[closed] the boy is back in town

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and Leander
WHAT: Leander gets to Hunt a Man
WHEN: early-mid August
WHERE: Lowtown
NOTES: god who even knows

When Benedict first arrived back in Kirkwall after weeks spent in Minrathous (and the subsequent escort out of Minrathous and dumping near Sundermount), he had every intention of returning to the Gallows, explaining that he was held against his will, offering to continue in his normal duties, and getting on with his life.
Instead, he spent about half an hour just standing at the ferry, watching the boats come and go until he felt compelled by an unseen force to just... not.

He's been Not for a little over a week now. It doesn't suit him: he's filthy, for one thing, and ravenously hungry, the bruises yellowing from his escort "helping" him look the part of an escaped captive, his clothing tattered and stained from both that and the subsequent time spent on the street.

He can't go back, of course. To either Tevinter or Riftwatch, both of whom will likely have his head for some completely valid reason or another. So he just Doesn't, buying time until he gets a better idea.

Maybe Antiva's nice. If he could afford to get on a boat there. Maybe he can sell his hair.

At present, he's huddled in a dark corner of the Hanged Man, forcing himself to stay awake so he can keep watch for food left over from other patrons. He hasn't been kicked out yet, but likely will be before too long.

Comments

[altusimperius]

Peek upward he does, in exasperation, but the look he sees stops him cold. It takes him a moment to strategize how to proceed; perhaps further stalling is in order, placating rather than facing a still and awkward interaction with a man he barely knows and can hardly even hope to read.

"Or you could join me," he offers coyly, lifting his head to rest it on the back of one hand: here is a man who knows he has charm and roughly when to use it, even if it's misguided in this case.

[sarcophage]

Misguided, indeed, and paradoxically welcome.

The opacity of Leander's expression seems to lessen. (It's just increased.) He smiles, and tilts his head, and seems to be thankful for the reminder that he's allowed to be a human being now and then—or, at least, that he should relax once in a while. (No one has ever needed to remind him of that.) With a pleasant, chuckling hum, he reaches out to run his knuckles along the crest of Benedict's jaw.

"Poor thing," like this is a little joke they now share, "you must be starving for friendly attention, after all that." Whatever that is. He can guess; that isn't what he wants. "But I really shouldn't."

Such a workaholic. If only he could escape the chains of professionalism.

[altusimperius]

Benedict mirrors his smile, such that it is, not even really seeming to mind the condescension of Leander's response. He's not proud, but... well, he is starving for it, and one might say always has been.
But he's been told no, and based on the delicacy of the situation, he'll have to accept that. But instead he just sighs and rolls onto his back again, blinking up at the ceiling.

"What's your hurry, anyway," he murmurs, "if you've somewhere to be, just leave me here and I'll make my way out."

[sarcophage]

To show him an alternative path, only to snatch it away just as quickly: a direct hit to his patience. Continuing to appear benign suddenly requires more effort than he'd otherwise care to spend, but he's already committed to it, and so—taking special care to keep his hands soft, his posture relaxed, belying none of his frustration—he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I could." He still might, just to see what would happen next. "I could've left after you fell asleep." Pale fingers (still soft, still steady) find a bit of the hair spread beside him, toy with it almost hesitantly. "But I didn't, did I?"

[altusimperius]

That's... true.
Benedict's brow furrows, and then he raises his gaze to meet Leander's with a searching look, warily prompting him to get to his point.