[open] tiptoe through the window

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and yoooou
WHAT: though still very much under supervision, Bene is out of confinement and Ready To Party
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: The Gallows mostly
NOTES: Always assume there's a Templar nearby. If you're the Templar, that should be easy

I. Out and About

If one didn't know Benedict is a prisoner, and if he weren't dressed in the plain garb of an Inquisition Nobody, one might think he's a visiting prince. Which... in a sense he is, though the visit is somewhat less on his terms and is still essentially captivity.
However, he is now allowed outside, able to walk around and do things and look at people, often with the kind of scrutinizing gaze one might expect from a duchess eyeing a lizard on the ground. He's not here to make friends, he's here to be Kirkwall's Next Top Model.
Or to just. ....wait things out. Whatever the case, he's in transit and acting very needlessly fancy about it.

II. The Library

He tried to continue his Boredom Strike within the quarters assigned to him by the Inquisition, but Benedict did, after some weeks, eventually cave. He's back to researching rifts and Old Gods and all that witch hunty rubbish that the south seems so keen on ascribing to Tevinter, half the time just making up nonsense to put in his notes in the off-chance anyone is actually paying attention. In these moments he looks less like a stuck-up princeling and more like a petulant schoolboy, doodling on his parchment and doing just about everything in his power to ensure nobody thinks they're the boss of him.

III. Wildcard

Dare ye visit his chambers in the old Templar tower? Catch him dining with the unwashed masses or encountering snow, which has become his newest mortal enemy? (Hit me up if you want a specific prompt.)

Comments

I

[aforethought]

Most people are clever enough not to throw snowballs near large, armed men.

Most people.

It's a brisk morning in the Inquisition courtyard when a wet ball of slush smacks unceremoniously into the back of his head. The only other figure in the courtyard appears to be whistling. As innocent as the rain. Sleet. Currently unclouded sky, whatever.

[altusimperius]

Benedict pitches forward with a yelp, landing on his hands and knees and giving a violent shudder as he hits the ground. He feels the back of his head in horror, but is relieved to find only cold water and ice, no arrow or stone protruding from his skull. One can't be too careful.
Still on his knees, he looks up and frantically around for his assailant. The Templar turns slowly, knowing this is a waste of time but that the boy is supposed to be protected. Or whatever.

[aforethought]

Piss, that's the best reaction she's ever gotten. It's one for the record books. It's what slackens her jaw a moment, mid-whistle — just in time for his guard to turn and see.

Her hand's full, of course. Hefting this bucket, right here, and the ladle within. No way she could've shaped and tossed it, no matter how suspiciously cheerful's that wave of a stump.

Totally.

(If the templar turns back to his work, it's not Benedict's back to catch the next lump of slush.)

[altusimperius]

Mean.

Benedict sees her before the Templar does (when the latter does indeed receive a slushball to the back, though he's wearing heavy plate and barely notices), and he stops to narrow his eyes in outrage. He gets to his feet, brushing off the snow and scowling, but doesn't try to come for Melys or retaliate at all; his expression says otherwise, but he knows all too well how that would go.

"Filthy little bitch," he hisses instead, only to receive an exasperated shove as the Templar urges him forward.

[aforethought]

"Don't be so hard on him, Messere Magister," She affects her most blameless look. It's not a roaring success. "Always in th'baths with you, ain't he?"

"Ser," She tips her head to the templar, has managed to cover an alarming amount of the ground between them — "An' all."

[altusimperius]

"No," Bene says outright, with a look of disgust, and the Templar seems unbothered by the assertion. He doesn't want to be in the baths with the little fuckface any more than he wants to be here at all.
"Break it up," the Templar groans, elbowing Bene aside (with a yelp from the latter) as he sighs at Melys. He's here to prevent trouble, and somehow, some way, the sweet innocent boy in his charge attracts it like a magnet.
Bene looks out from behind the Templar, glowering.

[aforethought]

"Break wh —"

She's quick. She's nimble. She has absolutely zero traction on ice. The next step goes skidding, sends her arm flailing on instinct, sends ladle and bucket (of snow, and there must be the trick) flying towards the pair.

She lands flat on her ass with a yelp.

[altusimperius]

The bucket hits the Templar squarely, which he does not find amusing. Benedict would find it amusing if it didn't mean an angry Templar, and he backs up as the man advances on Melys, likely with the intention to scruff her and toss her back into whatever trash can she came out of.

This would be a moment of great triumph if it didn't also mean Bene is, however briefly, unsupervised. He stands there paralyzed by indecision, looking around the courtyard and carefully assessing every possible means of escape that he could attack (and probably fail to reach before someone noticed). He starts edging away, snow crumbling from his robe completely unnoticed.

[aforethought]

Oh, come on. Like her mother would take her back now —

"Look," She scrambles to her feet, only to feel them go sliding out from under her again with a frustrated hiss. "Look, behind you!"

This is probably not the best way to alert someone, in good faith, to their prisoner's very slow and mild escape attempt.

[altusimperius]

The Templar is still stomping toward Melys when she gestures behind him, and he looks, only to see Benedict frozen in place with an innocent expression, hands raised to indicate there was nothing shady going on here.
Nothing at all.

Frankly, Ser Gareth doesn't know who to believe at this point, and the world gets a little darker every day.