Closed: A proposition

[mousquetaire]

WHO: Benedict Artemaeus and d'Artagnan
WHAT: Benedict has a proposition involving coin
WHEN: 10pm, early Solace
WHERE: Benedict's quarters, the Gallows
NOTES: Following this.

Ten o'clock, he'd said. D'Artagnan is there on time, his curiosity piqued at the thought of a job they couldn't discuss over the crystals. Why would that be, anyway? He can only imagine that Benedict had wanted to avoid anyone listening in, and if that's the case it must be covert. There's any number of reasons an Ambassador might want to keep something quiet. He hadn't pushed him too hard, the secrecy in itself having been enough to gain his interest.

Also, Benedict has his interest. After the initial shock over their similarities had faded, he'd found himself interested more than anything else. How nature has contrived to create the pair of them eludes him, but he can't help wanting to know the Ambassador better. What he knows so far tells him they're as different beneath the surface as they are similar upon it.

It's approximately ten. He waits until the clocks chime, and then knocks on Bene's door.

"It's me," he calls, just in case. "Are you ready for me?"

Comments

who wouldn't

[altusimperius]

"I suppose it does," Benedict confirms, his mouth twisting into a triumphant smile, " and I will. When you're not me, you'll be an Orlesian bodyguard." He pauses a moment and realizes something.

"....what's your name again?"

[mousquetaire]

D'Artagnan sighs. His beard isn't all that fast-growing, actually, and in Paris a decent beard is something important. It's a sign you're a man and not a child. This is going to be embarrassing.

"D'Artagnan," he clarifies, narrowing his eyes at Benedict. Had he forgotten? "It's French, which from what I can see, already sounds Orlesian. It's easily traced back to the Inquisition, too. If you want something different, call me Athos."

Because it's just as French, and easy to remember.

"Name of a friend. He won't mind me using it."

[altusimperius]

For what it's worth, Benedict doesn't seem at all bothered by his lack of beard-- one can interpret that as one might. And he waves away D'Artagnan's obvious irritation, feeling no patience for it when there's work to be done. He has a long and ridiculous name, it's going to be forgotten sometimes. Geeze!

"French," Bene replies, "what an unpleasant word. But... Athos. Very well." It almost sounds Tevene, in its way.

[mousquetaire]

D'Artagnan stares him down.

"Are you always this offensive or am I just lucky?"

He thinks it's option one, for the record. Benedict has that especially noble quality of acting like everyone's beneath him. At least that will be easy enough to fake, or so d'Artagnan thinks. He pushes his finger against his temple, fending off the stress headache that keeps threatening to start.

"I don't know much about Tevinter, beyond that it attacked Orlais, and manages to treat mages better than almost anywhere else."

That alone makes him willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. Since he's been here, d'Artagnan has become acutely aware of how this world treats mages, how most of them interpret their religion in relation to it. His own Church would probably treat them even worse, but he can't find it in himself to agree with that.

"Tell me what else I need to know. Allies, enemies, anything cultural they'd expect you to know as a matter of course. If we're doing this, I want to do it right."

[altusimperius]

The accusation yields an incredulous look tinged with amusement, and Bene turns toward d'Artagnan with a smirk. Offensive? He's being downright friendly.

"That's a good thing to know," he replies, going to a small table, where he unstops a decanter of wine and begins to pour two glasses, offering one to his guest. "We'll count most altus as our allies, with the exception of the Vedicis and to some degree House Pavus-- not that there've been any personal slights, but they're on the outs and there's no sense in pretending otherwise." He smirks at his glass before taking a thoughtful sip. "I expect my mother will want to meet you, so be prepared to look your best and say very little. She can't stand Orlesians."

What follows is a detailing of the various families and their standing in the Imperium, none of which can ever quite compare to Artemaeus in their luster or glory. The lesson will, no doubt, continue late and with little reprieve, as many evenings as it takes to get it all sorted out.