faderift | [open-ish] and they all lived together

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mobius

[open-ish] and they all lived together

WHO: Gallows dormitory residents
WHAT: MOVING DAY
WHEN: ...MOVING DAY (and night)
WHERE: group quarters, the former Templar tower
NOTES: Follow your heart and don't feel bound by the prompts. It's fine if your character isn't on the spreadsheet as living here, I'm not your dad

I. Land Rush

The day is defined by its noise and chaos, people coming in and out at all hours to bring their belongings and lay claim to an open bed. There's more than a little confusion, as some bed-owners have no specific belongings to mark their territory as such; there are also those who work the night shift, who are attempting (quite in vain) to get a proper amount of shuteye before they return to the grind.

Things will settle in eventually, but in the meantime, everyone will just have to work it out.

II. First Night In

It's a new space for half the room's occupants. Mice scrabble and squeak in the walls, raising their late winter young. Somebody, perhaps more than one person, snores. There's a dripping coming from somewhere. Just when the majority of the residents have finally drifted off, some asshole gets up for early morning watch duty and knocks a metal tankard off their side table.

There are endless delights to cohabitating, and aren't we all lucky to experience them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. ota, but just one interloper please

He's up early to train, out all day at work in the Diplomacy offices, and by the time Benedict returns to get ready for bed, not only has the room's population doubled, but his bed... is no longer his. It was an easy mistake to make, considering he keeps all his things in a basket underneath it, but he is nonetheless not in the brightest of moods when he clears his throat beside the person who has taken it over.

II. ota

From the evening onward, Benedict can be found sitting atop his bed (either the old one or a new one) with his arms folded over his upturned knees, guarding it jealously. It will take a lot of convincing for him to move, but it is possible.

III. wildcard

Edited 2022-02-09 22:38 (UTC)

Unfortunately for Benedict, the willowy figure currently reclined on the bed, lightly sketching in his little book is probably one of the ones he would least prefer to see there. Diabhall doesn't look up right away at the sound of a throat clearing - he keeps sketching for a beat or two before he even replies, voice the usual void, insect-like monotone.

"May I help you with something?"

He himself had worked quite hard today, and is presently dressed down, hair pulled neatly over one shoulder to tumble down the front of his bedclothes. Relaxed, as he goes.

Might as well just come out with it, since rhetorical battles with these types never go as intended.

"You're in my bed," Benedict sighs, folding his arms with an accusing glance around. Nobody stopped this??

Another solid minute of silent sketching before bright, rosy eyes finally slide upward from his work, expression stony and unreadable as ever.

"Is it?" Lightly. He makes no move to get up just yet, appearing unhurried.

"Yes."

Rather than await further prompting, Benedict stoops to reach under the bed, withdrawing his basket of clothing and toiletries. He holds it up, tight-jawed and flat-lipped, tilting it slightly so Diabhall can see that it contains things.
His things.

"Now get out of it, please."

"Ah."

Shutting his sketchbook with a little snap, Diabhall takes his time in getting up - maybe just a little longer than he strictly needs to, though he would deny it to the ends of the world - drawing himself to his full height rather close to the other man.

He doesn't smile, he scarcely blinks, scented heavily with the jasmine and sage oils he uses in his hair. A scent which is, likely, all over Benedict's blankets and pillows now.

"My apologies. Perhaps if things were a bit more clearly marked in here."

The longer Diabhall drags it out, the higher Benedict's irritation simmers into anger, and comes perilously close to boiling over when he finds his personal space being threatened.

"Perhaps if you used your eyeballs," he snips back, mimicking Diabhall's affect (or lack thereof), "or do you think everything is just lying around waiting for you to roll on it?"

It isn't as if Diabhall is amused by this...lovely young man's irritation. That would be impossible. He hadn't even really meant to get so close, because that would require the will for spite.

Which he, of course, doesn't have.

Of course.

He blinks slowly at the biting remark, arching a brow as he glides back a pace.

"I hardly run short on perception. It was an honest mistake, Mister Artemaeus. We have all made our little mistakes, now haven't we?" He glances to his right, humming a little sound of comprehension.

"I believe that one is mine, then. It would seem we are neighbors."

"Hardly," Benedict mimics again, but allows him to step away, not in any hurry to start any fights he can't definitely finish.

"You can pick wherever you want," he adds, "but by all means, I'm sure I'll get used to the smell."
The irony of this statement catches up with him a moment later, when he remembers that on his other side is Edgard, and... well, he doesn't always notice that smell anymore, so maybe he was right. But this is different.

He plunks down on his bed and, for effect, makes a face. He doesn't even necessarily mind this Diabhall's combination, it just doesn't belong here-- Maker, he's going to be inhaling this from his pillow for days.

Ever so calmly, the elf strides over to the bed he has now marked for his own, taking a seat there as he shoots Benedict a chilly glance.

"If the scent of perfume and cleanliness bothers you so greatly," he drones, gathering his long white hair back over his shoulder again with a practiced motion, "Then I suppose you may be in for a few difficult nights while you grow accustomed."

There isn't anything wrong with the young man's hygiene, of course - but should he wish to be pointed about this, Diabhall can give a bit back.

Edgard strides in just in time to see Diabhall move away from Benedict's bed. He puffs his chest out and rushes over. Not again!

"That bed is taken!"

He stops and chokes dramatically at the heavy scent. He gags a little. It's overkill.

"You smell like a nightmare!" He tells Diabhall and it's ironic coming from a man who never bathes.

He shakes it off and turns to Benedict. "Was guarding it! Three different people have tried to take it! But then, got hungry so I--" He looks at the bed. Where did it go?

He rummages around on the bed, around Benedict, messing up the covers. Under a pillow is a little piece of parchment that says "Benedict". He spins around covering his nose to look at Diabhall.

"You moved this!" He accuses, motioning to the sign.

Sitting in silence through all of this like the eye of a hurricane, Benedict watches Edgard with a vaguely disapproving, mostly bewildered expression. He hadn't known there was a sign either, and has to shift where he's sitting so Edgard can reach under the cover to find it.

Then he follows Edgard's gaze to Diabhall, abruptly wishing he were anywhere else.

There are only so many people in the beds when he leaves in the morning, only so many claimed, and though he's hardly made the time to introduce himself to all the fellows he's sharing space with...

Well, he knows there are significantly more people when he comes back. And more moving in, in fact.

No one ought to have snatched Mobius' bed up for themselves; his trunk does sit in relative sight, and those unused to lugging armor around would find it a burden to budge too far. But it's sure a sight, hands on his hips, befuddled by the chaos.

"I get that it's a little nicer over here," what with it being more staffed, with more that works, and being the former Templar barracks, "but unless there's some remodeling going on, this seems...unnecessary?"

If anyone seems to be having particular difficulty with their things, or finding a free bed to settling in, though, in spite of the grousing, Mobius is willing to help. He's a helper, this one. Whether it's "don't worry, you get used to rooming with others" or "come on, we're all in the same space, don't start picking a fight" or "no, no no, someone's in that bed, yes I'm sure, they'll give you a black eye and then some", he's at least got a word of advice.

"I was used to rooming with others," comes one bit of grousing, "just not this many others."
Things with Diabhall have been sorted, and Benedict is sitting at the end of his bed and smoking a cigarette, keeping his complaints to a minimal volume-- he may not like it, but he's also willing to endure some social graces in favor of not starting fights he can't win.

"They're converting the other space into something more multipurpose," he grumbles, by way of explanation.

"It'll be packed, but it doesn't seem like there are quite enough people to need all the space." A shrug. "Depending on how people feel being stacked together like this." Feels like home to him in its own way. Even if he was finally starting to get used to the idea of more alone time back in Starkhaven.

"You could find a roommate or two you really get on with and get a room for yourselves."

This would be the perfect time to tell Mobius why Benedict lives down here, instead of in his own room-- especially considering a private room is currently occupied by his property, if not his personage-- but that's not really the kind of thing one simply talks about on first meeting.

So instead, he shrugs one shoulder, and drily replies, "or I could wait for everyone in here to get one, and have the whole place to myself."

"Is this the part where we start taking bets on who's going to start shacking up?" Mobius leans against the bedframe, gazing out across at everyone still settling in or getting used to the idea of people settling in with all this noise. "I wouldn't put coin on anything. Maybe favors though. Chores and jobs."

"Oh, that's easy." A bitter little smirk twitches onto Benedict's face, as he nudges his head toward the two beds to his left.

"This pair. I'm surprised they're here at all, truth be told." Though he tries to avoid looking that way, he can't help himself-- and in that there's a moment of pause, where he glances toward the farther bed and unconsciously tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.
"...not that I'm. Complaining." About one of them, at least.

"Ahhhh, troubles in love. Or in bed." Both. It's hard not to pick up on the bitterness. "Get kicked out?"

"No," is grunted indignantly, in a low and quiet tone, so as not to be overheard.
"Just a case of... you know. The prettiest ship you've ever seen, and the barnacle clinging to it."

He furrows his brow in a pretty sulk, gaze going distant for only a few moments before it quite suddenly returns.
"Why am I telling you this," he mutters, "who cares."

"It may surprise you to learn that people, in fact, care. You, for one. You might also be surprised that talking about things can grant someone a little clarity." With a shrug of a shoulder. "If it's gonna cause problems, all the more reason to talk things out."

"Well sure, I do," Bene admits with an incredulous shrug, "but like, you. I don't even know who you are."

That... might be an invitation for introductions?

He offers a hand. Hey, it's not a 'whatever, get away from me' or anything of the sort. "Mobius. Habitual carer. Afraid it's terminal, nothing to be done about it."

Ugh.

A sigh through his nose, and Benedict reaches forward to clasp Mobius' hand in greeting, struggling not to roll his eyes-- not because the newcomer has done anything wrong, but because he himself nearly just blew another interaction by being... well. Himself.

"Benedict," he replies, "um. Assistant to Ambassador Rutyer."

"That's some company you keep." Not a judgement, really. Just...hm. That sure is a character that Mobius hasn't talked to enough to figure out yet. "Been here a while, then?"

This remark yields the first thing resembling a smile, Benedict's eyebrows arching amusedly at Mobius' choice of phrasing.
"About five years," he says distractedly, then, "I take it you've already met Byerly?"

"I've spoken with him before, but I can't say I've had the pleasure of any kind of proper in-person meet." He bobs his head back and forth a few times. "Might have to fix that sometime soon. What brought you here?"

Fair enough, Bene thinks, and it's not like Byerly isn't often at his worst over the crystal.
Not that he's one to judge.

The next question stops him right in his tracks, and though he tosses his hair and tries to make it seems as though nothing has disrupted his thought process, he's not that good at lying yet.
"It's, um," he hedges, "a long story." And not one that necessarily needs to be told to someone so new to the organization, who hasn't formed a proper opinion yet.

"Okay." So noted. Not everyone has to tell a perfect stranger their life story. Maker knows Mobius skimps over a lot of crucial detail whenever he's asked literally anything about where he's from unless it's absolutely need to know. "You wanna gossip about the ambassador, then? Or maybe give a relative newbie a lay of the land as you see it?"

"I'll let the ambassador speak for himself." He gives a wry smile, but there's sincerity in it. "...but don't let him fool you into thinking he's a thoughtless bastard. It really pisses him off when people realize his heart's in the right place."
This is pretty much the closest Bene can get to a prank on Byerly, the one upper-hand he has.

"As for lay of the land, depends on... well. What do you want to know?"

"At this rate, I'll start keeping notes." He at least alluded to as such with said ambassador, but frankly, it had all been a jest, just as it is now. He'll come to know people and determine their self from interaction. But a little gossip never really hurts all that much.

"Hmmm...well, if you don't mind me taking a stick and poking at a wasp nest, if you know anything about the general sentiments about mages and Templars and the more-or-less suspended war, that might be a good place to start." It was a big deal when it happened, and even years on, it colors how people see mages (more than usual) and Templars (more unfavorably than usual). And here in Kirkwall, well, those sentiments can only be felt tenfold, he's sure. Helps that he's personally interested, of course, but there's plenty of reason to be curious without having any skin in the game. "Riftwatch is very diverse and accepting of who it lets in. That must lead to a lot of arguments, hurt feelings. Worse?"

Benedict's expression cools, evidence in favor of Mobius' statement. He may not be a wasp nest unto himself, but he certainly has his opinions.

"For a while, the Templars had a lot of power here." He furrows his brow, glancing down and away, avoiding Mobius' eyes. "...not the way they would in a Circle, I don't think. I never lived in one, so I don't know, but Riftwatch has definitely involved them when dealing with..."
His gaze goes distant for a moment, his tone deadpan, "mage problems." Such that they are.

"It's been a while, though. All the ones who used to be here have moved on."

Mobius gives a soft huff at mage problems. Yeah. That sounds about right. But now he knows--anyone here now that is or was one, they haven't been here all that many years. The others have either died or left. Probably back to the Chantry now with the recall. Means there are still some strong sentiments, but not near as much as there used to be, depending on how often Riftwatch has need to employ their services.

"Makes sense." Tucking all of that away for later. Tucking away Benedict's saying he's never lived in a Circle--something that really would only need said if he's a mage himself. "Less nest-poking, then: how do the divisions get along? Presumably there's a lot of overlap in skill, and missions that have need of all of them. Do the heads get on, or is there some friction to steer clear of?"

"Uh... reasonably well." He furrows his brow, thinking hard-- this would be much easier to answer if he didn't personally avoid half of the division heads like his life depends on it (which, at one point, it did).

"They get along well enough to work together when it matters, at least. I wouldn't say that any of them are friends, from what I can tell." He shrugs a shoulder.

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[open-ish] and they all lived together

Benedict

hee hee hee

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