[open]

[doneisdone]

WHO: Teren, Barrow, and Benedict, and YOU
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: Haring
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: shirtless dilf enclosed

Teren

She crashed a dragon into a tower. And though she lived, Teren was flung from the beast and came to land somewhere in the rubble below, where an aptly remembered healing potion was enough to keep her from expiring on the spot, but moving her body in any meaningful way has been a struggle since then.
Incredibly fortunate to have had no significant internal damage (at least that the potion didn't handle), and with any broken bones splinted and healing, Teren is simply far too sore to move from her bed. After all her big talk about the Wardens not getting into any situations that couldn't be solved without Anders or Inessa...
...here she is.
A captive audience, if perhaps not a happy one.

Barrow

The air is brisk, the day is fine, and Barrow is swinging a hammer around in the sparring range. He's been learning to use it since first arriving in Kirkwall, rather liking the idea more than the usual boring old sword and shield, but having never had the opportunity to play with one until now.
He cuts quite a figure in doing so, and should be approached with caution unless alerted first. He's also only wearing a shirt about half the time, since even in the Haring chill, physical exertion takes its toll.

Benedict

I. (open) There's a certain anxious industriousness to Benedict these days, and if the growing pile of writing-filled parchment he keeps carefully resting on the bench is any indication, he's got a project.
He's also made some pretty decent headway with in weaving a screen for the window with straw from the cell floor, which both prevents the cold wind from coming in and bathes the little room in a pleasant sepia light. It's clearly the work of an amateur, but one can almost mark how much his skill has improved from the start to where his progress currently lies.

He can often be found working on either project, or perhaps painting or reading, swathed in both of his blankets for warmth and powered by nervous energy.

II. (one thread please, first come first serve) On the night of the strange dreams that grip the denizens of Riftwatch, there comes a cry of abject panic from Benedict's cell, followed by the sounds of someone in terrible emotional distress.

Comments

[altusimperius]

Uncomfortable with the sight of Colin in distress, which only vividly brings back the memory of the dream, Benedict sighs lightly through his nose and reaches through the bars to wipe his thumbs along his friend's eyes to dry them.

"Well, it didn't," he says, haughtiness creeping back into his voice, "and if Ser Lutair is still alive, someday I'll chop his dick off." He brings his hands back to grip the blanket. "What'll they do, put me in a dungeon?"

[keenly]

He can't help it--his heart skips a beat at Benedict's gentle touch with such a tender gesture. He gives a hazy smile, then a chuckle at the last thing he says.

"He's not a Ser anymore, fortunately." He tics his chin in the direction of Benedict's writing. "What are you working on?"

[altusimperius]

Following Colin's gesture with his gaze, Benedict shrugs.

"Information for Captain Flint." There's an odd lightness to the answer; the man absolutely terrifies him, but he doesn't feel quite so helpless against him anymore. "...about Tevinter."

[keenly]

Well, damn. The man said he had a job for Benedict. Colin wasn't sure he'd see it so soon. He'd had the impression the man wasn't exactly in a rush.

"That's good," Colin says, although his brow furrows the moment the words have left his lips. "How do you feel about it?"

[altusimperius]

"Oh... you know." An uneasy smile is accompanied by his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... tattling on everyone I've ever known so the organization I left them for can exploit their weaknesses." He keeps his voice low, not wanting the wrong person to overhear and misconstrue it. Or just construe it, but.

"I'm a turncoat every which way." He smiles sadly. "...reversible."

[keenly]

"Just make sure this time's the last time," Colin says with a little smile. "Don't turn coat out of sheer habit. That was a joke. I don't doubt you've well and truly picked our side."

His gaze falls away for a moment. "Especially if you're burning your bridges there. Got to be a wrench, but I'm proud of you."

[altusimperius]

Bene's resulting smile is self-conscious and not entirely amused, but not completely hurt either. It wouldn't be wrong, to call it habit.
"I think... maybe they were already burned," he says, padding over to pick up the pile and glance through it-- Colin won't get a good look at it, as it doesn't seem right to show anyone before Flint.
"I was mostly confined in Minrathous too." He quirks his mouth to one side. "Not really allowed to speak to anyone, except when they sent for me. I'm actually less lonely here."

[keenly]

“So you couldn’t have escaped?”

[altusimperius]

He wrinkles his nose noncommittally.
"I mean, I tried to leave once," he sighs, "my parents had me found and brought back. They were afraid I'd betray them." He looks up to meet eyes with Colin. BUTTERFINGERS

[keenly]

A smile spreads over Colin's face and he laughs. It's good to see Benedict has a sense of humor about this.

"I, um. I have to get back to work." He hoists up the bucket and gives a little wave. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As he turns away, the grin does not fade.