Benedict says, and he sounds as if he means it. He even offers a polite smile across the table to Brandon. No harm done, except to his appetite. But after a moment of silence, he pulls the plate back towards himself, resolute in his desire to at least attempt a full meal. Best try, because today is going to be a madhouse.

He's chewing through a bite of jammy toast when Brandon asks after his show VFX, and that makes Benedict look up. "Oh, I think it's a combination of a fog machine and someone backstage working their magic," he says, head tilting to the side as he looks out the window in thought. "I've never really asked. All of what I do in the armor is practical, just a voice modulator and some LEDs."

The cool tricks comment has him thinking even harder. "My particular brand of trickery doesn't really apply, unless I want to entirely derail the show. But I'm curious as to who of us contributes in that way... there's always room for improvement, after all." He realizes that might sound a bit negative, after saying it, but he just shrugs lightly in apology in case it's taken that way.

"Honestly, you're asking the wrong guy," Brandon admits, "because I have zero idea. Hell, it's only been a month since I even realized I have any... talents, I guess," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "And what it seems like I can do, none of it has any practical application in the show."

Then he grins, as if a kid with a secret. "Well, except for healing. Bruises, sprains, even breaks... they heal up automatically. Like, overnight. It's insane," he confesses. "Comes in handy when I get dumped off a horse."

Which happens often. He's a phenomenal athlete, a gifted performer and a quick learner, but jousting and archery and some of these other skills remain very new to him.

This is now something Benedict is going to run with, so says the focused gleam in his eye. But first, Brandon is expounding upon his own abilities, and that earns an impressed look from Benedict. "That definitely would be useful," he says, with half of a smile lifting his face.

Which turns into a full smile, and a bit of laughter, right after. "Don't worry, I won't go harder on you during practice now that I know." That's a promise, and he winks at Brandon before returning to his congealing eggs. Eggs wait for no man, after all.

The last few bites evaporate from his plate with all the dogged determinism Ben can muster, and then he sits back in his chair once again, this time with his coffee in hand. "Quid pro quo," he begins. "I can sort of... phase myself out of reality. Go a bit grayscale as I do, strange as it is. Sort of ghost-like. I've only ever used it in training to avoid an overeager strike that might have actually done some damage."

Having laughed at the notion of taking extra-hard knocks-- the pain up front is still real, after all, no matter how fast he heals up-- Brandon cocks an eyebrow at his table partner's description of a phasing power. Intrigued, the younger man leans in, listening intently as it's described.

"Whoa," Brandon breathes, very Keanu-like, when Benedict's done. "That's incredible. You know, now I have to ask." Suddenly, he sounds very decisive about this, his tone and diction undergoing a subtle alteration.

"You're playing a knight, too. We train and fight with these swords and lances, in a place with fictional dragons and monsters and shit, but... we're seeing magic now, every day. Real magic. Do you ever wonder if we're going to need, like... real swords?" It's a zany thought, but he's on fire with it now. "Like, what if that door in the sculpture garden wasn't just a sculpture, but like the wardrobe in Narnia? I know it sounds nuts, but...."

He trails off, takes a breath, then eventually adds, "Sometimes I wonder."

Now it's Benedict's turn to lean in, one elbow on the table. He's not entirely sure what to expect, here, but the way his eyes widen when Brandon suggests having to really fight suggests he's been taken slightly aback by the question.

Though he doesn't answer immediately. He's never one to speak without giving it at least a little bit of thought, so he pauses, and thinks, and then frowns.

"There's no way to know, really. Things are changing, that much is certain. And really, given everything that's happened... how can we possibly have any idea what's to come?" The mention of the door in the sculpture garden makes Benedict's brow furrow. "Is that at Mystic Mountain? I haven't seen it," he admits.

Regardless, he gives a shake of his head as they both fall silent. It's Brandon who breaks it first, and then Benedict makes a musing noise, wordlessly. "Unprecedented times," is all he says, to that.

"Yeah," agrees Brandon, lifting his coffee cup in an ironic salute, such as it is. "You can say that again."

Sipping the last of the hot beverage, he opts against a refill as he sets the thematically appropriate earthenware mug down on the somewhat-less-thematically-appropriate table for two. Drawing a deep breath in, Brandon sits back and sighs happily of a sudden, hands behind his head as he closes his eyes for just a moment, alone with his thoughts.

"I could be a knight," he says aloud, dreamily, eyes still closed. "I could be the fucking king. That wouldn't be so bad." Simple wish-fulfillment fantasy in his mind, right? "The world can wait, right Ben?"

It's impossible not to raise his own cup to meet that salute, ironic though it may be. And then Benedict is nursing his own coffee, not quite done at the same speed as Brandon but getting there. After all, showtime is fast approaching.

He looks up from his own personal musings when his tablemate starts daydreaming audibly, and Benedict doesn't quite laugh, but his eyes squint in amusement and one corner of his mouth curls upwards. "Mmhmm," he says, and then at the last, he adopts a more considering expression.

"Is this an escape," he wonders, "Or are we just hiding?" Ben's looking out the window at the early morning traffic around the park, smile gone from his face.

Brandon's eyes blink open, a thoughtful expression settling on his face as he lowers his hands to the tabletop and leans forward, drawn back in by his colleague's question. Unable or unwilling to form an opinion yet, he follows Benedict's gaze out the window.

"I don't know about anyone else," the rocker says, "but I'm not hiding anymore. I'm getting paid peanuts to pretend I'm a knight from a fantasy world right now, I'm dating a genius who loves me and looks like a supermodel, I heal like fucking Wolverine, and I can talk to people in their heads. Good or bad, I'm owning all that shit."

Realizing what he just said, Brandon laughs an amused little laugh. He looks over to his co-worker-- the more reserved, less profane Englishman. "How about you, man?"

"Sorry," Benedict says without sounding particularly apologetic. "I think that might have been a case of thinking aloud, there." He looks pleased by Brandon's answer, or pleased by proxy, seeing how amused the other man is by it.

He finishes off his coffee and sets his cup down with some finality. Then he rests his chin against his closed fist, back to gazing off into the distance. Again, he doesn't answer immediately, but after a moment his eyes shift from the window to Brandon, and then they close as he shrugs one shoulder.

Eventually, he answers with, "I feel I'm in something of a holding pattern. We'll see what comes of it."

"Fair enough," Brandon decides, shifting in his seat to push back and away from the table before standing up, moving a little stiffly at first but straightening to his full height without any real difficulty. "Thanks for joining me, man. I'm glad we got to catch up. And go check out that door by Mystic Mountain, yeah?" He grins broadly. "One of these days I'm gonna head down there and just... knock on it."

"Yes, thank you as well," Benedict replies, nodding once to the suggestion about checking out the door. Which immediately changes to an amused shake of his head as Brandon continues.

He breaths out a noise that is resolutely not a snort, offering up, "Maybe it's locked for a reason," before he too stands from the table.