faderift | my fingers are afraid of sharing, god. ( closed. )

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my fingers are afraid of sharing, god. ( closed. )

WHO: Benevenuta Thevenet, Hercules Hansen.
WHAT: A polite interaction regarding property and propriety between reasonable adults, probably.
WHEN: Cu...rrent.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Warnings to be added if necessary.

At some point, she's quite aware, Adelaide will expect an explanation. By the time she tracks her down to acquire it, she anticipates having one prepared - although it may have to simply be the absurd truth. She is not, if she's honest, particularly looking forward to that conversation; at least she has a bit of time before she's like to have it. Besides, Adelaide looked busy when she stopped by. Perhaps they won't even have it today.

The facts are these:

Hercules Hansen has arrived in Skyhold. Although the presence of other Wardens had brought his name to mind, once or twice, she'd not seriously entertained the notion of seeing him here; it had crossed her mind to be concerned with where he might be instead, the rumors about where the rest are compellingly vague, but it was a distant thing and there were many other things to be concerned with first. So she hadn't been, but now she must, catching sight of him weary at the gates from her vantage point on the stairs.

Benevenuta has something of his. Well; and his coin, although by this point the specific coins that had been in his pouch are long gone. It's the principle of the thing, a debt that she would have cheerfully ignored if not for his arrival and the subsequent risk that he might decide to make something of it. There has been quite enough discussion about the personal conduct of mages, lately, and no need for her name to be attached to an embarrassing scandal. What had been perfectly pragmatic at the time has consequences now, that is the shape of things, so--

She has to return it. Be endearingly contrite, beg his forgiveness; persuade him to let the matter be between the two of them and keep an eye on him so it stays that way. At least he's unlikely to hear of her and know it before she can - it isn't as if she ever gave him her full and proper name in the first place.

"Warden Hansen," she says, warmly, catching him by the elbow before he can get through the door and out of her easy grasp. "A moment of your time."

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Yeah, and he's met her like before. The ones that like you to dance to their tune, or whatever you like. She has played him once before, in the role of a traveller seeking company, and he's not like to let her pilfer his dignity or his belonging again. Herc opens his mouth to speak, only to be preempted by a whine (betrayed) and a growl (there's the surliness) and he's looking down as the white and brown mabari, drool and water dripping from his mouth. "You found the stables then, mate?"

A bark (confirmation) and then another whine (what is this???) and Herc smirks a little as he addresses the hound. "It's all right. The Councillor's seeing to setting things right."
Max's next whine doesn't sound convinced, and instead sounds rather injured before he huffs out a beleaguered agreement to endure Benuta's - sorry, Benevenuta, bloody extra syllables - company.

When Herc looks back to her, finally, that infuriating not-quite-smile still lingers at the corners of his mouth. "'Fraid he's the sensitive sort, Max. Doesn't take kindly to robbery."

Benevenuta's lips tighten, just barely discernible, and then something in her shoulders relaxes; ah. Surliness, and her favourite mabari - this she can work with. Producing a leather coin pouch and Herc's knife from some voluminous pocket - the knife shows signs of having been hastily cleaned; it had been put to good use, in the meanwhile - she gathers her heavy skirts in her fist to keep them from dragging too much in the dust when she drops to take a knee in front of the least irritating Hansen.

"I beg you forgive me," she says, her Nevarran accent only underscoring the gentle absurdity of her earnest delivery, to Max. "I would not offend you for the world, Max, only it is a harsh world with this war, and this great tear in the sky, and unkind to mages who have not traveled so far or so alone."

She can frame it as the act of someone frightened and new to her circumstances because - arguably, it was. It's just that it was also coolly calculated, an assessment of her resources and his and she hadn't thought she needed to sleep with him to get his company and therefore his sword-arm, that had just tied a nice bow around something useful to her. Benevenuta is as opportunistic as she is resourceful, sometimes, but she is always much, much more ruthless than she likes for anyone to notice about her.

"But I have all that I took," holding the knife and pouch out to Herc, for all that she's still speaking to Max, sneaking her free hand to scratch behind his ear, "and I am very glad to return it."

When in doubt, charm the dog.

Oh, bloody hell. He anticipates being in trouble the second Benuta's attention is fixed on Max, head canting slightly and brows raising as the Mabari is trapped by the noblewoman. He's known more than a few men to fall foul of a woman's beauty and graces, and Max has always been fond of pretty ladies. The only way he could radiate oh, come on any more would be to set his hands at his waist, but he resists.

Sure enough, Max grumbles quite sympathetically, an earnest whine of agreement and a little huff and yip, looking to the noblewoman and then to Herc with a short, sharp bark. He is still leaning into her ear scratches, and on paw is set slightly forward, and he just grumbles more at Herc in a dialogue that just has Herc's brows shooting up higher.

"Unbelievable," he exhales, and exactly nothing in his voice sounds incredulous at all. This was probably inevitable. "You're willing to vouch for her, are you? It's on your head." Even if Herc is teasing, Max's response is a very serious bark, and the Warden rolls his eyes. "All right, you've made your point."

And finally he looks back to the Councillor, shaking his head as he reaches for the knife, but not the pouch. "Useful, was it?"

When he fails to accept the pouch as well as the knife, Benevenuta is only briefly stymied; she is determined to give back all that she took, but she's not going to be lowered to pushing it into his hands and running away. Instead, she judges Max sufficiently charmed to be the much more cooperative, and placidly knots the leather strap of it to his collar as she speaks, saying,

"You are too kind, both," very demurely. She gives the pouch a little tug to be sure it isn't going to fall free (or loosen and spill coins), and then presses an affectionate kiss to Max's furrowed forehead by way of quick apology for the disturbance. "I found it very useful, yes. As did Lady Leblac - a healer, here, and a fellow member of the Council. I might tell her where to find you, if she wishes to borrow it from its proper owner and not myself."

She'd actually rather they never speak at all, if it were up to her, but Adelaide is going to be in her business about this - she might as well get out ahead of that, too, and maybe gently instilling a bit of wariness-by-association in him before she gets near can't hurt. (Though if the other mage isn't in one of her sharper moods, it probably won't long survive meeting her.)

"Lady Leblanc," he repeats, as if that'll somehow offer some further illumination. Maybe he should visit the good lady, let her know she's free to borrow it, or maybe get her her own knife. "I'm glad it was useful. Hate to think it'd just been lying idly by."

Max, useless lout that he is, is contently thumping his tail against the ground, before flopping over onto his back. Belly-up, and patiently awaiting a scratch to his tummy before Herc gently nudges him with his foot. "Oi, enough of that." His tone is almost apologetic, and none of that apology is directed at the Mabari.
"Give him an inch," he offers by way of not-apology, before offering a hand to Benevenuta, although he hardly thinks she needs help standing.

And regardless of whether she actually takes his hand, he isn't too fussed. She'll do as she will. Most people do, after a fashion. Part of them figuring out what makes them tick, how they want to try and face themselves in the mirror every day. "He's a monster, that one."

If anything is true of Benevenuta Thevenet, it's that she intends at all times to do exactly as she wishes. As she accepts his hand - hers as well-groomed and cared for as the rest of her, but there are new callouses she hadn't yet acquired the last time she had them on his skin - she says, lightly but not without a shred of the part of her that's forged from steel and bloody-mindedness,

"This is the Inquisition, Warden. There is nothing here permitted to simply lie idly by."

Her lingering smile softens out what could have been an implied rebuke, although it's really more for the mabari. Max hasn't ruined her day and then laughed at her about it. Max is charming.

(She decides, critically, that he is less attractive in full light.)

"But he will be invaluable in our morale, I am certain."

Because he is so charming, Hercules, why are you the worst and your dog is the best.

"Suppose I'll have to earn my keep," with a smile, as if there had been any possibility that he'd do anything but. And as for morale, "See how well your morale is boosted when the mongrel's snores are keeping you up." (Max whines, and Herc laughs and rumples Max's neck, which seems enough to get a lopsided and particularly canine sort of grin.)

Still, now they are both standing once more, Hercules releases her hand, and chuckles quietly. This whole dance has been pretty unnecessary, hasn't it? It was nice to have his knife back, certainly, but he'd like to think he's not so petty or lacking in discretion that it was a requirement of him respecting privacy. She's a Councillor, is part of something bigger; personal concerns take a backset to that, no question. And even if she weren't in the Inquisition, none of it's anyone else's business.

"If this whole show was about me keeping my mouth shut," he starts, "you don't need to worry. Wardens are plenty good at secrets." He could say that he's not interested in making people's lives difficult, but that might just be a lie. "Max an' me'll keep outta your way, save for what business might have has working together."

Benevenuta straightens and studies him for a long moment, the barest hint of a suspicious frown lingering where it doesn't quite become her expression. It's her instinct not to trust that at all - and if he thinks he'll be keeping himself out from underneath her watchful eye, he has another thing coming - but not because she thinks he's the sort of man prone to telling tall tales of his sexual conquests.

On the other hand,

perhaps

it might mean he considers their tryst and her subsequent theft two separate events, rather than one lowering his guard for the other. It did, but that's neither here nor there. She could have insinuated herself into his company for the night without insinuating her hand down his trousers, he's noble, he'd have been nice about it if she'd been honest. He probably wouldn't have let her take his things, but he'd have been nice about that, too. What a dick. No; the point is--

"You'll forgive me for not imagining you quite so understanding about my conduct," she says, very primly. "It was not well done of me. I am quite aware."

And he'd be within his rights to make more of a fuss. It's better if he doesn't, for lots of reasons, but -

Well, she wouldn't actually blame him, she'd just have to find a way to discredit his word and paint herself the victim, and besides being a nuisance, she wouldn't enjoy ruining his reputation.

It's not like he can argue that, and Hercules nods. "Can't fault you for caution," he allows, although the not well done almost gets another laugh from him - as much as he laughs, these days, which is really more an amused breath and a smile. No, he doesn't laugh, this time, just glances down a moment in a poor effort to spare her his air of amusement. "That'd be a bit of an understatement, but no doubt we've both seen worse things unfold on the road."

He knows he has, and it'd be naive to think that the knife being stolen wasn't prompted by the torn up mess left in the wake of templars and mages and all the rest. Thedas was going to hell in a hand basket, seemed like. At the end of the day, it made the loss of a knife seem trivial, even as taking a knife could've been the doom of some. Herc, at least, had Striker Eureka and Max at his side.

When he glances up, his expression is a little more serious, but still nowhere near grave. This has been a positively comedic turn to his arrival. Nobles, honestly. They had to make everything so dramatic.

That he tries so poorly to hide his amusement almost more irritating than if he'd simply laughed outright, but in this precise moment Herc could sit quietly alone in a dark, locked room and she'd find a way to find fault in him. He doesn't take her seriously--

Lots of people don't take her seriously. She cultivates it, exploits it, enjoys it and is amused at their expense, not offended. She doesn't give a damn what he thinks of her or why, and as long as he isn't going to jeopardize her work, it doesn't matter. (But it pricks at her pride, all the same.)

"Quite," she says, settling her accustomed placidity about her like a cloak, ruffled feathers tucked away out of sight and no audible pique in her tone.

At length, she settles on,

"Doubtless you will be a valuable addition to the Inquisition. You'll find others of your order present - I am not certain to whom they currently answer, but I'm sure that where you find Warden Alistair, you will find the rest."

Edited 2016-01-27 05:58 (UTC)

To her credit, she did steal from a Warden and convince him not to stay up all night on watch, so it's not like he thinks she's incompetent. For all that he prefers to set people at ease, however, she did steal from him, and he's not in any great rush to be her best friend, for all the fun that was had.

(And pride, Benevenuta, pride would see her hobbled faster than he'd like. Pride never got you much, not in this world. He's learned that many times over.)

"I'm glad there's more of us about." Finally his expression is more serious, humour drained away. Max whines, and Herc nods in a yeah, go find 'em gesture before the hound runs off, nose to the ground here and there, on the trail. "Have you heard much news of them?"

Other than needing to disguise himself and lying about who he was or where he was going, here and there, he's been struggling to piece together what's actually been going on. Doubtless Alistair could fill in the blanks - and thank the Maker Alistair had made it. "Good man, Alistair. I'll thank you for letting me know he's about."

"Some news," she concedes, relaxing by increments as she settles more firmly into the role to which she is better suited; this is rather more like in her element than she was on the road where he met her. Not quite, for Skyhold is ... well, what it is, but all the same, the turning wheels of her mind and the steady ease with which she pursues information.

She is very good at what she does, mostly because it's what she is. She is a tool before she is anything else.

"They've recently taken a man into their ranks - a friend of a friend," briefly, accounting for her interest in the matter. "Secretive creatures, aren't you all? But his life was saved, and I suppose that matters more than how it was done."

As Dorian has grudgingly been forced to accept.

Very illuminating, he could say, but he resists the urge. No point causing ripples, not when he can get the information straight from more reliable sources.

"A new recruit?" No amount of raised eyebrows could adequately express his surprise, and he's concerned and curious in equal turn. Could be a good thing. Could not. A place called the Inquisition seemed an interesting place to go about performing the Joining and hoping to keep it secret.

"If everyone knew about it, they'd all want the fruit basket," comes his conspiratorial reply, before he leans back, restoring the distance between them. "We can't all be as open and free with information as mages," and that response is a little drier, though not unkind.

Maybe he should've joined a less secretive order if he wanted better news, said the Mortalitasi mage. (What is that, the pot calling the other pot a pot?)

--she flutters a hand at him when he leans in, as if scandalized, and pretends to find nothing of interest in his expression. She certainly finds nothing to chasten her there, despite the extremely good point being made about who should shut up about keeping secrets; he's used up all her stores of penitence today already. Try again in about ten years.

(He smells like leather and mabari and she does not find it at all charming, probably.)

"His name is Felix Alexius," she says, in lieu of acknowledging any of that. "Tevinter is rather well represented here, it is terribly shocking."

She doesn't look terribly shocked. Then, she had said friend of a friend.

(Finding out that Dorian Pavus and Benevenuta Thevenet are thick as thieves is not going to be difficult. He will probably hear half that gossip before he has to think to look for any. Hercules, of course, has a better idea of what her type actually is than most of Skyhold.)

The flap of her hand earns what must be his hundredth raised eyebrow today. Honestly, he's going to need to figure out a better way to silently express all his emotions, at this rate, or the things might fall right off.

"Felix," he commits to memory. Better to check in on the lad, it seemed, than leave him adrift - thought he could hardly be, if there are wardens knowledgable enough to induct him, and willing to bring him into the fold. "I appreciate the information."

Dad powers, activate? Dad powers activate. Unfortunately, he's never been a great father, but he's a good friend. That'd have to do. He's thinking, and perhaps his focus is drifting too much from her and from the immediate situation that might warrant dealing with, at some point. There are others to find, a new recruit to meet, and circumstances to gain some understanding for, regardless of all the well-intentioned Tevinters, and troublesome Nevarrans.

"Better I take my leave," Herc manages, brow furrowed with a shadow of concern, lines that are easily carved in now are so many years. "I've taken up enough of your time, Councillor."

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my fingers are afraid of sharing, god. ( closed. )

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SORRY BRUH had a lazy day. which actually was a "oh god oh god moving house" day but u no

you're just in time for my hangover to clear up congrats

I am very considerate yes

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