That sounds hard, moreso than he's able to deal with presently. Finishing the flask, Benedict sets it aside and flops on the bed again with a little groan.
"Just let me die," he mumbles, but less miserably than before. He's just languishing at this point.
"Think about the abs," Colin says, giving Bene a playful pat where those muscles will eventually be. "And take a hot bath in the Templar tower. That feels good for the soreness."
"Good." Colin beams at him. "This is going to make you stronger and healthier, and you'll be able to throw a mean right hook before long, I promise. You could get into bar fights anywhere you want."
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"And this is a good opportunity for you to learn how to set your own boundaries. I couldn't do that for you even if you made me."
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"Just let me die," he mumbles, but less miserably than before. He's just languishing at this point.
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"...maybe I will."
Slowly, he begins to sit up again, grimacing.
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He begins to hobble back toward the door in the same gait with which he entered, this time gently rubbing one of his arms.
"I'm off to have a soak. Join me if you get lonely." In the middle of the day.
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"Byerly doesn't get in until late afternoon, I have plenty of time." He waves his hand, dismissing hte concern.
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The punchline is, he's definitely too sore to do anything interesting.