MOD EVENT ↠ IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Some dreams
WHEN: Harvestmere 9:45–Wintersend 9:46
WHERE: The Fade
NOTES: OOC post!

Comments

The One Where He's A Magister

[altusimperius]

If not for the magebane, maybe he'd have more than the faintest sense of awareness that something is amiss. But when Benedict wakes up, twenty years have passed, he's accumulated a paunch around the middle and bags under his eyes, and the same blowzy nihilistic weariness characteristic of his father. What little he knew of him.
But it's been this way for a long time, hasn't it? Since he defected, stayed in Minrathous, did his little chores and followed his mother's every word until she and her husband were executed, collateral damage in the war against the Inquisition. Which they won, and it's hard to remember what the fight was even about.

He rolls out of his canopy bed and reaches up to push back his hair, still remaining in its full growth but shorter now, his years of youthful foppery long behind him (except when it isn't, but he's hardly invited to parties anymore). Still gathering his bearings, he looks at the little pullstring by his nightstand and tugs on it, knowing instinctively that with its use comes whatever happens next.

Does he have company today? He'll have to look presentable. Slippers on, he goes to the wardrobe to find an assortment of robes and tunics befitting a Magister, all of which will be far grander than the person wearing them.

The One Where She's A Slave

[sulahnan]

Whatever happens next is the door opening, light from the hallway piercing the darkness of the room. Athessa, standing straighter than she ever does in her waking hours and looking twenty years more distinguished, carries in a golden tray laden with...not much. A spicy concoction to ease the hangover he's likely to have, a scant breakfast because he likes to whet his appetite before breakfast proper, and coffee. She even brought the sugar, this time.

But upon seeing him up, she hesitates, and looks between him and the bed.

"You're up," she states in that way that conveys surprise and suspicion. She sets the tray at the foot of the bed before crossing to the windows. "Good. Mind your eyes, ser."

The room is thrown into the harsh light of late morning, the curtains wrenched aside like it's something she's done every day for more than a decade. Which she has.

[altusimperius]

A wince and a groan follows the light spilling into the room, and he sinks back onto the bed again. It's warm, and nice, and even though he just woke up the way he's done for decades, he strangely misses it, wants to spend as much time as he can here, like he's just come in from the cold.

But there's the food, and that's inspiring. He scoots over to it, taking a cursory sniff and immediately catching himself-- what is he checking it for? It must not matter, it's fine.
"Is someone coming today?" he asks, rubbing at his temple to ease the headache that's begun to set in.

[sulahnan]

"No, ser. The Commander-Captain—" That's weird. Wrong. Not what she willed herself to say. She clears her throat. "The Captain sent a missive that he has to reschedule."

[altusimperius]

The Captain. That word sends a shiver through his spine, and he isn't sure why.
"No loss," he decides, taking a sip of the concoction she brought him, which is delightful, but something seems off about it. Empty.

He runs his hand through his hair again and then down his face, the stubble like sandpaper against his hand. This feels right, but he's ashamed of it, and he gets up to look in the ornate mirror that rests over the vanity against the wall. All his various products line the surface, all manner of cosmetics that affect everything from the prominence of his wrinkles to the shine of his hair to the scent of his armpits.
But he looks awful, and this takes him by surprise.

"I'm fat," he gasps, horrified, and turns sideways. He's still tall of course, and leaner than most, but there are definitely lumps that weren't there before, brought on by drink and idleness and age. "You--"
He turns to look at Athessa with vague incredulity. "Did you do this?" That doesn't make sense, but it's worth asking.

[sulahnan]

"I...Did I do what, ser?" Her own incredulity at the question is limited to a flicker of a frown, a furrow drawn between her brow and quickly smoothed away. Did she make him a hopeless, lonely old drunk with a paunch? No. He did that on his own.

It's been more than twenty years since she indulged in bitterness about her situation, why is she thinking such things now? She stares straight ahead, as she is meant to, awaiting clarification, instruction, or punishment.

[altusimperius]

None are given, Benedict instead turning back to the mirror to grimace into it. Maker, where did his life go?
Why is he still so cold?

Rubbing at his upper arms, he shakes his head and turns away, crossing the room to open his wardrobe in hopes of brightening his spirits by wearing something nice. When he opens it, however, the luxuriant robes and tunics are all at least a few seasons out of date, still beautiful but enough to get him laughed out of any truly cultured room.
Quietly despairing, he removes one from its hook and surveys it, only remembering a minute or so later that Athessa is still here.

"Oh, you can go," he says without looking at her, "I'll be down shortly."

[keenly]

Downstairs in a parlor, a Laetan mage is sitting quietly, twirling the end of a salt-and-pepper braid around one finger. His beard is short and well-kempt and a little more salt than pepper, and the sun has etched fine laugh-lines around his eyes. Being a mage from Tevinter doesn't mean he has had an easy life, though at least being a mage hasn't made it more difficult. He occupied a space in the lowest rung of the Circle of Magi, only barely standing above the Liberati and elven mages in how he was treated. If you're not descended from the Dreamers, there's little social climbing to be done, and Colin hasn't really wanted to do it. His only business is keeping from getting assassinated and taking care of his mother.

Something about this deal feels off. He can't remember where he knows the name Artemaeus from, given it hasn't been a greatly relevant one for years, but it's familiar in a nagging way. After waiting for a few minutes, Colin stands up and starts pacing the room.

[sulahnan]

Athessa, upon opening the door to the parlor, breathes in sharply through her nose. It's not quite a gasp, but not not one, either. Surprise, quickly masked in favor of something more neutral. She told the Dominus there weren't any visitors. Had she forgotten?

"I--" She chances a glance back toward the stairs, then looks back to the mage. "You...have an appointment? I'm so sorry, you've been kept waiting. I'll announce you, domine...?" She averts her gaze to the floor in a slight bow, waiting for him to give his name.

[keenly]

"I do," Colin says, immediately feeling oddly guilty about the way she scrapes and bows. Elven mages in the Circle were technically his peers, at first, until he realized he had a little further up the ladder to go and they did not. Slaves, though, with slaves there is a certain etiquette. The fact that his father became one and he's always wondering if he's going to walk into a house and be greeted by his father doesn't mean there isn't a protocol to follow. "It's just, just Colin. He asked to see me, just let him know, please."

[sulahnan]

"Yes, domine," she bows once more before stepping back out of the parlor and closing the door behind her. She clicks her teeth and shakes her head with her mental admonishment for letting herself forget, rushing back up the stairs in search of Dominus Artemaeus.

It was probably the butler, she decides. The butler set up the appointment and didn't bother to tell her, knowing full well that she would be attending to the Dominus and that she's the one making sure his schedule runs smoothly. Perhaps the old coot was finally losing his faculties, or...perhaps he was sabotaging her on purpose.

[altusimperius]

Benedict is still preening when she returns to his room, now fully dressed (with the aid of his valet, naturally) but unable to stop fussing with his appearance, smearing lotion under his eyes in a vain effort to remove their signs of age, combing his hair this way and that to make it frame his face as effortlessly as it used to. Nothing doing.

"What," he snaps when Athessa comes back, less angry than he is distressed. How can anyone live like this?"

[sulahnan]

"Dominus," she says, bowing. "There is a man waiting downstairs in the parlor. He says his name is Colin."

[altusimperius]

Colin. That name sounds familiar, but not enough to make him hurry, and it's a good ten minutes before Benedict has finally left his bedchamber, descending the grand staircase with a proud, pompous air that barely holds a candle to the grandeur of his late mother. She always knew how to enter a room.
Some things are gone forever.

[sulahnan]

And when he finally arrives at the parlor door, Athessa is there, ready to open it. She steps in first, then aside, bowing.

"Magister Artemaeus."

[keenly]

Oooooookay.

After being made to wait, albeit not agonizingly long, Colin is now pacing the parlor by the time Benedict and Athessa arrive. The door opens and he stops, looking toward it. At the announcement, he points himself in the correct direction and bows low.

"Magister."

[altusimperius]

Benedict nods an acknowledgment, then crosses the room to sink into his favorite chair, beckoning one of the other servants to bring over coffee.
"What can I do for you," he says, already bored, but it's difficult not to glance back at the visitor's face every once in a while. He knows he's seen him somewhere, and this is going to drive him crazy.

[keenly]

Colin's eyebrows rise so far they nearly come unattached from his head.

"Begging your pardon, Dominus, but you asked to see me. If I recall correctly, it was in regards to my contacts in the eastern spice trade."

[altusimperius]

"Did I?"
He scratches at his cheek as he settles in, taking the cup and giving it a little sniff before he sips from it. "Right, the spice trade. Right." He looks bored already.

[keenly]

Colin's brow furrows. He inspects this fat, lazy, dead-eyed magister and knows he knows him. He can't pin down from where, but he knows this man and remembers what he is like. And this? Dear Maker.

"You hate this," he says with a squint. "You're miserable here."

[sulahnan]

Athessa says nothing from her place near the door, but her gaze flickers first to Colin, then to Benedict. The guest's accusation is sure to garner a reaction.

[altusimperius]

It wakes him up, that's for certain. Coffee sloshes from the cup as Benedict sits up straighter, as affronted as he is utterly shocked by the visitor's gall.
"What?!"

[keenly]

The rules of conduct fray and unravel swiftly as Colin focuses on that strange feeling. Ohhhh. This is a dream. Whose dream, he is not sure. Benedict might be here or he might be a spirit. The same goes for Athessa. He frowns thoughtfully. All things considered, with how this month has gone, he thinks they are real people. Which means Benedict is having a much-needed reprieve from being in a cell. It would be nice for it to be a good dream instead of a nightmare, but it is what it is.

"What happened yesterday, Athessa?" he asks.

[sulahnan]

Shit, don't drag her into this.

"Beg pardon, ser?" She looks at a loss. "Yesterday...was like any other day."

[altusimperius]

"What are you talking about," Benedict persists, uneasy, "how do you know her name?" He looks accusingly at Athessa, but suddenly he's not confident in anything he knows about anyone.