faderift | [open] gay baby jail 2: son of gay baby jail

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[open] gay baby jail 2: son of gay baby jail

WHO: Benedict and Approved Visitors
WHAT: Treacherous Vint in a dungeon and he's just happy to be here y'all
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: below the mage tower (I think??)
NOTES: will update as needed

It might be at any hour of the day, though likely in the daytime, when one comes to find the dungeon's current occupant.
It's bizarrely nostalgic, that he should be in the same cell, on the same magebane, as he was several years ago when he first arrived in Kirkwall, kicking and fighting and shouting to anyone who would listen that he wasn't Venatori, dragged in and abandoned by his not-Not-Venatori mentor. He'd worked his way out from that, fought tooth and nail for two years to be someone worthy of freedom, of influence.

And now he's back. There's no kicking or shouting this time, and the young man seems a decade older. When he isn't sleeping, Benedict sits quietly on the bed, back straight, staring into space; he eats what he's given, magebane and all, without complaint. He doesn't speak unless spoken to, asks for nothing, and is on the whole so utterly unlike himself that it would likely be less surprising to learn he had been swapped out with a double, the real Benedict still in Minrathous making the same mistakes and never coming back.

But he's here, it's him, and he's at the mercy of any visitors-- good-standing members of Riftwatch only, of course-- who choose to make the trip downstairs.

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Benedict watches her wearily, but there's a decidedly hungry look in his eyes at the sight of the spliff Athessa produces. He's silent while she talks, and perhaps faintly disappointed when she disappears; even second-hand fumes would've helped, but.

He's already thinking about something else by the time the elf reappears, and he looks a little surprised to see her. But then she offers it out, and he hesitates with a longing gaze-- if he could get in any trouble for this whatsoever, he shouldn't risk it.

"I'm staying here," he says quietly, almost humbly. If the thought of his own execution didn't still make his heart seize in his chest, he'd mention how narrowly he missed it-- she'll probably make the inference anyway.

Her arm stays extended until it's clear he isn't going to even move, much less take her little peace offering. No? Ok, suit yourself.

"Staying here with your head still attached," she takes another drag for herself. "That's better than the alternative, right?"

It takes all of his restraint not to, but he resists.
For now.

"I'd say so," he says, leaning back against the wall with a little sigh. "It's better than... a lot of things." Such as, for instance, being sent back to Tevinter to face his own people.

With her limited knowledge of him, she can't really guess at what his idea of worse than a dungeon boils down to. She knows the ones she would have in mind, but her past is nothing like his. She can't even imagine what his is like.

After a long moment of appraising him, she asks: "Why'd you turn yourself in?"

The question bears consideration. Benedict thinks about it, arms folded so he won't be tempted, feeling his resolve crumbling with every passing second.
"...I was tired," he says after a long pause, gazing at the far wall again, "...of... hiding." After a moment, he looks down. "And trying to lie."

Athessa leans back slightly. Not a full retraction, her wrists still resting on the cross-bar of the cell door, but enough to convey that his answer doesn't sit well. He turned himself in because he was tired? Because he was scared.

"Not because you felt bad about betraying Riftwatch?"

He notices how she withdraws, but doesn't take offense to it. It's what he's come to expect.

"I did," he says quietly, "...I do." Hands folded, he fidgets a little. "Denying that was part of the lie."

"Uh huh." Unconvinced.

"So. Say there's a kid crying because he's lost, and you help him get home. Someone asks you why you did it, and you say because I was tired of him crying." She looks at him, expression flat. Do you hear how selfish that sounds?

He seems unmoved, unwilling to rise to the bait, however true it may be. He honestly isn't sure, at this point. Instead he just stares forward, his gaze fixed and his expression muted.

"I made choices," is all he says, distantly. Some have turned out better than others.

"Yeah," she scoffs. "Bad ones, we established that already."

Benedict closes his eyes slowly. "Would you like me to list them," he asks, clipped but doing his best to be patient. Whatever he says, he doubts she'll believe him unless it fits what she's already decided.

She almost says no, almost gets up and leaves, but she's unfortunately finding that in this moment she actually gives a shit.

"Yeah, actually," she says, leaning forward again. Gestures, the intent of let's have it, then leaving smoke in its wake. "Lay 'em out one by one."

He winces. It's not that Benedict isn't prepared to be honest, but what he hadn't prepared himself for was to prostrate himself before everyone who asks him to.
But he made a promise to himself, that he'd make the effort. And he will, no matter how degrading it is.

"I chose to return to Tevinter, which put Kitty in danger," he says, "I chose to remain there with my mother, who I was too stupid to realize was already a traitor. Then, I chose to comply instead of letting them punish me, and I chose to hide when I came back, instead of turning myself in right away."

He looks down, brows furrowed. "...and then I chose to turn myself in. And now I'm here."

Something about his controlled manner of speech and the way he's managing to answer the question in strict technicality while offering no insight into the mind behind the actions has her hackles up. It's somehow worse that he's answering her, but not revealing anything than it would be if he simply didn't respond.

"But why? I don't get it."

"Because," he breathes, his patience clearly beginning to wane, "I thought I was doing the right thing. And I was wrong."

Which is the exact moment that vague sound of the Gallows muffled about them resolves into footfalls, and then the dark figure of a particularly unwelcome man appears in the arch at the end of this grim corridor of cells.

There is something strange about Captain Flint in the choke narrow hallways of the underground. They don't suit the width of his shoulders or the long coat or the man's way of squinting as if perpetually at odds with the sun. The narrow pinch of his expression reads well enough from where he's paused in the doorway though.

"What are you doing?"

Edited 2019-09-26 01:03 (UTC)

If Flint is imposing to a short elf standing, he's doubly--no, triply so while she's slouched cross-legged on the floor, fraternizing with the prisoner. And it probably doesn't look good that her first reaction is to be startled, and her second reaction is to say, through a cloud of smoke: "Nothing."

Her smooth recovery necessitates her tacking on, with a jerk of her thumb in Benedict's direction: "Just talking to this nugget."

He’s never been happier that he chose not to do something.
Benedict flattens his back against the wall, uselessly imagining that it will make his presence less obvious to Flint.

He looks nervously at Athessa, hoping she won’t find a reason to make this- whatever “this” is— his fault.

The lines of his face shift sharply - ranging hard across some undefined spectrum of frustration and anger (Artemaeus should be moved to an interior cell, deeper in the twisting hall of the dungeons. He should be harder to unearth that this) -, and then fix. He advances on the pair of them. The cell doesn't extend far enough to put enough distance between her and Benedict to disqualify them as together.

"And what, exactly, are you discussing?"

Well, at least Flint isn't asking any hard questions. Athessa shrugs.

"Why he's such a dumbass, mostly."

Bene looks at her, then at him. Then he shrugs timidly.

Yeah, basically

For a moment, Flint stands over Athessa in the corridor among the drifting cloud of her smoke - fixing first her, and then Benedict with a cutting look.

"Then I would recommend," he says at last, attention swiveling back to her. His tone is very even despite all that pointed looming. "That you not waste your time. That you put him out of your mind."

She gets to her feet with a sigh she thinks would be befitting of a man like Flint. It's not that she's imitating him, just that she wishes she were his specific brand of badass, suddenly.

"Stumped you too, huh?" She crosses her arms and looks at Benedict like he's a problem to be solved. Clicks her tongue against her teeth, and unthinkingly offers the spliff to Flint. "Don't feel bad. His is an unknowable kind of stupid."

At that look, Benedict just looks down. Arms folded, he seems intent on making himself smaller, and also, more importantly, on not saying anything that would exacerbate the situation. Which in this case, means... not saying anything.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, but he's getting better at weathering it when it means he gets to see tomorrow.

The sharp point of his attention backs there like a knife finding some irregularity in the surface it's set against and skipping away with applied pressure. Oh good. At least they're both fucking morons.

He takes the joint, ashes it against the nearest bar of the cell, and pockets it.

"You have something better to do." It is not a question.

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sulahnan - 2019-09-26 07:08 (UTC) - Expand

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altusimperius - 2019-09-26 07:13 (UTC) - Expand

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