[open] the way it feels to be just anyone

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: Bloomingtide
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: will give warnings as needed. hit me up if you want a starter!

I. The Library

Performing his chamberlain duties in the daytime and studying magic in the evenings doesn't leave Benedict a lot of time for leisure, and in fact the hours he would have spent drinking or playing cards are now occupied in the little office he sets up every night at one of the library tables. It's here that he writes letters, several scrolls weighted down in front of him which list Tevinter's major families and their relations, spread all across the country and ripe for persuasion.

Sometimes he can be found writing fervently, a cup of tea sitting untouched and forgotten beside his scribbling quill; more than once he's fallen asleep there, his face smudged with ink as it rests atop the desk.

II. The Gallows Courtyard

On the rare occasion that he's out of real work to do, Benedict can sometimes be found sitting on the steps of the tower with his parchment board and a quill or stick of charcoal, idly drawing the surrounding architecture. The sketches are loose, but hone in with great detail on things like the flourish in a column or a specific pattern of tilework; he shows little interest in the denizens going about their day, and in fact makes a little face of irritation if ever someone steps in the way.

III. Wildcard

do ur worst



for Solas

With the warming weather, Benedict has felt more comfortable taking his magical studies outside to practice in the open. Well, semi-open-- still afraid of being heckled at the proper training grounds, he opts instead for the herb garden in the evenings, where he can take his time and maintain a relatively low level of anxiety.

The barrier is something he mastered ages ago, but Benedict's skill in it has weakened with his resolve; he can't seem to keep it going under duress, which has led him to try a visibly stronger method: the Rift barrier, as he saw Solas conjure when Kirkwall was besieged by ghosts.
Benedict is able to draw a brief form: a slab, part of a wall, which remains for several seconds and then disintegrates, much to his aggravation.

If he can't make a simple barrier work, no matter its material, he can't protect himself.


for Kitty

It's been more than a few days, but the Inquisition is like that: people get busy and stay busy, with less time than they hoped for side projects. So it's more like several weeks later when Benedict next visits Kitty in the library, walking in with his posture straight and his eyes bright, hopeful.

"Any luck?"


for Marcoulf

There's been no reason to talk to the little ferret-face, save perhaps for a gnawing conscience that rears its head every time Benedict remembers that awful night and the subsequent conversations. Perhaps he was too unkind to him-- perhaps he's afraid of Marcoulf still, even after everything. But he can't have this nonsense hanging over his head, not when anxieties are at an all-time high and the whole world seems unbalanced.

So he approaches Marcoulf one night, sauntering up next to him and leaning against a nearby pillar, where he lights a cigarette and just... stands there. One of them will speak first. Maybe.

Comments

[altusimperius]

Bene lowers his hand again with a sigh, shooting Leander a dark look.

"A barrier," he mutters. Perhaps it's through social osmosis that he knows Leander is a mage; things overheard on sending crystals, or just seeing him around, learning what he can about his fellows in the Inquisition.

But that doesn't mean he's the same kind of mage.

[sarcophage]

He's about to grin—can't even cast a simple barrier, how adorable—but prudently smothers it by taking another leisurely pull from the cigarillo. (He's had hardly any practice at barriers, himself.)

After another smoky exhalation, this one somewhat less theatrical, "We've met, haven't we." More or less. They existed in the same space for a few minutes, probably shared the same eldritch nausea. "But I'm not sure I remember your name. Remind me?"

[altusimperius]

His brow furrowing at that almost-smile, Benedict looks like he's about ready to roll his eyes and leave. But then Leander speaks again, and he at least offers him the decency of a response.

"Benedict," he says, and though he seems about to continue with his surname, for whatever reason he opts not to. Outing himself as Tevene is usually the best way to turn a neutral interaction negative.

[sarcophage]

"Benedict," he repeats, and considers commenting on the apparent omission, or on the quality of the name itself—naturally, it brings to mind trappings of the Chantry—but opts instead to lift his chin and announce, "I've seen you."

More casually, dropping the spent remains of the cigarillo, looking down to step on it, "Around the Gallows. Sketching the Gallows, it seemed like. Where did you study?" Which Circle allowed it, he means.

[altusimperius]

"I've seen you too, Leander," Bene replies, with a little smirk-- this person is strange and secretive, something recognizable to someone also (sometimes ineffectively) strange and secretive.

"I didn't," he says, turning to face Leander fully, folding his arms. "...study sketching, that is. I was taught everything else by tutors."

[sarcophage]

By tutors. Nobility, then, or someone who knows how to take advantage of nobility; sponsored, perhaps. (What was that about secrecy?)

By now he's taken a few casual steps into the garden, insinuating himself nearer by feline degrees. Catlike, too, is the calm and hooded quality of his gaze, like he's already satisfied by things yet to come.

"You've seen me?" Or maybe satisfied by the idea of being looked at without asking for it. "What was I doing? Nothing embarrassing, I hope."

[altusimperius]

"Painting," Bene replies, a smirk twitching onto his own face at the look on Leander's. "Not embarrassing, but somewhat disquieting, if I'm being honest." It's not even Honesty Day!
"Your subjects were the ghosts haunting Enchanter Shivana."

[sarcophage]

The cant of Leander's head easily telegraphs his confusion at being told he was painting—he hasn't done any of that in public, and hardly at all outside of Alexandrie's company, for want of materials in proper abundance—but within a few words, all becomes clear, and his smile becomes likewise unpleasant. Still polite, but as ugly as it is handsome in its sudden twist of superiority.

He's pleased to be called disquieting, but as for the rest: he sniffs. "You should've studied."

His stature is briefly but distinctly modest next to Benedict's taller shape as he breezes on past, crossing from the garden's smaller entrance to the larger. Over his shoulder, "I wasn't carrying any paint."

[altusimperius]

The shift in the smile gives Benedict a bit of a shock, and he blinks at Leander in utter confusion as the man passes by him. He opens his mouth as if to reply, but then just shuts it again as he watches him go, mind racing for how that could possibly have been offensive.
He stands there like a fool for several moments after, unable to quite decide where to go from here.