[open] mortal kings are ruling castles

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: miscellaneous open prompts
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: the Gallows
NOTES: ya boyyy got his magic back (sort of)

I. Benedict's Hookah Room for Degenerate Hedonists

Most nights, the hookah is lit in its tower room (more easily now that someone can conjure flame again) and the scented smoke sifts from the open window into the crisp autumn air. It seems like he and Athessa just set it up yesterday, but over the weeks there has amassed a healthy population of cushions, rugs, and blankets cast off from every corner of the keep, which now make for a plush if stuffy little nest of creature comforts.
Anyone who happens upon it, or has been told of its existence and wants to partake, will often find him sprawled across a few pillows, sometimes with sketches strewn about, sometimes just gazing at nothing.


II. He's a Magic Man

It wasn't immediate, but after finally, finally being freed of the influence of magebane, Benedict's magic has gradually begun to return.

He uses it sparingly, mostly in the mornings before he goes into Byerly's office to work for the day, perhaps choosing the early hour to inhibit any judgment or interruption from offended parties; and it's the basics he's drilling in the sparring pitch, generating pithy flames and the beginnings of barriers, simply stretching the muscles again after a year of not having access to them.


III. Murally We Roll Along

Progress continues on the dining hall mural, with the lot of it stenciled in charcoal and beginning to be filled in with colored pigment.
High up on his scaffolding, he takes the occasional smoke break and sits with his skinny legs draped over the side, watching the room below.


IV. Wildcard

Come at me. I love you

Comments

[altusimperius]

So fixated on his task is Benedict that the question takes him entirely by surprise, and he turns quickly to see a face he's never seen before.
At first his look is a bit incredulous-- who are you, exactly?-- but then he looks down at his hands, uncertain.

"Uh," he stalls, "I don't think so. ...maybe blue?"

[poleaxed]

Jone doesn't cede any ground either, just makes a light gesture with her hand. "Go on, then."

[altusimperius]

Huh.
All right.

He cups his hand to make a small flame in it. It has to be especially hot to change color, so his fingers tense and his brow furrows as he concentrates, staring hard at it, and it starts to change--

but then he shakes his hand with a hiss, waving away the flame and gripping his palm with his other hand.
Too hot.

[poleaxed]

Jone laughs, but it's not really mocking. Not much.

"What else've you got?" She holds out her hand again, this time wiggling it from side to side. "That ain't, oh no, demons, run away! I seen that."

[altusimperius]

Is this a test of some kind? He looks around, then back at her.

"Uh," he stalls, "...well you wouldn't like most of what I do." Another furtive glance around. "I don't think anyone else would either."

[poleaxed]

Jone slumps a bit in mock-disappointment. "What's the point of doin' magic when you've no Circles if you can't do anything fun?"

Jone is generally not pro-mage in any practical sense, and she is an idiot. But she's not stupid.

[altusimperius]

Benedict gives a self-conscious shrug. "I mean."

He looks at her pensively. "It's not really meant to be fun?"

[poleaxed]

"Huh." She'd never considered that. "Shit, I dunno how magic works, like. My brother used to do the fire thing, though. That was fun, 'til he got nicked."

Jone, why are you here, taking up this man's time, talking about things that probably don't matter to him? Because she can.

[altusimperius]

"Nicked?"

He doesn't seem to mind, at least-- the benefit of speaking to someone who doesn't already know who he is means he can forego a lot of the guilt and perceived judgment.

"Like to a Circle?"

[poleaxed]

"Ah, shit, sorry. My accent's shit from goin' all over. Yeah, they picked him up."

She shrugs, like it's over, and in practical matters, it is. It's not like she's out looking for the little cunt.

"Haven't seen him since. Probably dead. Can you do the thing with thunder? I seen mages do that."

[altusimperius]

Well that's... reassuring.

He stares at her in quiet disbelief, not entirely sure of what to say next, but Jone saves him by moving on without needing a response.

"I-- no, I don't think so," Bene admits, "or I mean, maybe I could, but not right now." He flexes his fingers. "I'm, um, sort of weak at the moment."

[poleaxed]

An artifact of an emotion that might have, once, been concern, can be found in the ruins of Jone's face.

"What happened?"

[altusimperius]

Here it goes: the inevitable disclosure of his pariah status as he slowly inches out of it.

"I've. Been on magebane for a while," he says evasively, with a shrug of his shoulder.

[poleaxed]

Riiiiight.

"What, like a constitutional?"

[altusimperius]

He avoids her gaze.

"Like a punishment."

[poleaxed]

"Oh." Sounds like Mage Stuff, which is thoroughly out of Jone's realm of concern. "Gotta practice, get back into it. Guess you can't use dummies in the training yard, eh?"

[altusimperius]

"Not for what I do, no." He sighs out at the pitch, then shrugs.

"But it's all right, really. If I started practicing on people I imagine I'd get dosed again, with good reason."

[poleaxed]

She frowns, but as she talks her face finds that too-sharp smile again. "What do you do? The real spooky stuff?"

[altusimperius]

He doesn't like the sharpness of that smile, but it's not often Benedict is spoken to at all, let alone with relative friendliness.

"Yeah, I suppose," he admits, "making someone sleep, or panic, or..."

It's not a great look, for most. He shrugs.

"It's sort of a family thing."

[poleaxed]

The family thing detail makes it less scary. Family seeps into your blood and turns it black. Jone thinks of who she is, and the back of her father's hand, and she gets it.

At least, she thinks she does.

"So you're only good for a fight, s'what you're telling me?"

[altusimperius]

"Oh, no. No no." He holds up his hands to dissuade her from this line of thinking, the conclusion of which can only be terrible.

"I'm good for running from fights."

[poleaxed]

Too late, the medieval train has left the medieval station. "You ever been up against a demon, like?"

[altusimperius]

"--I mean, I've seen them," he admits, dreading where this is going.

Then he clarifies, "I ran away."

[poleaxed]

She gets that. Demons are fucking scary.

"You can do your stuff from far off, right? If I put you on a cliff or something above me while I stabbed the demon, you wouldn't scarper off on me?"

[altusimperius]

"Well-- yes, but," he stammers, unsure of how exactly to explain this in a way that won't make her instantly hate him (why does he care about that? wonders never cease), "I can't really do it right now. Or I-- I shouldn't."

He shrugs helplessly. "If I leave the Gallows I'll have to take more magebane, so unless there's a demon here you want to fight I won't be of much use to you."

He pauses, and with some exasperation, adds "and I shouldn't do it anyway!"