[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

[altusimperius]

[Benedict's brain goes to space.

When it returns, he has more questions.]

...but he's a Vint.

[bouchonne]

What, you've never met a man who hates himself before?

[ He gives an easy shrug. ]

He's Tevinter by birth. That's true. But he's certainly long since disavowed his nation.

[altusimperius]

[He's looking at one right now, Benedict thinks but doesn't say, instead just giving a small nod.]

I suppose that's...

[Loathe as he is to admit it,] ...not too hard to understand.

[bouchonne]

What, do you consider yourself a traitor, too?

[altusimperius]

[Quietly,] am I not?

[bouchonne]

[ A shrug. ]

I don't see it.

[altusimperius]

Well.

[A little smile attempts to break through, reassured, but he schools his expression into something more stoic.]

I doubt my family would agree with you.

[bouchonne]

Well, they're fucking idiots.

[altusimperius]

[The smile perseveres, and Benedict ducks his head as if to hide it. This is serious, they're being serious.]

[bouchonne]

[ Ugh. Smiles. Merriment.

He takes a slug of his coffee, and sighs. ]

My family despised me. Still do. But when I was a young man, I let their hatred shape me into the creature they thought I was, and it drove me to do wretched things. It's hard not to; they're your family, after all, and there's some impulse buried deep in your brain that makes you say, they matter, and I have to listen to them. But take it from me, dear Benedict; they don't matter, and you don't have to listen to shit.

[altusimperius]

[The smile drifts away into something more melancholy, Benedict's eyes going distant as he listens.]

They do matter, [he sighs,] they're an integral part of Minrathous' political landscape. But I'm not going to change that from here.

[He looks down.] I don't think I could change it if I were there, either. My mother is going to do what she's going to do. Going against her is like, well-- well it's like--

[Oh right. The dream.]

--you sort of know, I think. It's bringing a wooden sword to fight a dragon, no matter how prepared you think you are.

[bouchonne]

[ By gives a guileless shrug. ]

Good thing you've a Fereldan in your corner, then. Fucking up heroically and somehow making it through is one of our specialities.

[altusimperius]

That is a good thing.

[His head falls forward, and Bene rubs his temple.]

If you asked me two years ago what I thought of Fereldans, I'd...

[He trails off, realizing this is veering dangerously close to The List.]

...well, it'd be different.

[bouchonne]

[ Wryly: ]

What - used to think they were honest, and then you met me?

[altusimperius]

[Wryly back:]

Sure, let's go with that.

[bouchonne]

No, no, now I'm curious. What were you going to say?

[altusimperius]

If I tell you, I want something in exchange.

[bouchonne]

Haven't I given you enough?

What.

[altusimperius]

I haven't thought of it yet.

But if you want my answer, you have to give it to me. I just need a moment to decide what it is.

[bouchonne]

Agreeing to deals without knowing the terms is how demonic possession happens.

[altusimperius]

[An odd look.]

No, courting demons is how demonic possession happens.

[bouchonne]

Just tell me.

[altusimperius]

No. First you have to admit I was right about something.

[His grin is profoundly punchable.]

Over the crystal.

[bouchonne]

I think you're overestimating just how interested I am in your thoughts on Fereldans.

[altusimperius]

It makes no difference to me, I’m just telling you the price.