WHO: Bastien & Kostos + Various WHAT: A catch-all WHEN: Harvestmere 9:47 WHERE: Mostly Kirkwall probably! NOTES: No open things but I will be delighted to plan & start things for you if you hit me up.
Scene one: the Diplomacy offices, not too early—rapidly approaching lunchtime, in fact—but early enough that Monsieur le noctambule is presumably still asleep and definitely not in his office. But Benedict is in his, and now Bastien is there, too, with mail in one hand and a small plate of nothing but bacon and sausage in the other. He sets both on the edge of Benedict's desk.
"For him," he says, with a head tip toward the room that will eventually have Byerly in it, "but if you eat some of the bacon, no one will ever know."
A little roll of his eyes and a smirk, and Benedict takes the plate to relay it inside; he'll just knock on the inner door, and it's Byerly's funeral if the food's cold when he comes out.
"He'll know somehow," he remarks to Bastien over his shoulder, "a hedonist and his pleasures aren't easily parted."
A deep mock-gasp, and Benedict presses a hand to his chest as though in affront. It quickly goes away, however, as he nods with a smirk and turns to go into the office.
Setting the plate on the desk, he knocks on Byerly's door.
Whether Byerly comes to the door or not, and whether he notices the missing bacon or not—these are mysteries Bastien is willing not to know the answer to, straight away. He's gone before Benedict comes back to his own desk, bacon dangling from his mouth and slowly crunching inward on the stairs, like two crispy noodles being slurped in slow motion.
But he's back an hour and a half later, now with a report in his hand. This one is for Byerly—who'd better be awake by now—but he stops at Benedict's desk first and whispers.
"Oh, no," Bastien says. He leans back on his heels to see if he can see Byerly's desk without budging from his spot in front of Benedict's desk, but he can't. Which is just as well. He lowers his voice. "Did you tell him it was me?"
"Good man," Bastien says, punctuating the sentiment with two knocks on the edge of Benedict's desk as he turns to go into the back office and deliver the report.
Which is really more or less all he does! The door stays open. The quiet, indistinct murmur of conversation is brief, half about work and half about the fact that Bastien stole the bacon. The only kissing is the chaste hello-goodbye sort, requiring no time and leaving no marks, and then Bastien's out in front of Benedict's desk again.
"So you are a hedonist," he says, in delayed follow-up. "Do you mean it philosophically, or do you only mean that you like bacon?"
Bastien receives a smile in turn, before they part ways-- he's definitely among the less frustrating guests the Diplomacy office receives, and Benedict is, at times, thankful for his presence (he does bring out the best in Byerly, as well).
He's lost in thought and doodling on a bit of parchment when Bastien questions him next, and it causes his eyebrows to twitch up, his gaze shifting to meet Bastien's in a moment's surprise before a little smile develops.
"Oh. Philosophically."
He tucks a strand of hair behind one ear with his quill hand. "Hedonism doesn't mean liking bacon, does it?"
“Not specifically,” Bastien admits, with some sorrow. “There should be a word for that. Bacophile?
“—but no. I meant there is hedonism in the casual sense, I think, where you merely enjoy your pleasures. Like hedonism as a hobby. And then there is hedonism in the philosophical sense, where you believe enjoying yourself is—“
He spreads his hands and then his arms in an expansive gesture, as if surveying the view from a mountain.
"C'est vrai. A committed hedonist would never stay here if they had the choice."
Some of them don't. Does Benedict, these days?
He's not going to ask. It'd ruin the mood. Instead: "Poor Florent."
Not quite presumptuous to sit on the edge of Benedict's desk—they're at least one level of friendship away from that, probably two—he settles for bracing his arm on it and leaning on it like a kickstand.
"What do you think the purpose of life is, if it isn't pleasure?"
Though he's about to make a crack about Byerly, Benedict thinks better of it-- things have been tense on everyone lately, and there's no need to be unkind. He's never had too much of a knack for it anyway.
Quietly entertained by Bastien's stance, Bene's demeanor becomes a little more relaxed in turn, fiddling with the feather end of his quill as he considers the question.
"You know," he says after a moment, "for a while I thought it was power, fortune, all that rot. Pulling the strings of everyone and everything around you, so the outcome always favors you. And... I don't know. Maybe that's still it." He doesn't seem convinced. "Maybe I've gone too soft, but I sort of like not knowing. What the purpose is. Like..." He bends the quill against his chin in thought. "...like maybe I'll figure it out later."
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diplomacy offices, for benedict.
"For him," he says, with a head tip toward the room that will eventually have Byerly in it, "but if you eat some of the bacon, no one will ever know."
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"He'll know somehow," he remarks to Bastien over his shoulder, "a hedonist and his pleasures aren't easily parted."
Speaking from experience, of course.
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Setting the plate on the desk, he knocks on Byerly's door.
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But he's back an hour and a half later, now with a report in his hand. This one is for Byerly—who'd better be awake by now—but he stops at Benedict's desk first and whispers.
"Did he notice?"
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"You'd think someone cut holes in his socks," Benedict murmurs in a tone low enough that Byerly hopefully can't hear it from the next room.
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Which is really more or less all he does! The door stays open. The quiet, indistinct murmur of conversation is brief, half about work and half about the fact that Bastien stole the bacon. The only kissing is the chaste hello-goodbye sort, requiring no time and leaving no marks, and then Bastien's out in front of Benedict's desk again.
"So you are a hedonist," he says, in delayed follow-up. "Do you mean it philosophically, or do you only mean that you like bacon?"
no subject
He's lost in thought and doodling on a bit of parchment when Bastien questions him next, and it causes his eyebrows to twitch up, his gaze shifting to meet Bastien's in a moment's surprise before a little smile develops.
"Oh. Philosophically."
He tucks a strand of hair behind one ear with his quill hand. "Hedonism doesn't mean liking bacon, does it?"
no subject
“—but no. I meant there is hedonism in the casual sense, I think, where you merely enjoy your pleasures. Like hedonism as a hobby. And then there is hedonism in the philosophical sense, where you believe enjoying yourself is—“
He spreads his hands and then his arms in an expansive gesture, as if surveying the view from a mountain.
“—the ultimate purpose of living.”
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Benedict leans back slightly, struck by this new information; he hadn't thought of it as an entire way of life.
"I think the first one," he muses, and after a pause, adds, "...this doesn't seem like the sort of place for the second."
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Some of them don't. Does Benedict, these days?
He's not going to ask. It'd ruin the mood. Instead: "Poor Florent."
Not quite presumptuous to sit on the edge of Benedict's desk—they're at least one level of friendship away from that, probably two—he settles for bracing his arm on it and leaning on it like a kickstand.
"What do you think the purpose of life is, if it isn't pleasure?"
no subject
Quietly entertained by Bastien's stance, Bene's demeanor becomes a little more relaxed in turn, fiddling with the feather end of his quill as he considers the question.
"You know," he says after a moment, "for a while I thought it was power, fortune, all that rot. Pulling the strings of everyone and everything around you, so the outcome always favors you. And... I don't know. Maybe that's still it."
He doesn't seem convinced. "Maybe I've gone too soft, but I sort of like not knowing. What the purpose is. Like..." He bends the quill against his chin in thought. "...like maybe I'll figure it out later."