[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]

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.