[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

[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."

[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?"

[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.

[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]

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?”

[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.”

[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.

[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]

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.

[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.

[keenly]

Colin gives a little shrug. "He gets off on having a little power. My suggestion is we don't go looking for it. If he takes it out in front of you, don't react. Things like that. Eventually it'll get boring for him, I hope. Meanwhile I'll...try to think of something better. Something he wants more than that."

[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]

A little power: that’s the understatement of the year. Gripping his upper arms, Benedict hunches forward, his stomach twisting in knots.
He had to know, somehow, how precious it was. He took the simplest object of the lot- the lot of Benedict’s things, things he had no intention of forfeiting, things he didn’t even get to see when he came back.
Things bought and traded by the people he knows. And this one—

He’s filled with a rage so powerful but so impotent that he simply buries his face in his hands, quivering from the effort it takes to suppress an outburst.

[altusimperius]

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

[keenly]

That's a surprise. Colin reaches out to try to console Benedict with a touch on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know if he's making Benedict upset, or Leander. "But I don't...what's with this box?"

[saam]

Cute kid when he's not fucking moping. She wonders if that's part of the reason people hate him so much. For some reason, from what she's seen, it's always a little more disappointing when someone attractive and charming fucks you over. She couldn't tell you why; it's probably a bas thing.

"If you're sure," she says between bites. "You went to Tevinter with Miss Jones, right?"

[altusimperius]

She would likely find, if she asked, that’s what most people would say.

He take another bite, glad for the food, despite having to eat it this way. “That’s right,” he says, though the smirk dwindles again. Being that, against all belief, he does have a conscience, he still can’t help but regret what he put her through.

[altusimperius]

At first inclined to pull away, Benedict lets Colin touch him, but only barely.

“Did you ever know Kit?” he asks, parting his hands enough to speak through them.

[keenly]

Colin shakes his head. "I think I've heard of him. He was...treated in the Darktown clinic."

[altusimperius]

“Treated,” Benedict repeats bitterly, and shakes his head, lowering his hands.
“He couldn’t be saved. He was stabbed by some random fuck and bled to death like a rat in the gutter.”
There’s vehemence in his tone, a stage beyond his occasional self-pitying whine.

“When he was alive, he would come to visit me here. I’d just arrived, caught up with the wrong people, people who didn’t care if I lived or died. He had no reason to, but.”

His words take a turn for the melancholy, and he folds his hands, watching them wearily. “He would play cards with me, and share his cigarettes, and he made me a box so I could roll and keep my own. It’s. ...it was. The only thing I had to remember him by.”

He turns away, looking toward the window, or perhaps just hiding his face from Colin, not wanting him to see the actual emotion behind his upset.
“Now I’ve fucking lost it.”

[saam]

"Can I ask why?" If he says he'd prefer not, she'll pile some pressure on elsewhere, but she's found letting people feel like they have a choice makes them open up more. Plus, it seems more idle, less pointed.

[keenly]

There's a long pause as Colin processes this. He remembers how it felt to stumble through the streets of Denerim only to see a new house replacing his family's, and hear the news that they had been dead for years, the house burned down by darkspawn. He didn't have one thing to remember them by. He lets out a breath.

"His memory doesn't belong to that box," he says gently. It just seems like a terrible idea to keep playing Leander's game. Things are things, and Colin doesn't like being in the middle. He had quite enough of that earlier this year, with Alexandrie and Byerly.

[altusimperius]

Having no such context of his own, it’s difficult for Bene to see Colin’s reassurance as anything but callous; he’s the one in the cell, after all, and by now there’s no hope of returning to his home even if he is ever allowed to leave.
There was the one meaningful, attainable object, and now to find out that Leander has it is like a kick in the gut. A very purposeful one.

“It had to be him,” Benedict grumbles, as if Colin hadn’t said anything, “I wonder if he knew about it, before-...”
Screwing up his mouth, he silences himself. There’s a lot to unpack in what happened that morning, and he isn’t sure Colin needs to hear about it. For his own sake?