WHO: Laurentius & You WHAT: Catch-all for fantasy April (pre-Antiva) WHEN: You guessed it. Fantasy April. WHERE: Kirkwall, the Gallows NOTES: Prompts in comments.
As poor luck would have it, only one of these points is actually true. No, Laurentius Vesperus is no Tevene assassin who has traveled far from hearth and home given the singular intent to deliver a somewhat pointed and personal message either to or on behalf of the Artemaeus family (who can keep track these days?). Indeed if pressed on the subject Laurent would struggle to name a single person for whose premature death he might have had so much as a finger in much, less a whole hand or a knife.
(The Imperium is a civilized place, you know.)
He does, however, notice.
With the ominous air of a cloud drifting in to gloomily obscure the sun or like the chill experience by a thief dropping into a back garden only to discover they've attracted the attention of the house's heretofore undetected dog, the attention of the man at the top of the ladder pivots in reply to the gasp and fhwop-thunk of fallen scrolls.
Benedict is halfway through recovering them when from above him a low sonorous voice says,
Going quite still for a moment, Benedict breaks it only to bend to collect the last of them, tucking it under his arm with the rest as he slowly raises his gaze to meet Laurentius'. He doesn't recognize him, at least.
"You're from Tevinter," he observes, keeping his voice calm, trying not to show even more of his hand.
It's the dark, steady gaze practiced most commonly by disappointed tutors—hard to meet and harder still to read in its owners sharp edged face.
Perched there at the top of the ladder, he rather resembles one of the great vultures which love the craggiest places on the border between Tevinter and the Anderfels. Moreover, be looks perfectly at home—not here in Kirkwall, but rather he is cast so easily in role of master of the library it's as if these were stacks in some Imperium archive rather than a southern fortress's.
"Apparently so."
The point of his attention lowers by a handful of degrees to then scrolls. And then, bird in stoop after prey, he begins to descent the ladder.
Having opened his mouth to reveal his own very Tevene dialect, Benedict is past the point of trying to hide his nationality from those who will know it on sight or sound. It's comforting that this man isn't familiar, if nothing else.
Four words isn't much to go by, but the ear eventually recognizes what it's sympathetic to. That Laurentius isn't particularly shocked by it—though later it may occur to him that he ought to have been; a little more caution and suspicion would do a world of good—is seemingly suggested by the ease with which he sets down his collection of texts when he reaches the bottom of the ladder and then turns to advance on the younger man.
"From Vyrantium. I'll take this."
Yoink—Laurentius extracts one of the scrolls from under Benedict's arm. He'd been looking for this earlier.
Benedict snatches for the scroll, but isn't fast enough, and nearly spills the rest of them in the process. He scowls, but notes at the very least that Vyrantium is a far cry from Minrathous, and it's likely they've got nothing, no one, in common.
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no subject
(The Imperium is a civilized place, you know.)
He does, however, notice.
With the ominous air of a cloud drifting in to gloomily obscure the sun or like the chill experience by a thief dropping into a back garden only to discover they've attracted the attention of the house's heretofore undetected dog, the attention of the man at the top of the ladder pivots in reply to the gasp and fhwop-thunk of fallen scrolls.
Benedict is halfway through recovering them when from above him a low sonorous voice says,
"You might be more careful with those."
no subject
"You're from Tevinter," he observes, keeping his voice calm, trying not to show even more of his hand.
no subject
Perched there at the top of the ladder, he rather resembles one of the great vultures which love the craggiest places on the border between Tevinter and the Anderfels. Moreover, be looks perfectly at home—not here in Kirkwall, but rather he is cast so easily in role of master of the library it's as if these were stacks in some Imperium archive rather than a southern fortress's.
"Apparently so."
The point of his attention lowers by a handful of degrees to then scrolls. And then, bird in stoop after prey, he begins to descent the ladder.
no subject
Having opened his mouth to reveal his own very Tevene dialect, Benedict is past the point of trying to hide his nationality from those who will know it on sight or sound. It's comforting that this man isn't familiar, if nothing else.
no subject
"From Vyrantium. I'll take this."
Yoink—Laurentius extracts one of the scrolls from under Benedict's arm. He'd been looking for this earlier.
no subject
Benedict snatches for the scroll, but isn't fast enough, and nearly spills the rest of them in the process. He scowls, but notes at the very least that Vyrantium is a far cry from Minrathous, and it's likely they've got nothing, no one, in common.
"That's for the Ambassador."