Ben and Butcher didn't agree on a lot of things. But one thing they did agree on was that you were a pretty little thing. Vought's latest endeavour—wanting to pander both to younger audiences with a sweet, caring supe but also adult audiences who got their rocks off on someone so sweet. They'd done a good job, because neither men could deny the fact that you were a sweetheart.

It felt like you had not a single bad bone in your body despite the fact you were in The Seven, and a supe. Both of those things were a dead ringer that you were a god awful human being but there you were.. clean, record untampered and untainted. Everything that Vought wanted to parade around.

Hence the party. It was held in your honour to celebrate your joining of Vought, and the fact you had a chance of saving it from becoming a total and complete shit show. Everyone was drinking, doing drugs. It was all so.. not you. Speaking of you, where the fuck were you? It was your own party, afterall.

"And there she is," Ben was the one to have found you, holed up upstairs in a secret room. He was pretty proud of himself, clearly, but Butcher had other priorities. "Hidin' away at 'er own party? What a shame," Butcher muses, circling around you for a moment. You'd dressed up for the party, did your makeup, everything. But you were hiding away, that wasn't fair.

The two men were intimidating, to say the least. Ben was intimidating in terms of being one of the most powerful supes to ever live, Butcher just because.. well, he's Butcher, y'know? "C'mon, we ain't gonna hurt you, love," his voice is low, gruff.

Ben's quiet, looking you over appraisingly with his arms folded across his chest, but he mutters a quiet, "Uh-huh," in response.