[open] I feel calamity whisper

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict & you
WHAT: livin' that wartime life back on the home front
WHEN: Solace, over the course of the modplot
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: feel free to request specific prompts if what's here doesn't suit you!

I. Diplomacy office

Receiving, sorting, answering correspondence; following up on important dates, of which there are seemingly countless these days; making and delivering coffee; taking dictation, recording meetings, making lists; cross-referencing names and locations as requested, labeling markers on a map; there's hardly time to breathe.
It's been some days now since Benedict has had a proper sleep or sit-down, spending his days and nights scrambling after Byerly, seeing to the many minuscule needs of a Diplomacy office when its Forces and Scouting counterparts have fallen off the face of the world.
He doesn't begrudge Byerly-- in fact, for the first time since starting to work for him, Benedict is as quick to snap to his needs as a seasoned valet.
When not hunched over his desk in the office itself, he can frequently be found scurrying to and fro with this or that missive, list, or directive, if not just the latest pot of coffee.

He'll stop for a few moments to chat, but only if it's important.

Ia. for Byerly

With the Diplomacy office's activity having thinned out for the day, the room looks like a hurricane hit it-- this likely includes its denizens, although one of them has stepped out to retrieve more coffee, despite the darkened sky and the guttering candles.
It's an automatic motion, setting the cup on Byerly's desk, but Benedict actually looks at him for the first time in a while, and furrows his brow.

"...how long have you been here, today?"



II. The Off Hours

Going to bed just isn't cutting it anymore. Benedict can lie facedown on his mattress for the hours he's able to take to himself, but amidst the racing thoughts and the day's anxieties, sleep just isn't happening.

It's at these times that he drags himself out of bed and ascends the tower to the room where his hookah lives, long abandoned by either Athessa or Colin, but he can't let himself think about that. He smokes, and lies there staring at the ceiling, and sometimes he sleeps.

After a while, he can be found there nearly every night, either unconscious or trying to be amidst the haze of elfroot smoke.


III. Wildcard

Comments

[bouchonne]

"The night's not over," By says, which is a plausible sort of excuse coming from him. He does regularly stay up well past dawn even during normal times, after all.

He looks displeased by the meat and bread, though. His stomach is a raging disaster, his mouth bone-dry, and so the thought of food is sickening. He doesn't have the power to chew and swallow. Still, he tries: he takes the bread and makes it edible(ish) by sopping it in the coffee, which softens it enough that he's able to force it down his throat.

[altusimperius]

With an expression of grim distaste, Benedict's gaze flickers from the wretched sight of Byerly to meet Adrasteia's eyes.

Girl it's bad.

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia meets Benedict's eyes and frowns. This? Is not great.

"The sun is up; the night has past."

Is she going to just flat-out argue with him? A P P A R E N T L Y. "When was the last time you did sleep?" Does she need to bring him drugged tea?

She's not above it.

[bouchonne]

"Forgive me, Madame Warden." At least his voice is courteous when speaking to her. Despite his popular reputation, By isn't actually a rude man; he's simply a man who chooses to be rude to those he thinks deserve it. She, unlike Benedict, isn't part of that category.

"I fear that there is rather too much to do of late; it leaves me too little time to take account of my sleep schedule. Rest assured that it occurred recently enough that my performance is unaffected. You remain in competent hands."

Then he executes an elegant bow to her, shoots a disgruntled look at Benedict, and takes a sip of coffee.

[altusimperius]

"The ambassador is impervious to human needs," Benedict explains drily, gesturing to Byerly from where he leans on his desk, "he sprang fully-formed from the earth, watered and sustained only by coffee, and--" He pauses to sniff.

"--well, I suppose no mere mortal can tell. But here he is, in all his glory. Behold."

[kantikoy]

"I am only," she holds her thumb and forefinger apart by an inch or so, "this much concerned with the possibility you've been rendered incompetent. However, I have the blessing of being able to call your wife my friend, and thus, I am still concerned. You can ask others; it takes less for me to invite myself to worrying over someone else."

Asterion would attest to it, she's sure. Or Ellis, even.

"Your hands shake, and you look drawn. When is the last time you had water instead of coffee?"

[bouchonne]

"I cannot abide the taste of water," he answers, courtesy still there but sounding a bit strained.

The courtesy disappears altogether when he looks at Benedict. "And you and your silver spoon can fuck off," he says, which - is another sure sign of just how thin his control is worn. It's rare indeed that By makes the least acknowledgment of his poverty and humble origin - or, well, if he does acknowledge it, that acknowledgment always comes in the form of a joke. Ha-ha, I'm so poor, rather than fuck you for being rich. It's clear he regrets the comment a moment later, pursing his lips as he turns away.

"I don't need concern. The war effort needs concern."

[altusimperius]

Even if he's technically not rich anymore, all things considered, Benedict isn't especially insulted by the jab; may as well mock him for having black hair or being tall.

"The war effort has concern," he mutters, glad for Adrasteia's support, "yours, and everyone else's. You're not holding it up alone, you know."

Though it comes from a place of worry, his tone is harsh, exasperated-- he works directly under Byerly, and the more the ambassador runs himself into the ground, the more his assistant will have to eventually pick up the slack.

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia, for her part, tries very hard not to sigh. She can't imagine why Byerly is so willing to snap at Benedict, other than out of exhaustion, but she's not going to wade into that fight at this point.

"Are you or are you not an integral part of that effort?" The elf counters, opening her hands in front of her. "This is not an attempt to unseat you, or diminish your hard work. This is concern for your well-being." She looks at Benedict and shrugs a little before refocusing on Byerly. "What about water with lemon and mint?"

Work with her here, you obstinate man.

[bouchonne]

"We're not so brimming with wealth that we can afford to waste lemon and mint so frivolously," he says, shaking his head. "Send them to the mess halls. Treat the people doing the fighting."

He drops into his seat then, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.

"As Artemaeus so rightly points out, I am ancillary at best. Please; your concern would be much better put elsewhere." He drops his hand with a sigh. "My well-being merits nothing."

[altusimperius]

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Benedict tosses his head and throws up his hands-- nobody has time for this, and if Byerly is going to fight tooth and nail against the most basic requests for self-preservation, then so be it.

"Sorry," he mutters to Adrasteia, propping his forehead on his hand as he begins the day's work.