[open] I see what's mine

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: slice o' life stuff + an easy in for new folks!
WHEN: Guardian
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES:

I. Office Hours

The plaque on the door reads Personnel Officer, and the office within is neatly kept with fancy touches here and there: an ornate Antivan candelabra, ornately carved old chairs-- restored, of course-- with red and gold brocade upholstery, settled in front of the standard desk assigned to a lower-ranking Riftwatch bureaucrat.

The lower-ranking Riftwatch bureaucrat in question is usually seated on the other side of the desk, sometimes (at least in the morning) with a mug of coffee, puttering pleasantly away on some documentation or other. He's quick to look up and smile politely at any newcomers, with a similar greeting for established parties (though the smile varies in this case).

II. Evenings

It's unusual, in its way, that Benedict has taken more to lingering around the Gallows in his off-hours rather than taking off to carouse in Kirkwall proper. He can be found in the dining hall, people-watching as he eats his various meals; or in the baths, primping and luxuriating in the hot water; or in the library, ostensibly reading a book, even if his attention flits here and there and seems instead to land on everyone who passes by.

There's an unusual alertness to him, which manifests by way of a slight delay in smiles to friends, holding eye contact a little too long before averting his gaze, and-- for those who are inclined to notice these things-- an uncharacteristic sobriety, even during times of leisure.

for Julius

At an agreed-upon time, Benedict makes his way once more to the Seneschal's office: a while ago he'd requested to pick his brain a bit on the Southern Circle of Magi issue, and the time has come for that discussion. He brings with him a smallish carafe of wine and a basket of bread rolls, no doubt meant to be shared while inspiring conversation.
He knocks on the doorframe with his elbow before entering, wearing a pleasant smile.

Comments

I

[roseandthorns]

The tall, broken-horned Qun gave a salute as she stood outside the door, not entering until acknowledged. The salute was one foreign to Thedas, left hand held as a fist, palm and curled fingers facing downwards over the left breast opposite the heart. Her left arm was parallel, and she gave a small stamp of the foot as she struck the salute.

"Greetings, Oathbearer Personnel Officer. I am Truthless of Covalte. I have been instructed to inquire about what I will be doing within this organization."

[altusimperius]

It takes Benedict a moment to realize that the saluting woman outside the door isn't going to come in unless he does something, so with a halting uncertainty he waves her in. She looks like a Qunari, but must be a Rifter, unless she's just from somewhere... who knows. Remote.

"...hello," he says mildly, "you can sit down." He nods toward the chairs in front of the desk.

[roseandthorns]

An order. Ah, familiarity. She sat down in the seat at attention. Her spine ramrod straight. Her mannerisms weren't... Very Qun. She seemed very rigid, soldierly. "Pardon me asking. What are the standing orders for ones such as myself?"

She paused.

"One who came from... Elsewhere?" She said, trying to elaborate 'Rifter'.

[altusimperius]

On the contrary, this is the most Qun-like behavior Benedict could have expected to see from someone looking like one, but her question dissipates that possibility.

"Standing orders?" he asks, leaning forward a little, "well. I don't know. Have you attacked anyone?"

i.

[tadpoled]

[Tav has yet to hear of his fate; is he free to go about as he pleases or is he bound to the Gallows for all his days? He takes the afternoon to seek out the Personnel Officer for answers, rather than bother the Captain again.

He knocks politely at the door before popping his head in, sure his appearance has been spread throughout the higher ups well before now.]

Hello? Is this the Personnel Officer? I'm... well, I'm Tav.

[Y'know, the murderous elf who likes plants.]

[altusimperius]

[Raising his gaze to the sound of the knock, Benedict gestures him in pleasantly.]

The Rifter from the courtyard, [he exclaims, giving him a once-over,] how are you holding up?

[tadpoled]

Well enough. [Tav tries to give his best smile.] I was wondering if you might know what came of the inquisition into my [clearing his throat] condition. I understand if I'm to be kept in the Gallows until I can be properly evauluated.

[altusimperius]

Your condition? [Benedict raises his eyebrows, gesturing to the seat in front of the desk.]

Do you mean your anchor shard?

bats eyelashes at

[succise]

These fancy touches are a breath of fresh air after several days of iron-stink and musty stone walls; Vega is looking at them approvingly, delightfully inappropriate as they are in the office of a personal officer (where do the priorities of this organisation lie, exactly?).

She is not at the personal officer himself, until she does.

Her eyes widen abruptly. She pauses with fingers outstretched to brush against a burnished sconce.

"Benedict Artemaeus?"

catches them! the crowd goes wild. you're OUT

[altusimperius]

He looks up blankly, glances around, and then fixes his eyes on the young woman in the doorway, clearly uncertain as to how one responds to that.

"Yes?"

>:(

[succise]

Vega stares.

"Don't 'yes' me—what are you doing here??"

She's searching her memory for the last time she ever willingly heard of Benedict, remembers asking after him a grand total of once (out of morbid curiousity rather than any actual concern). For the life of her, she can't remember what she was told back. Probably because it was utterly uninteresting.

[altusimperius]

He wrinkles his nose at her, taken aback; what is he doing here? Excuse?

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

closed to Cedric

[altusimperius]

[continuing this here just to keep all these in one place]

"Really," comes the wide-eyed exclamation, and Benedict tucks his chin slightly, looking up through his fringe in an expression of dubious belief. "Washed up, hm? Who's saying that?"

[dissolving]

Oh, they're playing that game. Cedric leans close. His eyes dart to the door, and back to Benedict, as if this is some great secret -

"Between you and me," Clumsy, the way his weight shifts into page, smears the reprimand into illegibility. Whoops. "They say the dragon wasn't even that big."

[altusimperius]

A derisive scoff, and Benedict tosses his head. "The dragon? Which dragon, is what I should really be asking."

[dissolving]

"That's the spirit." He taps Benedict's notes. "Any rate - Riftwatch is in a rock and a hard place. Reckon there's plenty you can't publicize, and that you do gets lumped with the greater glory."

Supporting the Inquisition, the March, and a half-dozen disparate allies. When Corypheus is the only connecting tissue, you do what you must.

"One guy doesn't change that. But if you give me talking points, I can get them heard places that don't bend an ear to pirates and apostates." He sits back, wipes ink from his wrist. "Expect their bit's covered."

ii. rubber duckie you're the one

[bribon]

On this particular evening—

"You look less like the bottom of a boot," remarks Desidério as he sloughs directly down into the heated pool.

Where has the narrow little Antivan swordsman been as of late? Don't worry about it. But wherever it was, it appears he's brought a fun souvenir back with him: Desidério's right chest and shoulder sports an impressive array of bruising turning now toward every shade of yellow and green. He winces, just a little, as he hooks that elbow up onto the edge of the bath.

Dont worry about all the grit about his person and the unshaven quality of his cheek, either. Presumably that's what the bath is for.

you make bathtime lots of fun

[altusimperius]

"I guess we traded, then," comes the languid reply from over Benedict's shoulder, as he slicks up his arms and chest with some manner of fancy, fine-scented oil. He glances back at Desi, narrowing his eyes at the sight of him.

"What'd you do, mouth off to a bronto?"

[bribon]

"The bronto deserved it."

So no, probably not that. But also either is too foolish or too nebulously mysterious by way of the fact that the individual typing these words doesn't actually know the inciting incident in question and is just making some shit up for interest to bother with explaining in any great detail.

"Have you and the Orlesian made nice yet?"

ii

[panulus]

If Gannicus expected a thank you, or a gift, a reward, or anything else, he hasn't shown up to claim it. It's pure fate that brings him here today, rounding a corner to the library to see Benedict sitting in a chair, scowling over a book.

He thinks he should leave. They are Not Friends, and Benedict is what Gannicus once may have considered a dangerous man, for his rank and his position. But here, they're equals, in a way.

So he stands in the doorway and leans against his, his legs crossed at the ankle. And when Benedict doesn't look up, Gannicus throws the core of the apple he was eating directly at his head.

[altusimperius]

It results in a predictably comical jolt and gasp from the reading party, who drops his book and looks frantically around for the culprit. When his eyes lock onto Gannicus, it's an incredulous look he receives, with the underpinning of how dare you.

"What?" he demands.

[panulus]

"Get up, pup," he says, and if he's even slightly intimidated by Benedict, it certainly doesn't show.

(mostly because, well.

he's not even slightly intimidated.)

"With me, then."

[overharrowed]

Julius glances up, his expression pleasant. He's cleared the time, and if he's at all wary about how this discussion will go, it's not evident in his manner.

"I see you've brought some refreshments. Very thoughtful," he says, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of his desk. "I hope it's not because you think once I start talking, you'll have trouble getting me to stop." A light joke, not meant to be taken overly seriously.

[altusimperius]

"On the contrary," Benedict cheerfully replies, setting everything down, "I'm all too curious."

He sets down the carafe and the basket, removing two glasses from within and setting one in front of Julius, then gestures to the wine, indicating he should help himself.

"You were an Enchanter in your Circle, correct? Or a Senior?"

[overharrowed]

Five years ago, the question might have merited a micro-expression of some sort; now, genuinely, so much has happened that the distinction no longer stings quite as much. "Enchanter. Kinloch Hold, in the years after the Fifth Blight, was so focused on rebuilding that promotions were not at the forefront of anyone's mind after filling the initial holes in the Circle's leadership."

Julius does reach to pour himself a little bit of wine, though certainly not enough to be inconsistent with his intentions to continue his work day after this meeting.

"Unlike some of our company, I was only ever in one Circle. I've since seen the many ways they differed, much more than my limited correspondence before the Mage-Templar war suggested. So I suppose I will encourage you to remember that my answers mainly apply to Kinloch and not necessarily all of Southern Thedas." Still, he seems willing enough to meet honest interest from Benedict if it's offered.