[open] I can't pretend that I'm concrete

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: a tired fuckboy makes poor but at least non-treasonous choices
WHEN: Harvestmere
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Some self-sabotagey behavior, will warn as needed.

As the months of nightmares drag on, even overusing the hookah isn't enough to return Benedict to any semblance of decent sleep or proper sanity. He realizes, now more than ever, that he's lonely; strangely, it's the most he's felt it since he lived in Minrathous, when he had everything a spoiled boy could want and no one to share it with.

I. Near nightly, he takes the ferry over to Kirkwall to rove the streets of Lowtown and drink his way around, spending most evenings sitting silently tucked away at a table, watching the increasingly cranky pub patrons, none of whom have been sleeping well. His aims aren't necessarily innocent: periodically he'll catch the eye of a handsome stranger and beckon him with a gaze, hoping for a distraction, a burst of dopamine, and the eventual relief of sleep.
It's not impossible that said handsome stranger is someone he's seen around in the Gallows, and at times he might even be drunk enough that they're not a stranger at all.

II. Sometimes the fishing yields a catch, and more often than not it's handled in this or that dark deserted alley, made known to passersby only through the occasional panting gasp or quiet moan. It's not uncommon to see him sitting nearby afterwards, smoking and scuffed up, his eyes rimmed red from fatigue and possibly pain.
It also occasionally happens that he's still here in the morning, dozing on a crate, burned-out cigarette in hand and pockets empty. He knows better than to bring too much coin with him, at least.

III. Most nights, he catches the ferry back and crawls into bed before the hour can grow too unMakerly. There are times, however, when he just barely misses it, or didn't even try, and at these times he'll sit and sip at a bottle of wine, watching the water or the night's other denizens, until it starts running again and he can go back to get some sleep before the day begins properly. He has yet to be late to work, especially by Byerly's standards-- if he slithers in before noon, he still considers it a victory.

Comments

[altusimperius]

His sigh sounds like disappointment; the whole night still lies ahead of them. He nods to her question, rising stiffly to his feet and tossing his cigarette to the ground in the same motion, where he crushes it out with his toe.

"Long month," he clarifies, pauses, and corrects: "...months."

[armd]

"Yeah." She can't really summon the energy to sound anything other than tired. He's right. The nightmares have been getting worse. It even seems like they're getting longer too, like they've found a better way to pad themselves out with more and more increasingly fucked up content.

Conversationally, "Last night I had a dream about shelving books in the library. It was awesome."

Wasn't scary in the slightest; blissfully boring.

[altusimperius]

"That sounds wonderful."

He hunches slightly as he walks, head hanging from fatigue, the opposite of his usual proud posture.
"Smoking used to help me sleep deeply enough I didn't remember my dreams," he mumbles, "now nothing does. I wonder if someone's trying to sabotage us. ...again."

[armd]

"Maybe," Abby has to admit. It's gotta be on the table considering everything else that has happened this year, right. She looks sideways at him, just in case he trips up over his own feet and needs somebody to stop him from hitting the ground. It'd be insult to injury, for him.

"Is... that why you're down here smoking?"

[altusimperius]

"I'm down here to get fucked up," Benedict answers dully, without looking at her. "Pass the time. Stay awake until I can't anymore, and be too tired to dream." He might normally be a bit more circumspect in his phrasing, but exhaustion has worked its way to the core of his being.

[armd]

Abby hmms, understanding. If he thinks she's going to offer something scathing in response, he's wrong. Offhandedly, "I used to do that with my exercise routine. Work out until I couldn't keep my eyes open, I mean."

Maybe he should start doing pushups. She's not gonna say that, but...

[altusimperius]

And get all sweaty? Ew.

He nods anyway, the fingers of one hand twitching as he considers digging out and lighting another cigarette, but he abstains for now.

"There's... drinking. Walking. Fucking. But once it's done you're right back where you started."

[armd]

Perish the thought.

Abby looks troubled. She directs her frown ahead of them, blinking. "Yeah." Fuck if it doesn't feel exactly like that. "We're gonna figure it out. The nightmares."

Something is telling her it isn't just the nightmares, though.

[altusimperius]

"I used to know a Somniari," Bene mutters bitterly, "worst piece of shit to ever walk Thedas, but he'd probably figure it out pretty quick."

[armd]

"A what?" Helloooo, not a native. Explain. But also she's assuming it has something to do with sleeping, cuz Latin.

[altusimperius]

"Oh." He hesitates a moment, collecting his thoughts, "...a mage who can walk the Fade and enter people's dreams. And change them, if they want."

[armd]

"Holy fuck," Abby says, startled by the breadth of this answer, "That's- not common, right?"

Wow, she hates the idea of that so much! Thanks.

[altusimperius]

"I don't think so." He purses his lips, sighing through his nose in what might be relief.

"It's the worst."

[armd]

"Yeah." The thought of somebody else combing through her dreams like that... she shudders, skin prickling. "Yuck. Fucking hell."

Let's not linger on it. "Every time I think I have a handle on this magic stuff, I learn something new about it."

[altusimperius]

"Yeah," Bene concurs, and is glad to let that particular subject drop.

"I mean. There's lots of kinds of magic," he says with a little shrug, "and some of it's illegal, or just less common the further south you go. You'd lose your shit if you saw Minrathous."

[armd]

"Learned that too," of some of it's illegal, but she does not elaborate. "What's Minrathous like? That's where you're from, right?"

[altusimperius]

"It is," he confirms with a prim nod, "and everything is magicked. The lamplights, the fountains, most of the nitty-gritty sort of processes people have to do by hand everywhere else." And for the things that still have to be done by hand, there's slaves! It works out great.

[armd]

"Oh," she says, understanding, "You have electricity." It's the same shit, right, except that magic can do more. And it's about as rare as having electricity, so. Not a perfect 1:1 but it makes sense in Abby's mind. "We had that back at home, but we were only allowed to use it at set times."

[altusimperius]

It's a strange thing, but Benedict isn't used to people not being at least somewhat impressed by Tevinter. He looks slightly offended, pursing his lips as he looks at Abby, but he keeps any such commentary to himself.

"What times were those?" he asks, determining mentally that this qualifier automatically makes 'electricity' an inferior force.

[armd]

Abby doesn't notice him taking offense; to her, he always looks like that.

"Mostly in the early morning. When we didn't need the lights. And later in the evening, past the curfew." Boring shit. "Everything is magic? How?" She's got this mental image of a bunch of mages constantly casting spells... seems complicated.

[altusimperius]

To be fair, he kind of does.

"What do you mean, how?" Having no light in the morning and evening sounds like a drag, and he'd rather not imagine it. "Do you know what glyphs are?"

[armd]

He is walking her into traps. Abby knows this, but he's been acting pathetic and sad so she'll let him have an easy shot.

"Do I look like I know what glyphs are?"

[altusimperius]

"Don't ask me what you look like," Bene replies with a shitty little smirk, taking the bait readily (but how could he not), "they're spells you cast on a location or an object that stick around for a while. The kitchen has ice glyphs in some areas to keep meat cold, that sort of thing."

[armd]

Bold of him to say that when he looks like he got dragged backward through a hedge but okay. Abby will let it lie in favour of processing this information. "Huh."

That makes sense.

"D'you know how to do any?"

[altusimperius]

It's called being roguishly disheveled, thanks.

"A couple, yeah. A hex here and there. And I know one for heating."