[open] I want to hear your voice

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you??
WHAT: back above ground and figuring it out babey
WHEN: after the prison break mission
WHERE: the Gallows
NOTES: hmu if you want a starter

I. The Gallows Courtyard

The ship has returned, they've rowed back to the Gallows, some discussions have been had, and it all goes by in a blur. Benedict finds himself standing alone in the courtyard, free for the first time in almost eight months, skinny and hollow-eyed and utterly overwhelmed by the activity around him.
He looks lost, unsure of where to go, what to do, or how to even begin.

II. The Mess Hall

If he hadn't already eaten food without magebane in it on their mission, he might have collapsed in tears the first time he did it back in the Gallows. But as it stands, even as simple as the meal is that he's consuming, Benedict is desperately happy to be doing so.
In fact, sitting alone in the crowded hall, face turned toward the sunlight-filled window, it's possibly the happiest he's ever looked to the outside eye.

III. Wildcard


for Marcoulf

The first night in, Benedict makes his timid way to the Gallows dormitory, a sack slung over his shoulder bearing a change of basic, casual clothing of a peasant that he was lent for his first stint out of the dungeon. He sets it on one of the unoccupied beds, then sits on it himself with the deep, emotional sigh of a person suddenly experiencing unimaginable comfort paired with the knowledge that it won't be immediately taken from him.

for Henry

It's early morning when Benedict arrives in the garden, disheveled from lack of sleep and wary, but carefully optimistic that what he'll find won't be worse than what he's left. The spring morning air is brisk, and he shivers from it despite the heavy cloak he wears over his simple borrowed clothing. Looking at him now, one would never guess that he's from the Magisterium.

for Colin

Word has no doubt traveled to those concerned on the mainland that Benedict is free-ish, albeit confined to the Gallows. He's pushing a wheelbarrow of gardening equipment from one location to another, hands in rough leather gloves and hair tied back in a little ponytail, when he spots Colin.
He pauses for a moment, his gaze vacant yet pointed.

Comments

[keenly]

Lost in thought, Colin almost walks right by Bene until a stray glance catches a face. He knew roughly that Bene went on a mission and that he served well. He doesn't want to pry, doesn't want to push boundaries if his friend isn't ready, but that empty gaze strikes him like lightning. He knows that look. He's seen that look in the mirror and on his friends. He'd worried the isolation would affect Bene this way, but was not able to do anything about it. He stops in his tracks, returning that stare for a moment before taking a step toward him. After a moment of hesitation, he closes the distance to take his friend gently into his arms.

"You did it."

[altusimperius]

Benedict sinks into the embrace, his head falling forward onto Colin's shoulder as he grips him close. He nods silently, unmoving from this position apart from slight natural swaying.

[keenly]

The embrace tightens as Bene proves to welcome it. Just like that, the last six weeks of worry fall away. He got himself out with no help from Colin. He's going to be okay.

The hug lasts until Benedict begins to let go. Colin steps back and checks him, notes his color, his thinness, his pulse.

"When was the last time you ate?"

[altusimperius]

He's pale, of course; being out of the sun entirely for so long has taken its toll, and he's multiple shades lighter than is healthy or natural for him. But his pulse is fine, and the question yields a timid shrug.

"Breakfast," he murmurs, almost shyly. There's still something quite detached about his bearing, an unspoken worry, perhaps that everything will collapse again if he says or does the wrong thing near the wrong person.

[keenly]

He's not acting like himself, which worries Colin all over again. Was Benedict strained before? Yes, but not like this. Guilt punches Colin in the gut.

"I'm so sorry," he rasps as his emotions rise. "When you were sick, Sawbones and I made the guard defy orders to carry you upstairs without clearing it with Flint. That's why he wouldn't let me see you anymore. It was my fault."

[ho_hum]

Of course by now Henry's been apprised of the fact that he's to have a so-called helper, which is a nice way to say that Henry is meant to teach some spoon-fed milksop how to be responsible for other living things.

This can't go wrong at all.

He stands from his cursory inspection of the work he's already done when Benedict arrives, and he gives the lad a once-over. He looks a bit peaky, like a stray dog.

"You get breakfast yet?"

[esquive]

The dormitories are large rooms, defined by the rotation of its inhabitants and the fuss and bother of a handful of people stuffed into the same space - unmade beds, belongings in packs stuffed under cots, noise at all hours. It's part of why he finds the space pleasant. Things change. No one asks questions about where you have been or where you are going. The most he has to concern himself is the threat of sticky fingers. New faces here are no surprise.

But this isn't exactly a new face, is it?

Marcoulf has fully crossed the room, shucking out of his waxed cloak and beginning to undo the buttons of his coat before he notices the pale figure haunting one of the heretofore empty beds. His half turn toward the stranger is dismissive, clearly meant to be little more than a glance and a nod of acknowledgement.

He stops. His hand pauses at the toggle of his coat.

[altusimperius]

Benedict winces, and though it's not as if he doesn't appreciate the explanation-- he does-- it still does nothing but remind him of the state he was in so recently: completely alone.

It takes him a moment to say anything, his expression conflicted, his movement a little erratic. "It's not your fault," he finally murmurs. It's clear he's still afraid one or both of them will be punished for interacting.

[altusimperius]

Benedict nods, his gaze focused somewhere near Henry's face but not directly on it; he's nervous and displaying every signal that he's not going to make any trouble or put up a fight. Whatever he's told to do, he'll do.

[keenly]

There's fear on Benedict's face, and Colin thinks he knows why. He shakes his head.

"I already checked. I can see you again. There are no restrictions now that you're free." Or on probation, as it were. "When do you take lunch?"

[altusimperius]

The not-a-stranger's eyes lock with Marcoulf's, then immediately disengage. He's perfectly still as he sits on the bed, gaze pointed at the floor, every bit a different person than the one who exchanged gibes with Marcoulf not three months ago. At the moment, engaging in conversation is the last thing he wants.

[ho_hum]

Henry also nods, one solid one because good, no use gardening on an empty stomach. He turns to walk further into the garden, assuming Benedict will follow.

"Gotta lay down mulch," he starts, in a tone of voice one might expect from someone muttering their own to-do list. "Add supports for the tall'uns, divide the rosemary--"

[altusimperius]

Benedict nods, but doesn't seem convinced; it's going to take time. Time which, fortunately, he finally has.
He has to think a moment, but seems to snap back into reality at Colin's question.
"Oh. Uh. ...midday. I think."

[altusimperius]

Benedict trails after him, his expression neutral apart from his constantly flitting gaze, always prepared for this to be a trick, or for someone to burst out of the bushes to drag him off somewhere again.

When that obviously doesn't happen, he's easily enough put to work. However, he's sluggish and weak, having to stop frequently for breath and aching muscles; apart from the recent jaunt to Tevinter, it's been seven months since he even took a walk; any strength he may have gained from his work with Riftwatch has thoroughly left him after sitting around for so long. At the moment, he can barely lift a shovel.

[keenly]

"Come by the apothecary then. I'll get you fed, and we can talk."

[altusimperius]

Benedict opens his mouth, then closes it and nods, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. It's very likely that, despite his newfound freedom, part of him still wants to be isolated; it's too difficult, being thrown back into everything, having to navigate the world again but with only a tiny fraction of the confidence he had before.

Still, he'll be at lunch.

[ho_hum]

The look of pity on Henry's face doesn't really resemble pity. More like disappointment, or annoyance, but even if he looks and sounds put-upon and gruff, he tries to be accommodating. Telling Benedict to sit down before he falls down, for example. It's good that Benedict is taking to the work so willingly, but gardening isn't a rush job. No point wearing yourself out this early in the day when there'll be more to do later on.

"Here," he says, slapping a wad of mulch directly into Benedict's hands. "Just spread it over the soil there, n' around the base of the plants. If it don't look like it belongs, like that bugger there--" Henry points out a little clump of weeds and easily plucks them out of the dirt, roots and all. "It can go.

[altusimperius]

With a full-body shudder as the mulch hits his hands, Benedict nonetheless seems to realize pretty quickly that it's not going to kill him, and really feels no worse than the floor of his cell when it got grimy.
Better than that, even, since it's got a nice clean, earthy smell, like springtime. He never knew he was even capable of missing the outdoors so much.

He follows Henry's point, then nods, shuffling over to the spot indicated, where he proceeds to spread it out. A part of him still certainly rebels at getting his hands dirty, but on the other hand, the day will end eventually and he actually has access to the baths now.
No more standing naked and shivering behind a blanket as he dumps a cold bucket over his head.

[keenly]

Lunch can be smelled all the way down the hall--beef, pastry, garlic, basil. Colin has made one of the few Fereldan dishes widely recognized as "good," but it's his own spin on it. Beef, seasoned well, wrapped in basil leaves, then wrapped in flaky pastry and baked till it's medium-rare. There's a side of greens stewed in broth, garlic, onion, and peppercorn. All, incidentally, will be good for strengthening Benedict's blood. It's not a commentary on how well he was taken care of in his absence, but he finds it very easy for someone's diet to affect their blood, therefore energy and strength as well. There is also fresh bread and gravy he pours over the beef he serves up for Benedict. Once his guest is settled, he closes the apothecary and joins him, dishing up his own plate.

"They have you gardening?"

[altusimperius]

The last time he was in this hallway, Benedict was ill with the grippe. He knew it before, for various reasons, but the smell of it now is what brings that terrible few days back to him, and he looks like a stray cat slinking into the apothecary, unsure of whether he's supposed to be here or not.
Fortunately for both of them, the food looks delicious, and it's difficult to wait until they're both served before digging in-- but Benedict was raised a nobleman, and even after half a year of misery, he won't lose his manners that easily.

Mouth full, he nods to Colin's question.

[keenly]

"That's good." It's worrying that Benedict is so quiet. He chooses not to say anything more until Benedict's plate is empty. Without asking, he places another slice of beef on his guest's plate.

"Are you all right?" he asks in a small voice. "What happened?"

[altusimperius]

Bene smiles faintly at being given seconds, but it dwindles in light of Colin's question. He looks a little more human now that he's eaten, but he still has to pause and consider how to answer as he chews.

"It doesn't feel real," he finally says, his voice in a bit of a rasp, "...being.... here. Out." He looks at his plate.
"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

[keenly]

Colin was in that wall for...well, he doesn't actually know, but it definitely wasn't eight months. He nods a little.

"Take your time. It's a big adjustment after your world was so small for so long."

[altusimperius]

Benedict nods, and, finishing up the rest of what's on the plate, he carefully pushes it toward Colin so he knows not to refill it again. He had to slowly get back into the habit of eating richer food, after the journey home from Tevinter consisted mostly of heaving over the side of the ship as a result of both seasickness and a sudden return to his diet's previous standards.
Not pretty.

Talking about himself is exhausting, when there's still so much to sort through. The alternative is...
He nods toward the shop counter. "How's..?"

[keenly]

"Good!" Colin bobs his head, feeling a little self-conscious at being so boring. Nothing in his life makes for engaging conversation. "I made you something a while ago."

He sets his plate aside and moves to a closet. From it, he takes a watercolor painting that has been simply framed, and comes to give it to Benedict. It's a colorful re-imagining of the same design Kit carved on the cigarette box so long ago.