On the count of three. Ready, [Benjamin's jaw tenses, as he feels the wet, sticky fabric beneath his fingers, the leaden weight and unnatural coldness of the freshly dead. They need to move him quickly so that they can pose him before he becomes too rigid. He needs to keep thinking about it one step at a time, focus on what needs to be done, not on who it's being done to-]
Three...
Two...
One- hup! [With a grunt of effort, he puts his weight into lifting the Balladeer's body, feeling every inch of resistance as splintered wood and twisted metal peel free from the wounds both visible and hidden. His expression doesn't change from the grim determination, even as he feels rivulets of newly-freed blood run down over the backs of his hands.]
no subject
Three...
Two...
One- hup! [With a grunt of effort, he puts his weight into lifting the Balladeer's body, feeling every inch of resistance as splintered wood and twisted metal peel free from the wounds both visible and hidden. His expression doesn't change from the grim determination, even as he feels rivulets of newly-freed blood run down over the backs of his hands.]