[open] a me party

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: birthday boy celebrates solo-ish
WHEN: late Solace
WHERE: around the Gallows
NOTES: feel free to wildcard or request a custom starter

No Colin, no Athessa. No Lakshmi. No D'Artagnan, no Kitty, no Gabranth, no Jone, no Allumin-- why does he keep getting so hung up on Rifters, anyway, they just vanish-- there's still Byerly, but asking him to hang out after work seems awkward, especially considering what happened the last time. Better not.
But it's Benedict's birthday, and the weather is fine, he has money of his own and freedom to do what he pleases when he's not working, so he intends to make the best of it anyway.

A few pillows are strewn around the central hookah, which is placed in a nice shady out-of-the-way area down in the Gallows courtyard. Benedict lounges there, puffing idly at the hose, an open bottle of red Antivan wine and a little tray of assorted fancy canapés close at hand. He's wearing what looks to be a new outfit, Tevene in motif but clearly made in Kirkwall, luxuriant enough to satisfy his taste (within reason) while remaining within his means.
His hair is shiny and his skin soft, indicating that some serious self-pampering occurred before he graced the public with his presence. He wears a pair of the strange dark glasses Riftwatch acquired some time ago, rendering his expression distant and inscrutable.

He lingers there for several hours, lazily beckoning forth anyone who seems interested in partaking. The food, the wine, and the elfroot are technically to share, not that he'll complain if he doesn't have to.

Comments

by + bastien

[bouchonne]

From somewhere off to Benedict's left, there's an ominous sound.

It is the sound of someone humming, then whispering "One two three - "

And then, Maker help him, an acapella, two-man rendition of the Orlesian song wishing someone congratulations on their birthday. The song is universal enough that Benedict will no doubt know exactly what it is, and it's sung with gusto and - disgustingly - with talent. Byerly and Bastien march into view as they sing, looking cheerful, dressed up for the event.

[cozen]

Bastien is less showy and less talented—or perhaps just less gifted, with a voice less memorable and impressive than By's regardless of his ability to hit notes with it—and, of course, less close to Benedict, so it is entirely a gag when he throws his arms out, one blocking Byerly's face, and tries to sing loudly over him for the last word of the song.

[altusimperius]

Sitting up quickly in anticipation of an ambush, Benedict is pleasantly surprised when-- well, an ambush comes, but not the kind he'd been afraid of.
He flips up the glasses to see the pair better, breaking out in a smile of appreciative amusement for the display, which receives an enthusiastic golf-clap when it concludes.

"I didn't know you knew," he admits, raising the wine bottle for the nearer one to take, should he want a drink.

[bouchonne]

Byerly's laughing and sputtering when Bastien's arm hits his mouth. He pushes him away, and jabs him semi-vengefully in the side, and is grinning as he bypasses the bottle to go for a little petit-four instead.

"Of course we knew," he says. "Or rather, I knew, because I know everything, and therefore Bastien knew. Here."

He tosses a bundle of cloth at Benedict. If he unfolds it, he'll find a bolt of very fine silk - uncut but dyed in rich purple, enough to make a tunic or several smaller pieces.

[cozen]

"That is from both of us," Bastien says, which is not true. Or was not true before this very moment, when he decided to ride the coattails of the gift Byerly chose and paid for. His tone is not very convincing, on purpose; he doesn't actually want any credit. What he really means is you're not my assistant and I didn't get you anything.

He does take the wine bottle, with the hand that is not rubbing his jabbed side in cheerfully feigned injury. But it’s only to help Benedict free his hands for cloth inspection. Once Bastien has navigated his way down onto one of the pillows, he sets the bottle aside again, in Benedict's reach.

"How old does this make you? Seventeen?"

[altusimperius]

Nearly fumbling the bundle, Benedict unfolds it with a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob-- he's clearly impressed, running his hands lovingly over the silk (purple, even!) for several long moments before he can even respond to the pair. Clearly the gift is a success, as even after he's finished looking it over, he presses it to his chest with shining eyes.
"Thank you," he breathes, just in time to be thrown off by Bastien's remark.

"Sevent-- twenty-six," he corrects wryly, "...taking care of your skin goes a long way, you know."

[bouchonne]

Oh. Byerly looks towards Bastien; likely Bastien alone can tell what’s in his eyes, which is, in essence, I don’t know what to do with that much gratitude; help.

In spite of that internal panic, though, Byerly is externally smooth; he replies, “Oh, we know. I’m ninety-three, and he’s eighty-one.”

[cozen]

Bastien nods at this, all earnest wide eyes, yes that's right. The only sign he received any sort of unspoken communication from Byerly's silent look is the way he shifts on his pillow, leaning on one arm at an angle that lets his shoulder companionably touch By's.

"Eighty-one," he agrees, "but I remember twenty-six. That was the last year I was not worried about what would happen to my arms if I did a cartwheel. You better do them while you can, Benedict."

[altusimperius]

"I don't know that I've ever done a cartwheel," Bene muses, bringing the hose to his mouth for a thoughtful inhale. It takes a moment, and then smoke pours from his mouth as he concludes, "I'm not sure I should start now."

Focusing his gaze again, he looks between them. "You're looking pretty good yourselves. Boot polish?" He motions to his hair to indicate theirs.

[sprent]

Gela almost doesn't recognise him on her way through the courtyard. He's done up much more nicely than the first time they ever brushed elbows, but once she places his aloof demeanor and dark, shiny hair, she stops upon his little space to peer in on him.

"Hello," she says, "Again." Remember me? "I ought to thank you. Got in solely by name droppin' you at the gates." Lie, but.

"What're you up to? An' what's all this for?"

[altusimperius]

"Oh, hello."

Her face does ring a bell, though he can't recall the name, and Benedict lightly waves to the newcomer, seeming to light up a bit when she adds the bit about dropping his name. "Really?"

Before she necessarily has a chance to answer that, he replies to her question:

"It's my birthday. I decided I've earned a picnic."

[sprent]

Well in that case, she won't tease him like she was about to.

"Is it?" No wonder he looks so fancy, "One moment."

She casts her gaze about, and cross the courtyard briskly, returning to him shortly with a single plucked stem in her hand. The flower is yellow, cheerful. "There you are! Happy birthday."

[altusimperius]

In another lifetime, he might have sneered at such a transparent save, but the presently-existing Benedict smiles primly and takes the gift.

"Thank you," he says, tucking the stem behind his ear to arrange the bloom in his hair, "you can sit, if you like. I have enough to share."

[sprent]

"Wasn't after your treats," Gela says, even as she takes a seat across from him, "Honest."

Even so, she pops a grape into her mouth without hesitation. "How old are you then?"

[altusimperius]

"Twenty-six," he replies, and smirks lightly when she takes a grape. They're not just for him, after all-- and he can always go get more.

[sprent]

"Aw," she's suddenly fond, "Still a baby. Almost as old as my brother."

Appraising him now, "You've got the same hair and everythin', almost." Though it has been a long while since she's seen him.

[altusimperius]

It takes all of Benedict's willpower to restrain himself from arguing that he's not a baby, which is exactly something that a baby would do.

"Really?" he asks, propping himself on one elbow, "is he as handsome as me?"

[muckspout]

Edgard notices Benedict sitting by himself with a feast. He knows Benedict is fancy sometimes, but this is intense.

"Huh." He says eyes widening at Benedict. "Are you--really really hungry?"

Then a beat as he remembers the last picnic he went on and then whispers,

"Oh! or waiting for a date?" He motions behind him mouthing "should I go?"

[altusimperius]

"Sit down," Bene insists, too high and possibly tipsy to have the patience for Edgard's fretting, "it's my birthday."

Before Edgard can even fully take a seat, he's getting the tray passed to him. "I'm celebrating it my way."

[muckspout]

Edgard flops down to the ground.

"Birthday?" he says with enthusiasm. "Didn't know. Didn't get you anything. Do you like leaves?"

He picks up one next to him.

"Here is a leaf. Happy birthday."

He smiles widely at him.

[altusimperius]

He doesn't especially want a leaf, but Edgard is Edgard, and Bene isn't going to be rude to him over something like this. He accepts it daintily, and tucks it into his belt.

"Thank you," he says primly, "would you like to smoke?"

[muckspout]

Edgard is extremely touched at Benedict wearing the leaf. He must really like it.

"Alright." He says, nodding.

"Do you like your birthday?" He asks. After all, Edgard doesn't love his. "Seems like you like your birthday."

[altusimperius]

"Why wouldn't I?" Benedict asks, reclining again and taking a puff from the hose before passing it to Edgard, "I used to have ridiculous parties, back in Minrathous. They'd last all day and night."

[muckspout]

Edgard takes a long inhale.

"Lots of people don't like their birthdays." He shrugs. He is one of them.

"All day and all night is a long time! Were you very ill afterwards?"

All of this sounds somewhat nightmarish to Edgard, but fascinating.

[altusimperius]

"Oh. Probably." Benedict pauses to consider. "I don't really remember, which is a sign the parties were good."
He waggles his eyebrows at Edgard.