[open] far from my mother's home

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: October catch-all
WHEN: throughout Harvestmere
WHERE: Kirkwall dungeon/gay baby jail
NOTES: will add if necessary

For Riftwatch members in good standing, there's a built-in captive audience residing in a cell below the Kirkwall mage tower. One barred window peeks out onto the dreary courtyard, and on the opposite wall an interior door opens onto a dark, torchlit hallway, a bench placed on the wall facing in for the comfort of guests and interrogators.

Inside the cell, every day is the same. Sometimes Benedict is sleeping on the little bed supported by chains from the wall, sometimes he's pacing, sometimes he's standing on his toes to rest his chin on the windowsill, hands gripping the bars to keep himself upright, starved for any form of stimulation whatsoever.

Increasingly, he can be found sitting or lying on the floor of his cell, staring at the ceiling or fiddling with the straw scattered on the floor, bending and twisting it in such a way that, on closer inspection, he might be trying to figure out how to weave it.

Visitors will find him quite receptive, even excited to see them. Unless they're Flint.

Comments

[reshapes]

There are, it turns out, ways to bend that whole 'in good standing rule.' For his part, they mostly involve wearing someone else's face - or as close an approximation as he can manage, anyway.

And no. While Bartimaeus hasn't actually spent much time studying any of the Division Heads, but that doesn't really get in the way of reproducing the esteemed head of Research. Everyone else in a position of authority is human and flawed, with little scars or freckles in natural combinations that don't seem important but generally are when trying to crabwalk past the guard at the dungeon door. But Thranduil? All he has to do is cultivate a flawless air of arch other worldliness, a few exceptionally strong eyebrows, and turn his nose far enough up and no one thinks to look twice to think Have the Provost's ears always been that shape? Have his fingernails always been that long?

Long story short: Thranduil is here to visit you, pleb.

"Well well well," drawls the Provost once the guard has been dismissed. He tosses one comically long and swoopy tunic sleeve over his shoulder, hooking his elbow jauntily up on the wall near the cell. "Would you look at what we have here."

[altusimperius]

Angling his head toward the visitor, Benedict at first recoils slightly, but is caught by a look of total bewilderment as he looks the Provost up and down.

The Provost, to whom he spoke before they put him in the dungeon, who knows he's here.
Why would he be surprised?

Not knowing how to answer, Benedict just stares at him in wary confusion. is this a joke

[reshapes]

"Honestly, how long has it been? Not very, by my count, and yet here you are already reduced to arts and crafts projects with loose bits of straw. Should I be disappointed with your lack of ingenuity, or just satisfied with it?"

There's a particular patter to all of this that doesn't sit quite right on the shape of the Provost with all his graces and finely turned features. The voice is a similar pitch and tone, but the rhythm...-- "But, and here is the real surprise for you and me both, I didn't actually come down here just to make fun of you. So never mind all that."

[altusimperius]

Only just noticing what he’s doing with his hands, Benedict lowers the straw to continue staring at the Provost, both expectant and dubious. Something isn’t right, but replying in any way that could be construed as sassing won’t end well for him.

“Why did you?” he prompts, idly wondering if Thranduil is drunk. “...ser.”

[keenly]

Today, Colin exchanges the usual pleasantries, but looks faintly unsettled. After a moment, he decides he's being an idiot and speaks.

"I know where your cigarette case is," he says cautiously. "But I can't get hold of it yet. I actually may not be able to. But it didn't go far."

[altusimperius]

Benedict has come to understand body language far better now that he can do little more than watch other people talk at him, so he notices the strangeness immediately.

“You did,” he replies, with the barest of hope, “where is it?”

[keenly]

"Leander bought it." Colin purses his lips briefly, embarrassed that the man got under his skin. "And now that he knows someone wants it, he'll never let it go. Wouldn't even hear a price or a trade."

[altusimperius]

That name is like a dash of cold water, and Benedict’s expression reflects as much.
“Leander,” he repeats in a hiss, “what— what does he want with it?”

Some part of him already knows, and it turns his stomach.

[hornswoggle]

They're not Flint, but they're maybe the next best thing.

"Well, you've created quite a stir," heralds John's arrival, before he steps into sight and eases down onto the bench. "You know, it's nicer down here than I expected."

And nicer than other places John has been as both visitor and prisoner, regardless of whether or not he's going to confirm a stint in either role.

"Care for some company?"

[altusimperius]

This is a voice unfamiliar to Benedict, and when he peers out into the dark hallway to match it to a face, he finds that he recognizes it only in passing. Someone from Riftwatch, certainly, but not someone he knows.

“If it please you,” he answers, politely enough. No one, least of all a stranger, comes down here without wanting something.
It’s not like it’s a comfortable place to sit.

[hornswoggle]

It does apparently, because John makes himself at home. It's not comfortable, but John didn't make it all the way down here for his health.

"So. You're the one who caused all this fuss," John begins, even though fuss is an understatement. "I hear you tried to defect. Didn't go as planned?"

Considering the jail cell, probably not.

[altusimperius]

Another grilling, probably. Benedict settles in, not seeming especially pleased by the notion that he’s caused any fuss at all, despite knowing better.
“I didn’t try,” he says in a grumble, “I meant to come back.” Fidgeting, he looks down at his hands.
“That’s just not what happened.”

[saam]

She comes back, of course.

This time, it's with a different bowl of rice. The stoneware bowls are hers, and the dish inside is fried with vegetables and bits of fish. Zaabat, a treat for Qunari children, and while the occupation is over, some of the dishes remain. Eshal lingers in the doorway, letting the smell linger, before she walks into view.

(There's an old Qunari interrogation tactic. No windows in those cages. Kick the door open, and then wait at the threshhold. Let the prisoner think you've come by, but don't come in for a full minute. Let them stew. She heard it from a man who came back from reeducation once. It sits in the space between her ears where nightmares live.)

Eshal walks in, and takes the seat to the floor she had last time, sliding the second bowl of food to the gate. She begins digging in with her spoon, the only one between the two of them.

"So, how's it been." She's hilarious.

[altusimperius]

The tactic works, of course, on someone nowhere near as tough-minded as a Qunari operative. But Benedict just looks faintly relieved when Eshal comes into view, even smiling a little at the sight of the food she brought.
It fades as he slowly makes the connection between her spoon and his lack of one; all things considered, he’s been pretty lucky with visitors, never feeling especially... degraded.
But asking her for one would violate his one single rule of engagement, which is to demonstrate his commitment to penance by requesting nothing, no matter how badly he wants another blanket or something to do.

“...same as before,” he says with a weak smile, clearly trying to be a good sport as he gingerly takes a clump of the rice. It tastes good, at least, and he intones as much.

[saam]

"Kinda guessed," she says. "You busy, or feeling like answering a few more questions for me?"

She eats quickly, with efficiency born less from hunger and more from a military life.

[altusimperius]

He smirks a little.
“I can probably open my schedule up for a minute or two.”

[sulahnan]

Despite her last visit ending rather abruptly with an admonishment (of sorts) from Commander-Captain Flint, it doesn't seem like Athessa has learned to stay away from Benedict. Though, this time at least she's not looking to pick his brain for means, motive, and opportunity.

She doesn't greet him, which might be in part because she doesn't actually like him that much, or due to the herb she's been smoking all night. Look, sometimes you try to get to sleep, it doesn't work, so you smoke to ease the descent into unconsciousness, and instead end up organizing stuff for the head archivist, whether he asked you to or not.

Which means, of course, that she was still awake in the wee hours of the morning when the best bakery in Kirkwall was just loading the ovens, and judging by the smell and warmth emanating from the wrapped parcel she's carrying, still awake when those baked goods were ready to sell.

She plops down on the floor in front of his cell, much like she did last time, and starts to unwrap the sweet breads, the smell only more enticing once relieved of the wrapping.

[altusimperius]

Benedict is still asleep when she arrives, or trying to be. There's nothing preventing the wind from coming straight through the open window, and as the year grows later, it grows colder.
Which means sleep becomes more difficult, for want of warmth and basic comfort.

After fighting it for a while, he recognizes that the smell is not going away, and his stomach gives a growl of desire that results in him lifting his head to see Athessa. She's not who he expected.

[sulahnan]

"Mornin', you absolute Nugget. It's me, back again." Which of course he can see, but that's not the point. Using a small knife she slices a boule of turtle bread^* in half.

"I brought plenty to share if you're in the mood to answer a question."

Colin

[sulahnan]

She's spending a lot more time in the dungeon lately. Since she didn't spend any time there previously, it's not really saying that much to say she's spending more time there, but this is her what, third, fourth visit in as many days?

Being empathetic to people who are unkind in their ignorance is annoying. It means she's compelled to come back, to try and understand a person so different from herself.

Which is all to say that she's on her way out when she nearly runs headlong into Colin, fumbling a lit joint in her surprise. She catches it, to her relief, with only a few bup bup bups.

[keenly]

Colin nearly clocks heads with her. He's carrying a small basket. Inside is the fragrance of spices and crisp crust--savory potato and cheese pies. Between salt and a touch of sourness, he managed to flavor them so the bitterness of the magebane would be offset. The flavor of it must be upsetting for Benedict, so he should at least have that much less to be tortured by.

"Oop!" he says as he pulls back, seeing her. He stops and squints. "Were you visiting...?"

Because really, who is there here who would possibly be visited by anyone from their organization?

[sulahnan]

"That absolute walnut known as Benedict?" Probably not the way Colin meant his unfinished sentence to go, but she can't help but editorialize. She glances back the way she came, as if she even needs to indicate where he is. "Yep. You too, huh?"

pre-Nevarra

[sulahnan]

This time, when she ventures back down into the dungeon, she's announcing her presence by whistling.

"Afternoon, Nugget!" She calls as she comes even with the cell door. She paces the length of it once, holding out a small book to rap-tap-tap against the bars, then turns back to face him. "Not much time before we all head off somewhere to do something, so you get your Satinalia gifts early."

[altusimperius]

She finds the prisoner sitting on the floor and already reading a book, but he looks up with a smile, so much of his despair held at bay by simply having something else to think about for once.

“You brought me a gift?” he asks, his brow knitting slightly, as it appears he’s genuinely touched.

[sulahnan]

"Better than that, I brought you three. Well, one of them goes with the other so it's kinda more like two..." She blows out a breath and shrugs, it's not important, whatever. Sinking to sit cross-legged on the floor, Athessa roots through her satchel and produces a pad of thick, textured paper, a small rectangular box, and a pocket-sized book.

"I actually got Flint to approve these first, too, so you don't have to worry about him confiscating them."