Colin can think of two methods. He'll start with the less tedious one in hopes Benedict will stick with it and if that doesn't work, try the other one. He nods.
"All right. Whenever I visit, and I'll talk with Athessa about it as well, if you lose your temper like that, you'll get one chance to change what you said. I won't get angry if you're sincere. If you're still vile, I'll walk away until you've calmed down. If not, we'll just keep talking as if nothing happened. What do you think?"
The way it's phrased, the way it includes Athessa as well, Benedict can't help but blush with muted embarrassment-- he knows what's happening, even if he's never seen it before. But he nods again, a bit gloomily, recognizing that he will have to be a real part of this if he wants to prevent Colin from abandoning him entirely.
"Nothing," Benedict says quickly, "I mean, it-- it sounds good." He looks a little fidgety, as though he's actually afraid to say anything that could be construed as vile. After a moment, he clears his throat and admits, "...I hate it when you. When you just leave." He frowns. "It feels like I'll never see you again."
Colin's heart sinks. He reaches through the bars for a hand, a foot, a shoulder, whatever is in reach.
"You don't have to be afraid of that," he says gently. "I just...after what you said, I had to think. Make sure I was doing this for the right reasons. I didn't want you to come out of this dependent on me or something."
"I understand," Benedict says quietly, "I just-- when I can't come find you." It hadn't even occurred to him that he felt this strongly on the matter, but there it is.
"I'll try. I'll do what you say. Just please don't leave without saying when you'll be back."
Benedict nods yet again, seeming satisfied by the answer. Colin's never been known to lie to him, anyway.
With a little sigh, he rests back against the wall. "I'm sorry," he says at last, gloomily, "you just..." Wrong angle. "...I didn't mean to leave you. I wasn't really thinking about anything except what I wanted."
"I suppose I ought not to have taken it so personally," he says, "though it is appreciated. I mean, we didn't know each other that well. It's just, for someone who's been left behind as much as I have, it does mess with one's head when the latest is the only person one managed to have consensual sex with." He's not even sure if that sentence made sense.
This yields a half-smile, and Benedict angles his head sheepishly toward Colin.
"I suppose I'm not used to anyone being bothered that I'm gone," he admits, rolls his eyes a little, and gestures vaguely to the cell. "...serves me right for assuming no one would care."
"I understand. But it's important that you present yourself well, especially since you're working with Flint now. Grooming yourself as well as you can doesn't just show respect for yourself, it shows respect for your visitors. And I've noticed how much happier you are on those days. Don't discount that. You've already made the mistake of thinking people don't see you. Now that you know better, start again with a different frame of mind.
"Just...ask politely. Don't make demands. Say please and thank you, and you'll avoid the look you're worried about."
"Right. Sorry." It's horrifying to imagine that someone else is more interested in his grooming habits than he is, and it's a factor he's far too long thrown into Colin's realm when it comes to his interment.
"...Maker, what I'd give for a tub of hot water." His eyes dart to Colin. "--I know. Just let me want it."
Colin raises his hands innocently. "I wasn't going to say anything." His hands go down with a shrug. "But tell me what else you miss. Just for the sake of catharsis. I promise I won't try to steal them for you."
Well that's a can of worms best left unopened. And yet, opened it is. "Oh, Maker," Bene sighs, letting his head thud back against the wall, "...real food. Tea. Wine. A bed. Heat from a fire. Elfroot. Sex." He looks plaintively up at the ceiling.
"Athessa brought some elfroot down to smoke once, and I didn't take any of it. You don't know how fucking hard that was."
That was a fascinating observational exercise allowing Colin to directly consider the commonalities between two people of vastly different backgrounds. Except for the last two things, though. Colin is elbows-deep in elfroot every day and almost never has any urge to smoke any of it. As for sex, Benedict has had sex more recently than Colin. It's not that the lack of it has gone unnoticed, but, well, there's only been the one time, and a standard of frequency hasn't been established, not to mention that any such intimacy is a whole emotional risk Colin is usually exhausted just thinking about.
(He has to gear himself up to physically trusting someone, then tell them about this thing and wait for them to process it, consider the whole time that they might decide it's just too much baggage for a casual hookup, and sometimes he wonders if his feelings for Benedict are mostly a desire not to repeat all that work with someone else.)
"Those are...relatable," he decides is the correct response. "I can start bringing food again, but I strongly suspect 'real' doesn't include your, um, secret ingredient."
Magebane. Which gives Colin a thought.
"Don't you Tevinters use glyphs to take away magic? Seems like I saw those when we were rescuing some of our captured."
It's not like Benedict has had a lot of sex, really, but he's fooled around enough times to know he misses it. It all counts, right?
"Real just means not lukewarm and soggy," he sighs, "whatever happened to Eshal? She used to bring me things sometimes." There's a loftiness to the question, as if he's not a barefoot wretch shivering in a dank cell, but still the hedonist lordling reclining in a plush salon. "Ah, well. I won't push my luck."
He raises his eyebrows at Colin, considering the question. "Oh. Um. Yes, sometimes, I suppose. I don't know how it works."
Colin's lips twist in sympathy, but he determines to go back to bringing Benedict good food. Something else is rather more troubling at the moment.
"They had wards like it on certain places in the Circle as well, to hear the rumors," Colin says. "You, you're cooperative. You eat the food. The next Venatori we capture? I mean, if it were me, I wouldn't eat or drink what I was given."
"...Hm?" It takes Colin a second to draw himself out of his Very Serious Thoughts and replay the sounds he heard issue from Benedict. Half a second later, he's suddenly smiling and blushing, rewarding the playful talk with a gentle chuckle.
"Cheeky," he says with no chastisement at all. He makes a mental note to discuss the matter with Flint later, for reasons other than Benedict's comfort. "It would be more economical to have you in a warded cell than to keep mixing up magebane, but that wouldn't be up to me. I'm afraid your poetry will have to be directed toward Flint, should it come about."
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"All right. Whenever I visit, and I'll talk with Athessa about it as well, if you lose your temper like that, you'll get one chance to change what you said. I won't get angry if you're sincere. If you're still vile, I'll walk away until you've calmed down. If not, we'll just keep talking as if nothing happened. What do you think?"
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"What's wrong?" he asks quietly. He's noticed the man hasn't kept up his bathing in Colin's absence.
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He looks a little fidgety, as though he's actually afraid to say anything that could be construed as vile. After a moment, he clears his throat and admits,
"...I hate it when you. When you just leave." He frowns. "It feels like I'll never see you again."
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"You don't have to be afraid of that," he says gently. "I just...after what you said, I had to think. Make sure I was doing this for the right reasons. I didn't want you to come out of this dependent on me or something."
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"I'll try. I'll do what you say. Just please don't leave without saying when you'll be back."
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With a little sigh, he rests back against the wall. "I'm sorry," he says at last, gloomily, "you just..." Wrong angle. "...I didn't mean to leave you. I wasn't really thinking about anything except what I wanted."
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"I suppose I ought not to have taken it so personally," he says, "though it is appreciated. I mean, we didn't know each other that well. It's just, for someone who's been left behind as much as I have, it does mess with one's head when the latest is the only person one managed to have consensual sex with." He's not even sure if that sentence made sense.
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"I suppose I'm not used to anyone being bothered that I'm gone," he admits, rolls his eyes a little, and gestures vaguely to the cell. "...serves me right for assuming no one would care."
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"You and me both. Shit."
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"Does anyone-- no. Never mind." Knitting his brow, he shakes his head. "I don't want to know."
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"Um. Speaking of caring. Do they, um, bring you your bath bucket if you ask for it?"
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“...I try not to ask for things.”
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"Just...ask politely. Don't make demands. Say please and thank you, and you'll avoid the look you're worried about."
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"...Maker, what I'd give for a tub of hot water." His eyes dart to Colin. "--I know. Just let me want it."
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"Oh, Maker," Bene sighs, letting his head thud back against the wall, "...real food. Tea. Wine. A bed. Heat from a fire. Elfroot. Sex." He looks plaintively up at the ceiling.
"Athessa brought some elfroot down to smoke once, and I didn't take any of it. You don't know how fucking hard that was."
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(He has to gear himself up to physically trusting someone, then tell them about this thing and wait for them to process it, consider the whole time that they might decide it's just too much baggage for a casual hookup, and sometimes he wonders if his feelings for Benedict are mostly a desire not to repeat all that work with someone else.)
"Those are...relatable," he decides is the correct response. "I can start bringing food again, but I strongly suspect 'real' doesn't include your, um, secret ingredient."
Magebane. Which gives Colin a thought.
"Don't you Tevinters use glyphs to take away magic? Seems like I saw those when we were rescuing some of our captured."
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"Real just means not lukewarm and soggy," he sighs, "whatever happened to Eshal? She used to bring me things sometimes." There's a loftiness to the question, as if he's not a barefoot wretch shivering in a dank cell, but still the hedonist lordling reclining in a plush salon.
"Ah, well. I won't push my luck."
He raises his eyebrows at Colin, considering the question. "Oh. Um. Yes, sometimes, I suppose. I don't know how it works."
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"They had wards like it on certain places in the Circle as well, to hear the rumors," Colin says. "You, you're cooperative. You eat the food. The next Venatori we capture? I mean, if it were me, I wouldn't eat or drink what I was given."
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He doesn't seem to be taking Colin's thought process too seriously, but then, it's all more or less the same to him in here.
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"Cheeky," he says with no chastisement at all. He makes a mental note to discuss the matter with Flint later, for reasons other than Benedict's comfort. "It would be more economical to have you in a warded cell than to keep mixing up magebane, but that wouldn't be up to me. I'm afraid your poetry will have to be directed toward Flint, should it come about."
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