[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]

My spymaster. Who directs me in my duties as a spy.

[ He doesn't smile. Nor does he look at Benedict. Instead, he rises to pour himself a very deep shot of a very strong liquor straight into his coffee. ]

You did not, I hope, think that they would make a common idiot Ambassador.

[altusimperius]

[Suddenly Benedict has no appetite for his coffee, or anything else. Perhaps Byerly is sleepwalking. Or drugged. Or...]

...does Riftwatch know? [he asks, still hushed. Perhaps there's just more to the situation than he's imagining.]

[bouchonne]

Does Riftwatch mean the full organization? I hope you're not imagining that you alone have been kept in the dark.

[ His sarcasm is - tired. Just tired. ]

The Division Heads are informed. [ A sour smile. ] Flint uses it to justify any number of his own moral failings, you can be sure.

[altusimperius]

[Bene shakes his head, no, that's not--

and there's the truth he was waiting for, which he accepts with a deep sigh of relief. He feels like he's aged twenty years in the last two minutes, not allowing himself to imagine what it would have been like to navigate a situation where he's beholden to one department head and keeping a secret from the others.]

Maker's breath, you could've led with that, [he breathes, and picks up his coffee to take a gulp from it.]

I don't imagine you're going to sell us out to the highest available bidder.

[bouchonne]

[ You could have led with that. Like it makes it okay. ]

If I was interested in high bidders, would I be serving Ferelden?

[ His voice remains sour as he takes a deep gulp of his own (fortified) coffee. ]

[altusimperius]

Why are you serving Ferelden?

[As long as they're speaking frankly.]

Obviously it benefits them for you to be in a position of power, but it must benefit Riftwatch somehow also, if the other Division Heads know and you haven't been hanged yet.

[bouchonne]

That's two different questions, Artemaeus. Why I'm serving Ferelden and why they tolerate it.

[altusimperius]

...will you answer both?

[bouchonne]

[ Another sip of coffee. ]

Give me your best guess on each. I'll tell you whether or not you're right.

[altusimperius]

[Fair enough.

Benedict falls silent with a little nod, thinking on it as he sips his coffee. When he finally speaks again, his words are measured, but spoken with energy, like those of a pupil being called upon to solve a problem.]

You serve Ferelden out of obligation to your family, [he guesses, watching Byerly's face,] or... at least sentimentality for your homeland from being brought up in its nobility.

[Projection perhaps, but it's not insane to imagine he and Byerly have some things in common.]

...and maybe it's tolerated because Riftwatch has your reputation as collateral. As long as you serve the organization well, you won't be exposed.

[bouchonne]

[ By is, strangely, obliquely, cheered by the wrong guesses. ]

Alas, no. No to each. I'd tear my family up by the root, with a scant few exceptions, and my noble roots have little to do with my relationship towards my country. And they'd not have given me such power if they were holding me in check with fear. It would be far too easy for me to turn on them in my position of power.

[altusimperius]

[A little sigh, and Benedict accepts his defeat; he'll have to be an idiot a little bit longer, it seems, but at least he made an attempt.]

Why, then? Should I keep guessing?

[It altogether feels more like they're playing a strategy game than uncovering potential treason, but they've already gotten this far.]

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ He gives a little frown, then decides: ]

Yes. Keep guessing.

[altusimperius]

[So be it.]

Perhaps you just love your mother country that much. Or perhaps someone you love is in danger of retribution if you should leave or betray your post.

[Look, he reads romance novels occasionally, it's Athessa's fault.]

[bouchonne]

[ That pulls an honest grin out of Byerly. ]

Maker, I wish I was important enough to get someone held hostage to guarantee my cooperation.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict can't help but mirror the grin. It was a nice thought.]

Then is it the former? You just love your country that much? To tell the truth, I can't imagine you being forced to do anything you didn't already want to.

[bouchonne]

What, no guess that the work gives me a license to cause mischief? That's usually people's first thought when I tell them. Byerly loves to snoop and stir up chaos - now he gets paid to.

[altusimperius]

[Narrowing his eyes, Benedict considers it, but then shakes his head.]

...that's not your kind of mischief. You embarrass people at parties, you don't try to get them killed for fun.

[He won't go so far as to say Byerly has a noble streak, if only because they've set certain standards of behavior in their relationship and he will never, ever hear the end of it.]

[bouchonne]

[ Another shrug allows this to be true. ]

There are plenty of spies who came into it through the military. But those spies don't generally look or act like me. I was recruited as a civilian. So it simply being a step on a career path also wouldn't make any sense. So unless you can think of any other alternatives, it seems that patriotism is the most likely underlying reason.

[altusimperius]

[A pensive little nod as Benedict mulls over the options.]

If it paid exceedingly well, you'd have a difficult time disguising your wealth as compared to the other division heads. You love striped sleeves too much.

[He narrows his eyes, as if blurring the picture will bring it all into view.]

On the other hand, you might be saving it, to make out like a bandit later. Live in a palace, pay for protection and anonymity. More stripes than your wardrobe has room for.

[bouchonne]

Ha.

[ A genuinely amused laugh. ]

I am not making palace money.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict's grin returns.]

Am I right, then? Patriotism?

[bouchonne]

[ He tilts his head to the side. ]

That is part of it, I suppose.

[ Not the full story - the full story, Benedict hasn't identified yet - but part of it. Which, even admitting that much virtue is unusual for Byerly, to be sure. ]

[altusimperius]

If the rest of it isn't to do with loved ones, money, or safety, then...

[He's letting his privilege show, and it's a careful thing, his eyes meeting Byerly's in a silent plea for mercy.]

...I don't know.

[bouchonne]

Do you need to know?

[ The question is - well, it might actually be a real question. It's not just a rebuff, in any case. ]