[OPEN] this guy is out now

[minrathousian]

WHO: Atticus Vedici, the Division Heads, Wren, Myr + OPEN
WHAT: Someone is free-ish from prison, finally.
WHEN: Early December.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: In Benedict's thread, CW for Fade torture awfulness.

I. THE AGREEMENT (Closed to the Division Heads, Wren, and Myr)


Atticus has no choice but to submit to this condition of his freedom, even if in doing so he exchanges one set of shackles for another.

Tight-lipped and silent as he follows Ser Coupe into the private chamber to be utilized for this process, he schools his face into a neutral expression that only just succeeds in masking his outrage. Yet in this he knows he has no leverage, no trump card to play that would not in turn be played against him, too.

He stops in the centre of the room and waits. At this stage, there is little else he can do.



II. THE GALLOWS COURTYARD (OPEN)


It is exceptionally pleasant to step outdoors into a brisk autumn morning and not feel the looming presence of a Templar guard at his back, nor suffer the weight of the runed shackles around his wrists. Atticus examines the reddened flesh on his hands pensively, gives his fingers a tentative flex first this way, then that way; there appears to be no permanent damage, nor any adverse effects of his limited exposure to the lyrium within the runed cuffs.

In short, nothing truly worth remarking upon to distract him from his cursory, near feline exploration of the Gallows that are now laid out before him.

The courtyard isn’t his destination so much as a stop along the way; already he’s encountered a number of locked or warded doors that his better judgment refrained him from investigating further. The mess hall, at the early hour when he chose to rise, only had a scattered few individuals in it having their breakfast; curiously, none of them seemed interested in eating with him. So it has been during most of the interminable hours he’s passed this morning, though he can find little to complain over in having one of the communal baths exclusively to himself.

Likely he cuts an odd figure standing alone in the courtyard admiring this first unobscured view of the cloudy sky that he’s enjoyed in months, but that’s not reason enough for him to change his behaviour.



III. DREAMING (Closed to Benedict)


On some night--which one doesn’t especially matter, only that it is a still one, peaceable and quiet--Atticus lets his fadewalking lead him towards the outskirts of Benedict’s dreaming mind. It’s less that he intrudes, and more that he finds for himself some way to interweave himself into the world of the dream, and to search through it with vague interest for some sign of his former apprentice’s consciousness.



IV. IN THE LIBRARY (OPEN)


His freedom from the Gallows prison is accompanied by certain expectations, chief among them that Atticus will put his keen intellect and insight into the activity of the Venatori to good use and work.

So that is what he is doing now--or at the very least, he is perusing range after range of books upon aging shelves, withdrawing them at his leisure, bringing down volumes as they strike him as relevant, replacing those that don’t. He has acquired a small work station for himself in the corner, and returns to it occasionally to work.
 


V. PETRANA'S OFFICE (CLOSED)


If little else can be said for the quality of his character, let it at least be said that Atticus Vedici is punctual.

At the prescribed time he arrives outside Petrana's office door, but does not yet knock. An unexpected compulsion sees him taking a moment to straighten the sleeves and collar of the simple black robe he's acquired since being freed from the prisoner's tunic required of him in the jail cell. The fabric of the robe would never pass muster in Minrathous society; that alone makes him inexplicably satisfied by it.

He straightens and lifts his hand, hesitates only a moment, and then raps his knuckles against the door. "Madame de Cedoux," he says (never her given name, not so casually, not here).


VI. THRANDUIL'S OFFICE (CLOSED)

(OOC: This thread takes place shortly after the phylactery thread.)


Shortly after the phylactery ritual is completed, Atticus is summoned to a private meeting with the head of the Research Division. Well, that didn't take long.

He's given some time to himself to bathe first, wash his hair, shave the growth of stubble on his chin, and change out of his prisoner's tunic into something more fitting for one who is no longer meant to look like a prisoner. (He still is, he knows; as long as that phylactery exists. But that is a problem to be dealt with in the future.)

Now, dressed and clean, Atticus approaches Thranduil's office door and knocks.

Comments

[altusimperius]

If this were real, and Bene were fully aware of his surroundings, he might think to be afraid of Atticus. Instead he's annoyed, glancing at the man with a sneer.
"Just fine, no thanks to you," he snips, turning the page of his book, the contents of which shift colorfully and without purpose.

[minrathousian]

He would have nothing to fear of Atticus visiting his dreams. (For now, at any rate.)

"No thanks to me?" he repeats, his tone mildly affronted. He removes his spectacles and toys with them absently, looking at where Benedict lounges on his chaise. "I'm curious as to how you think you'd have fared in the Inquisition's custody without my presence."

[altusimperius]

"Better than you'd think," Bene shoots back, and has the immediate realization that he doesn't know how he left Kirkwall and the Inquisition. It's a relief to be back here, in a safe place with all his things, but he has no memory of how that situation ended. The light in the room changes, losing some of its luster, going grey and thin.

"It doesn't matter anyway. Why are you even here?"

[minrathousian]

Grey and thin, like a cloud passing over the sun. Discreetly, Atticus looks towards the stained-glass window; in a moment, the darkness recedes, inviting warmth and light back into the chamber. The birdsong from outdoors returns, and at his side, Benedict's furry companion gives itself a relaxing stretch before cozying up closer to him.

Keep him calm and comfortable. He'll talk more that way.

"I'm here asking after your welfare," he responds, expression inscrutable but for the barest upward turn at the corners of his mouth. "Surely that is not so difficult for you to believe."

[altusimperius]

"Oh fuck off," Bene says, almost cheerfully, with the total confidence and unbridled honesty of his dream self. "You only care about yourself. This is a stupid trick and I won't fall for it."

[minrathousian]

Atticus laughs, a decidedly unkind sound, and fetches out a kerchief to polish his glasses, which remain hale and whole in the Fade. "Unlike you, I suppose," he replies dryly, faintly, examining the lenses for scratches before replacing them on the bridge of his nose. He folds his hands in his lap and turns a piercing look on Benedict again. "I'm sure you kept my every secret while you were being interrogated by them, didn't you? Told them nothing about the identities of our travel companions, or the nature of my research. You have always been the pinnacle of trustworthiness."

He couldn't lay the sarcasm on thicker if he tried, but there is a purpose to it. A test. He watches Benedict fixedly, awaiting his response.

[altusimperius]

Naturally, because this is a dream, Benedict doesn't care. He probably wouldn't actually care int he waking world either, unless there were some kind of peril at hand, but there's none to be found in his current state.

"Like you kept your promises," he drawls, angling his head back to look judgmentally Atticus' way, "why wouldn't I tell them? I'm not part of this. If you want to play Venatori you can go down with the rest of them."

cw incoming, watch this space!! :V

[minrathousian]

"...why wouldn't I tell them? I'm not part of this. If you want to play Venatori you can go down with the rest of them."

Not the answer he'd been hoping for, but one he had anticipated and planned for regardless. Atticus has several hours of solid, dreamless sleep under his belt tonight; a good thing, too. He'll need his energy.

The atmosphere of the dream shifts; it's a subtle change, at first, hard to place except in the periphery of one's vision. The fineness of Benedict's belongings fades, with fabrics tatty and threadbare at their edges, stone taking on the vague stink of damp and mildew. Watching him, Atticus allows Benedict's own mind to fill in the gaps where his own knowledge fails him; what did that cell in solitary confinement look like?

The soft animal at his side has been a rough woollen blanket all along. There's the suspicious tug of fabric within an open wound in Benedict's neck.

To complete the illusion, Atticus is in his prison wear, but he is without his shackles. He stares at Benedict unblinkingly. "What did you tell them?"

[altusimperius]

None of this is especially alarming, but it is dismaying. Benedict's comfortable serenity is interrupted by a pang of animal fear brought on by the mere smell of the isolated chamber. Somehow it's worse, ending up back here after having thought he was free; how is he back here? Was he dreaming? Surely he isn't still?

His distress grows when he feels the wound in his neck, and presses himself back against the wall, holding the blanket tightly to himself with the hand that isn't pressing on the awful ragged cloth embedded in his skin. He doesn't answer right away, his only response being a soft sound of unease.

CW blood and psychological torture

[minrathousian]

Atticus lifts his chin, and doesn't quite smile. Still--fear is a tolerable placeholder for deference. He'll accept it.

The rest of the transformation around them is complete, and still more than the cell itself was in reality; the walls feel taller, the corners deeper and shadowed, monstrous things unseen but heard scuttling in their depths. The cell door is locked tight, but the sound of the Templars' metal boots striking the stone floor with each sure footstep penetrates through the wood.

Beneath Benedict's fingers, the wound begins to bleed afresh, soaking through the fabric, warming his skin.

From where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the cell floor, Atticus rises to his feet and approaches Benedict slowly. He lifts a hand and trails it through the air at his side, and wherever his fingers touch, the air ripples as though he's disturbed the surface of water. Then, abruptly, he flicks his fingers at Benedict's face, spattering him with water hot enough to shock, but not to burn--more an insult, a demonstration of his power, than anything especially threatening, but behind him, water has begun to pour into the cell from cracks in the walls.

"Answer me," he snaps sharply.

[altusimperius]

Though he initially shirks away from the footsteps, the water beginning to trickle in changes Benedict's mind. Still holding his neck, he clambers over toward the door, banging loudly on it as he looks from Atticus to the cracks.
"HELP," he cries, pounding his fist on it again and again, now trying to ignore Atticus altogether-- like he would in the actual dungeon. As with before, his only chance of survival is with someone else's presence.

CW more drowning et al.

[minrathousian]

"HELP," Benedict shrieks and throws himself against the cell door, the window and latch of which rise high above him, just far enough out of reach to elude his reaching hands. Atticus searches for patience, and finds it. More or less. This bloody idiot--

Well. Maybe a different approach.

The ground gives way beneath Benedict's feet, letting him plunge down into water that seems to have no depth, no discernible up, nor down. Atticus leaves him suspended there long enough to suitably terrify him (however long that has to be, the boy does so enjoy to make things difficult). Then a pair of gauntleted hands grasp Benedict by his shoulders and jerk him backwards--

--from what looks like a water trough. "His papers," the Templar who grasps him roughly by the hair demands, holding him fast so that he can neither twist away, nor lift up a hand to stop the bleeding from his neck. "Tell us what was in the papers! Don't think we won't drown you, answer us--"

Easier to let a spectre in the shape of a known entity do the hard work for him, he decides. Just out of sight, Atticus stands nearby, watching, waiting.

Re: CW more drowning et al.

[altusimperius]

It doesn't take long to terrify him, not in this state. Benedict is in a full panic by the time the Templar takes shape, his voice several pitches higher than normal when he chokes out an answer: "I don't know, I don't know!!"
But he's learned enough from this experience to recognize that won't be enough. Before he can be dunked again, Bene changes tactics, opting for the first story that comes to mind.
"He planned to lead them here," he yelps, "to interfere-- to-- to steal from the Inquisition!" It might be accurate, he really has no clue. Atticus was of little to interest to him beyond a tutor until they were captured, and all Benedict really knows is that the magister intended to be caught.

Re: CW more drowning et al.

[minrathousian]

They dunk him one more time anyway.

It's probably an unnecessary cruelty, but then, so was enduring Benedict's inane and unrelenting whining for most of the journey south from Minrathous. While the Templars thrust the boy's head beneath the water again, Atticus instead takes an interest in what little weather can be conjured up outside one of the dungeon windows, and watches the deluge of rainfall outside transition itself into the soft fall of muting snow.

It has the unfortunate side-effect of bringing the choking sounds from the torture into sharper relief than he would prefer. Yes, he supposes this has gone on long enough. The boy knows nothing.

When they next jerk his head up from the water, Atticus and Benedict are back within the safe, luxurious confines of Benedict's private rooms at his family's home in Minrathous. The air is warm and gold again, late afternoon light streaming in through the stained-glass window; the sleek black cat still hasn't moved from where it slept previously by Benedict's side. Perhaps the unpleasantness from before was merely a terrible dream.

Atticus remains seated in the same chair from earlier, watching Benedict speculatively. He doesn't say anything.

[altusimperius]

Despite the change, Benedict isn't so quick to adapt. He's curled into a ball, hands clutched over his face and digging into his hair, sobbing pitifully while the cat ignores him. The way one cries in a dream is never quite like reality: it's more violent, ceaseless, with infinite breath that only seems to grow stronger as the episode continues. Mad with despair, he feels he may never stop.

[minrathousian]

He sounds like he'll never stop, too. Atticus frowns at him in silence, and says nothing.

It couldn't be correct to suggest that he feels a modicum of real regret for having subjected the boy to the same ordeal that he put countless other Venatori agents through. That was done in order to obtain, for his hosts, evidence of the Venatori infiltrators whose presence in the Gallows were as much his ticket to freedom as they were Benedict's to... whatever state it is he's in now. Yet the boy, ultimately, had known nothing of real value at all, had he? Laying there sobbing himself into oblivion, he was a threat to no one, least of all Atticus.

He sits in silence a moment or two longer, mulling over his discomfort.

Then, quietly, he rises to his feet and crosses over to where Benedict sleeps. He reaches out a hand towards him and, as he has done once before, gentles his dreaming thoughts, soothes his breathing. Anything to calm him, to shut him up, and the feelings that his cries have brought on--

"Sleep," he suggests to his unconscious mind.

[altusimperius]

And just like that, his breath calms, the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Most notably, the ever-nebulous cat is curled against Benedict's face, his hand now draped over it while it purrs warmly. The room is quiet and comfortable again.