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

[ungovernable]

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."

Comments

[ungovernable]

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.

[twelvelabours]

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.

[ungovernable]

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."

[twelvelabours]

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."

[ungovernable]

"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.

[twelvelabours]

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.

[ungovernable]

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.)

[twelvelabours]

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."