[closed] mommy dearest

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict, Gareth, and D'Artagnan
WHAT: visiting House Artemaeus for baby Bene's birthday
WHEN: backdated to after Brandgate but before Modplot pt 2
WHERE: Minrathous
NOTES: it might get weird

It's been a harrowing visit, and Benedict is in need of a break. It's no surprise that he had plans to visit his family mansion before the Inquisition took their leave, and that he should do so right around the time of his 23rd birthday, and this is what brings him and two chosen companions to the gates of House Artemaeus on one balmy afternoon.

They've taken a carriage, of course. He ensured that both Gareth and D'Artagnan were washed and dressed properly, and left no room for the possibility that anyone could track mud on his parents' spotless floors. He tips the driver-- perhaps a little too much-- as they reach the front entryway, and Benedict can hardly contain his excitement as they step inside.

The foyer is sprawling and ornate, blacks and golds and reds in luxurious fabrics and metals adorning every corner, statuary and tapestry of prowling spotted cats and magnificent tropical birds decorating banisters, doorways, tables, and anywhere one might think to look. A great stained-glass oculus beams sunlight down from the ceiling over the grand stairway, casting an intricate jeweled pattern on the marble floor.
Home sweet home.

"Hello?" Benedict calls as he enters, smiling, and is quickly answered by a well-dressed elf who comes to take their cloaks.
"Young Master Artemaeus," he says, looking more frightened than glad to see him, and glances to a second elf who stands in the doorway to the parlor. She shrugs helplessly; they seem decidedly unprepared.

Comments

[altusimperius]

"Oh, sure, we'll come back for him," Bene says with a wave of his hand, clearly not terribly concerned with the idea. He leads the way up the stairs and down a lavish hallway, unlatching one of the doors and stepping into a room so opulent it's actually a second parlor. It's decorated with more red and gold and ocelots, but the fanciful objects situated about the chamber are ludicrously expensive toys. Visible through a doorway on the other side of the room is a large and lavish four-poster bed, both rooms bathed in sunlight coming in through massive stained-glass windows.

Benedict smiles fondly, the way one might look after finding an old teddy bear or favorite childhood book. "I have a bit of a library in here too," he brags, going to a bookshelf and removing one of its tomes to show to Gareth, "it's not as comprehensive as Father's, but I'm sure I'll have more someday."


Down in the actual parlor, Calpurnia continues to grip D'Artagnan's wrist, either oblivious to his desire to leave or enjoying it. "And what does it do," she persists, "I've heard things, but never seen one."

[mousquetaire]

Already, he's wondering how far away Benedict and Gareth have gotten. Discussing the anchor makes him feel hot under the collar, in part because he's sure he hasn't worked out all its intricacies yet. In fact, that's something of an understatement; he actively tries not to work out its intricacies. It feels alien enough to him without any of that.

"They close rifts," he says, somewhat lamely. "Not alone, but with others. I know there are other capabilities, too. Shields, and...some form of shot."

He's yet to see that in person. He's also yet to attempt it. He gives her an uncertain smile, sure that this is not what she wants to hear.

"I'm afraid magic has never been a skill of mine, Magister. I would not know where to begin."

[foundmyselfagain]

D'Artagnan is, unfortunately for him, forgotten for the moment, as soon as Gareth steps inside Benedict's bedroom (bed suite?). It's odd—he knows Benedict is crazy rich, of course, and he was just in another part of the house. But knowing that this room right here personally and privately belongs to Benedict truly hammers it home.

Briefly, Gareth contemplates the various places he's stayed in. The old, worn farmhouse he barely remembers, the crowded dorms of the Gallows, then a long series of putting his tent and bedroll wherever he could find a place. If he had been born here, would his lot in life be any better?

Eventually, he stops gawking long enough to turn and face Benedict, and his...modest personal library. He can’t help it—he wanders over, still in awe as he inspects the titles. "Well, he's had a few decades of a head start. If it makes you feel better, your personal library is more impressive than mine." He shoots a wry grin at Benedict. "Still. This is really something. Do you have any themes planned?"

[altusimperius]

"Well," Calpurnia breathes, "there's no reason to let that stand in the way."
Just as abruptly, she releases D'Artagnan and takes a step back, her dark eyes calculating and pensive. She picks up a glass of wine and sips from it, still regarding him with an uncomfortable intensity, but then, whatever her thought process is, she decides he doesn't need to be present for it.
"Go on then," she says with a wave of her hand, almost warmly, her eyes still boring into him. He's being released for now, but this definitely isn't over.

"Themes?" Benedict asks Gareth, pleased by the question nonetheless and clearly basking in the compliment, "you mean like how it'll be organized?"
At that moment, a soft knock comes at the door, and he turns to see a plain but kind-featured middle-aged woman in the doorway, wearing a tentative smile. "Micaela!" Bene breathes, and immediately forgets Gareth to go and embrace her, a gesture which is emphatically returned, only after his initiation.
D'Artagnan is likely privy to this as well, should he come up the stairs and down the hall at that moment.