[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

[altusimperius]

What she's describing honestly makes more sense than what he knows. Benedict nods in affirmation of her question.

"In Tevinter it's about who your parents are," he explains, "sometimes your destiny can change, if you're born a mage from non-magical parents. Or vice versa. But if you're born an Altus, you're going to be doing Altus things whether you want to or not."

He smirks grimly. "I'm the only child in my family. Someone had to continue the line." Not that he will now.

[saam]

"Well-- that's stupid. I mean, I'm sorry, but that's stupid." Because this seems like the sort of thing that won't really break his opinion of her, so apologizing for no reason is a good way to endear oneself. "They should just have more. Couldn't they tell you weren't suited? It's not a bad thing. They wanted me to be a tama for a while, and I was not suited for that."

[altusimperius]

Even if she didn't mean it personally, Benedict wilts a little.
"I suppose they could," he admits, "I don't think..." Twisting his mouth, he scuffs one of his feet on the ground. "...I don't think Mother even wanted one child, to tell you the truth."

[saam]

"She should-" Eshal shakes her head. "No, nevermind. I'm thinking like... In the Qun we all serve the Qun before ourselves. I don't know how it is in Tevinter, but in the Qun, she would be seen as the failure for not producing something that made it stronger. Her wants are not important."

She sighs a little, slumping slightly. As much as this is a display to earn sympathy, it's also true; the best sort of deception, when truth and lies serve equally.

"But that is why I left the Qun. Because individual wants are... very important." She looks up at him with a tired smile. "So I guess I'm talking out my ass."

[altusimperius]

That seems raw. As someone who absolutely never wants the responsibility of his own child, it's one of the few things over which Benedict can't actually blame his mother.
Because he is, in some ways, a lot like her.

"It's all right," he says, mirroring her smile with a little one of his own. "Tevinter is technically only as strong as its Altus families, but... a lot of their machinations are about gaining individual power."
He twists his mouth to one side. "It's a lot of work. And you have to really want it, I guess."

[saam]

"S'true," she says, nodding slowly. She puts a hand out for the bowl and the spoon, once he's finished. "You gotta care about anything to make it work, really want it."

So, of course, her next question shouldn't be that much a surprise. She looks him dead on. "What d'you want, Benedict?"

(Look, she finally learned his name.)

[altusimperius]

People keep asking this, but he has no idea how to answer. What does it even matter what he wants, right now?

Rather than fall into the trap of pointlessly hoping, he shrugs another shoulder and knits his brow. "I'd settle for another blanket," he admits timidly.