faderift | [closed] I'm learning to give

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[closed] I'm learning to give

WHO: Benedict and Kitty
WHAT: A conversation neither of them probably wants to have
WHEN: Mid-Drakonis
WHERE: the Gallows
NOTES: Discussion of slavery

Having spoken to one person, and then another, and been directed here and there to, at last, the one living person he least wants to see, Benedict approaches Kitty at her workspace with the slow, careful air of one encountering a wild animal, and lightly clears his throat.

He looks a bit of a mess: his expression is grim, eyes red-rimmed and tired, and in his hand he clutches a crumpled missive.

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Kitty is distracted from her deep desire to take a swing at the rotten bastard by that letter. She looks down, and starts reading - frowning over the unfamiliar handwriting. It takes a moment to dawn on her exactly what he's asking, exactly what he's looking for; when it does, she shakes her head. From confusion, though, not from denial.

"So - what, you're trying to find this person?" Her eyebrows draw down incredulously. "Why?"

Never mind that the letter contains phrasing more incriminating than the mention of the slave-- Benedict doesn't have the energy to worry about it, singularly focused toward one goal.

His eyes meet Kitty's when she asks him why, and although he looks away again, his gaze returns a moment later. "...I love her," he says softly, with a helpless shrug, "she raised me."

"Raised you?" Kitty's expression is actually more baffled than it is scornful or incredulous. The idea is, to her, genuinely bizarre. "How on earth could...?" She shakes her head slowly. "Isn't that - Your parents gave her that much power?"

Unable to imagine any other scenario, Benedict furrows his brow slightly. "That's what a nurse is for," he explains, a bit guardedly, "an Altus family can hardly be expected to raise their own children." Isn't that obvious? Who has the time for that kind of work?

"That," she says, "is just about the stupidest thing I've ever heard. No wonder you're all so spiteful and hateful." But - "And they trust enslaved people with their babies? If I were in that situation, I'd be so furious I'd let the damned thing starve."

"Then it's a good thing no one has asked you to do so," Benedict mutters through gritted teeth, his patience waning in the way it often does when he talks to Kitty. He can only withstand so much verbal abuse, but this is no argument about Tevinter's morality.

"Can you help me or not."

"I can." Kitty gives a small shrug. She knows enough about the ins and outs of the Tevinter slave trade at this point - she's dealt with records, knows how to track down deeds of sale and trace them to their destination. But.

"The question is whether I should." She meets his eyes squarely, jaw set. "If you find her, this person, then what will you do?"

He had expected this question, and is prepared to answer it. "Buy her back. Return her home, or-- bring her with me." Since it's fairly clear at this point that his parents can't be trusted with her, might even be displeased by her return.

Kitty drums her fingers on the table. It's stupid, of course. There are thousands and thousands of slaves out there, all of them in need of help. Favoring this one just because she comes from some rich family, because someone with connections wants good to come to her - That's stupid. It's unjust. But...

Well, you've got to start somewhere.

"Whatever she wants," Kitty says. "And what she really wants. Not what you want her to want. Not what you talk her into. Swear to me you'll abide by what she wants to do, and I'll help you."

Edited 2019-03-14 00:03 (UTC)

Bene hesitates. It's not that he would willfully deny Micaela happiness, but Kitty's terms strengthen a raw insecurity that's been coiling within him ever since that moment with the ghosts: what if what Micaela wants... has nothing to do with him?

The thought is almost too painful to acknowledge, and he tries not to wince as it crosses his mind. But on the flipside, the love of someone held against their will? That's not even love.

A restrained, miserable nod is given, followed by a whispered "I swear."

She half wishes he'd refused. Or kicked up a fuss at her, a mere commoner, making demands of him. Now she's actually got to follow through.

So she lets out a great puff of air, one that lifts her bangs and scatters them around her face. "Right," she says. "You've got money, then?"

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and that includes fraternizing with commoners. ...as it has for a while.

"Stored, yes," he answers quietly, hoping she isn't about to ask him to pay up right here and now. "As you can see, there's no mention of the buyer's name, but there must be a record of the sale somewhere in Minrathous." He bites his cheek. This is another matter on which he's hopelessly ignorant, and prone to wondering if he was ever intended to inherit at all.

"Why not just write to your mum?" Kitty flicks the letter. "That's who this is from, right?"

It's difficult to be frank right now, especially with the one person seemingly incapable of giving the benefit of the doubt. And yet, information is helpful, and Benedict doesn't want to complicate the process.

"I think she and my father are in hiding," he says, reaching forward to pin the missive with a finger and draw it back towards himself. "This is the first time they've reached out since Corypheus took Minrathous." He rolls it up again, carefully, like it might crumble if he's too rough with it.

"Sending a letter to our home would be..." solemnly, "...indiscreet, considering the circumstances."

"What," she says, crossing her arms skeptically, "your arrangement that lets you be with the Inquisition isn't enough to keep them safe?"

An arched eyebrow invites him to explain that one.

Another flash of outrage, which Benedict quells in favor of folding his arms and sighing through his nose. "I suspect it isn't," he says flatly, "but then, that's none of your business."

She lifts her chin. "Isn't it? I'm part of the Inquisition. Seems like it would be quite relevant to me."

It's another matter for another time, and yet another problem that can only be suppressed if Benedict has any hope of living normally, of gaining anyone's trust. Even he couldn't mistake the flair of extortion in his mother's words: ensure our prosperity like a good little boy, or we'll destroy more of the things you love.
Not so long ago, he would've been fine with it. Oblivious. But things are different now.

He weighs this in his mind as he watches Kitty, scorn and doubt warring in his expression, and wishes for the umpteenth time that he'd never come here at all. "I don't want to talk about it," is all he says, lamely.

"We all do things we don't want to do," is her simple, haughty response.

"You said you would help me," Benedict growls, "did I swear to what you asked, or to an interrogation?" Under the right circumstances, he'd talk-- but these are not the right circumstances, and the person asking the questions is hardly doing so in a way conducive to free expression.

"I need to know that you're not going to be leading me into some sort of a trap," she says. "Arrangements and all that - you'll understand why it makes me quite nervous."

She doesn't seem nervous.

"If we're going to be working together, then I'd say we ought to trust one another. And I'm trustworthy. But what about you?"

The only trap I want to lead you into involves you shutting yours, is the retort he wants to give, but Benedict restrains himself for the sake of the task. He hates this girl, he hates her, he never knew how much he did until just now, looking into her smug, snide little face that seems to exist solely to tear him down for her own pride. How loathsome that she should be the one who, even if he were to change his mind, already holds the information anyway.

"My mother thinks that loaning me to the Inquisition will strengthen my family's foothold," he says, clipped and in no mood for mincing words, "she's probably wrong. But I assure you." He brusquely pushes hair out of his eyes. "I'd sooner die than introduce you to her."

"I'm sure I'd sooner die than meet her," Kitty responds with a shrug, casual as breathing. But - "What's that mean, though, loaning you? You're not exactly her property, are you."

Well that's a weird way of putting it. It actually gives him pause, and he fixes her with a strange expression.

"As her son and heir, my responsibility is to ...my family. And the magisterium." Property? No. ...but yes? "I'll be taking her seat someday, in the Imperial Senate, as a Magister. And some might say my time spent doing anything but preparing for that eventuality is wasted."

"None of that answered my question," Kitty says, shaking her head. "Honestly. Do you even want all that?"

Opening his mouth quickly to respond, Benedict finds he can't give a confident answer-- not anymore. He flounders at it for a moment, then, at a loss, chooses to backtrack instead.

"It means I'm assisting with research and diplomacy for the Inquisition until I go back home." That seems succinct enough, sensible enough. On loan.

"That didn't answer my question, either."

Honestly, Kitty doesn't need to chase down this line of questioning. It's easy enough to know by the fact that he's avoiding answering that he doesn't want any of it. He'd be boasting about his grand destiny if his grand destiny weren't a weight on him. But she wants to hear him say it.

"You have a lot of stupid questions," he snaps, hearing himself as he says it and already regretting how churlish it sounds. Folding his arms, he sighs in a huff, rolling his eyes toward the door, where he'd very much like to be.

"Are we finished?"

"Sure," she sniffs, "if you're so intent on running away. We can be finished."

But, well - there's more going on here than her feud with this idiot. More at stake. So. "Come see me in three days."

"Three days," is the muttered assent, and Benedict turns to take his leave, despite Kitty's goading.

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[closed] I'm learning to give

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