[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

[armd]

She huffs, suddenly.

"It's so unfair."

[altusimperius]

“Sorry.”

He might even mean it, or perhaps the moment is just uncomfortable, but Benedict hunches his shoulders in what may actually pass for sympathy.

“It’s not common, anyway, for it to be seen as a good thing. Unless you’re from Tevinter it’s treated as more of a burden.”

[armd]

Abby will take that.

"Really? Even though it's useful?" And this may explain things a little better to Benedict, "Ellie has a few- spells. Powers." She doesn't know what the right word is, sue her. Wait, is that a secret? Whatever, she doesn't care. "At first I thought she got them when she came here, so I was... kind of waiting for my turn."

[altusimperius]

“Yeah,” he shrugs—- Maker knows he doesn’t get it either, but Tevinter is the one place (on this topic, at least) that has their heads on straight.

“So your world doesn’t have mages?” How terrible.

[armd]

"Nope." She can't even imagining it having them, to be fair. It'd- kinda be too much? "Lots of stories about them though. I read the Narnia books as a kid, do you- wait, no. Never mind."

[altusimperius]

Then how does anything get done is the obvious question, in his mind, but he holds onto it. "So the idea is there, just not the reality of it?"
He furrows his brow.
"That's depressing."

[armd]

"I guess? It's just fantasy stuff. Surely you guys have fantasy..."

Wait. "Do you? What counts as a fantasy when you come from a place that actually has magic?"

[altusimperius]

The question merits an uncertain stare, like Bene isn't quite convinced she isn't mocking him.

"Fantasy like... the things you imagine, and hope for?" Look, she seems nice, but she's not really his type,

[armd]

"... No," Abby replies, as patiently as she can, "Like- fantasy, where I came from, is shit like magic. And dragons, and... flying cars, and time machines. But all of that stuff more or less exists here, because you have magic. So what is your fantasy genre?"

Is this too intellectual a question. She can shelve it.

[altusimperius]

Sorry Abby, dumb bitches only.

"I..." Benedict falls silent. He doesn't know what the answer to this should be, only that Abby's lucky he knows what a car is from their time spent in the Provost's Earth.
In fact, it takes him so long to answer or react at all that it almost looks like he's fallen asleep with his eyes open, except that his brow is cocked and his lips pursed in an expression of fixed concentration.

[armd]

"... Okay," Abby concedes, frowning, "It- doesn't really matter."

Just curious, is all. "Leave it," she advises, when he keeps standing there, his eyes slightly wide, "Let's get back to the Gallows already, it's freezing out here."

[altusimperius]

It sounds like a plan. Hunching his shoulders, still with a slightly troubled expression, Benedict moves to trail after her. He can revisit this later.
Or never.