[open] beach episode volume 2: gallows edition

[altusimperius]

WHO: everybody who wants
WHAT: (lukewarm) BEACH PARTY (on rubble, in harbor)
WHEN: late Justinian
WHERE: the Gallows, amidst its newly-acquired sea view
NOTES: he's trying

I. Prep

He didn't ask for help overtly, but Benedict is clearly working hard setting up the space he's designated for the company to have their beach staycation: drapings taken from his own stash and salvaged from the Gallows' erstwhile guest rooms are drawn across glyphed-in-place poles to create shade. He's hauled out a table, onto which he proceeds to place a variety of whatever canapés he could afford to procure with his own wages-- it's not a feast, all right-- and beside which he rolls two barrels of decent-ish wine.

From the baths come a stack of towels piled high in his arms, hindering his vision to such a degree that he may crash into someone not paying attention; pillows and the like come next, in armloads that take multiple trips, by the end of which he's visibly out of breath.

Lastly, it's his very own water pipe making an appearance, which he arranges amidst comfortable ground seating mimics how his room used to look: in fact, most of the accoutrements here are his personal belongings.
As such, he knows just how to set everything to create an attractive, if minimalist, space for an afternoon's leisure.


II. Party?

It may not be an all-out bash like their excursion to the sandier shores of the Waking Sea some years ago, but this, if nothing else, is an opportunity for work on the Gallows to pause in palatable increments. One can be clearing rubble or cataloguing property for the morning, then pop over for an hour of sunbathing and a glass of wine; they're all within calling out distance of the courtyard, and the party likely bleeds into the day's work in a manner somewhat more comfortable than if it were sequestered.

That said: the early summer sea water is cold, the sun is out but meek behind occasional cloud cover, and the festivities are on clean-swept stone rather than sand. The view across the water is of mainland Kirkwall, and all that that entails.
But it's none of it so bad, for anyone looking to take a break. A few musicians even show up a bit later in the afternoon, and Benedict provides a bonfire in the center of the party space as the sun goes down.

Anything brought to share is met with effusive thanks from Benedict, who ensures its appropriate placement and distribution. He doesn't spend much time relaxing himself, instead making the rounds with the air of a fussy host, where he's quick to offer refills or alternatives in libations, or diversions for unsatisfactory activities.

[make your own starters, do your thing, go hog wild-- if you have logistical questions feel free to ask on plurk or discord]

Comments

[altusimperius]

Looking at him just long enough to catch that surprise, Benedict averts his gaze: it's the first time he's ever laid it all out like this for someone, and he shouldn't be surprised himself that this would be the reaction.

"After," he continues, but with a long pause-- he isn't actually certain how long it was-- "some time, a friend vouched for me. He was trusted, so I was given another chance. I started over. A footsoldier."

More or less,

"...and when Byerly was Ambassador, I approached him. Asked for a job. He made me his assistant." A shrug, more dismissive than the words it accompanies, "and saved my life."

[portalling]

It’s such an odd thing, going about your life at Riftwatch for almost two years and not realising all of this lay beneath the surface. Noted traitorous coward. He should have wondered more.

When Benedict looks away from him, Strange looks out at the sunset instead, the last of the light draining away and leaving the bonfire in its place, darkness deepening. There’s still music in the background, distant chatter, occasional laughter from their colleagues, the splash of someone swimming, and the merriment all feels very far away as he pictures the cells instead.

Byerly. More things to quietly note in the back of his mind about the former head of Diplomacy.

“You’ve had,” he says, “a very interesting career.”

A beat, another splash in the distance, the two of them marinating in the silence a little. “Apologies if I brought down the mood. It’s just—” Saying interesting again feels a bit too rude, treating Benedict like he’s a bug pinned under a microscope, and yet. “I had no idea about any of this. Thank you for indulging my curiosity. I like to understand the people I’m working with.”

[altusimperius]

"Well."

Benedict's energy seems to have drained from him as silence falls over them at last; he hasn't got any banter in him, hasn't on this topic for a long time. A sense of humor about oneself is necessary, but when the joke is just You, it gets tired. Roi des lâches, he'd been called once-- by a friend, at a party, within his earshot.

"Now you know." A furtive glance to Strange, insecurity creeping through, for all that it matters: he doesn't want to be hated or scorned, but it comes as naturally to him as insects to a spiderweb.

[portalling]

For all that Strange can be dismissive and judgmental at times, what Benedict sees when he looks at him is just solemnity. It might be paradoxical, but hearing all of this about the younger mage makes Stephen respect him more. People are more interesting and relatable with a little wear and tear.

He’s still at a loss for what to say, however — that’s rough, buddy? sorry that happened? — so instead, he winds up cribbing someone else’s words:

“A wise man once said to me: just because someone stumbles and loses their way, doesn’t mean they’re lost forever.” He winces. “And it sounds like trite bullshit when I say it, but I do mean that sincerely. I was on trial at the time— for things I might do— forget it, it’s complicated, but my point is that you can always try to do better than you did yesterday. People deserve another chance, or even two. So I’m glad you got it.”

Is this actually reassuring to hear? No clue. He’s trying.

[altusimperius]

Stephen might find it trite, but Benedict listens silently, watching the lapping water, and finds himself hanging onto the healer's words.

Even two.

At its conclusion, he offers the faintest twitch of a smile, still keeping his head mostly turned away-- he's never been good at hiding his emotions, one of the myriad fucking reasons he makes a terrible spy.

"Thank you," he says softly, and takes a breath, looks like he's about to say more, but instead chickens out with a second, softer, "thank you." He ducks his head again, touched, and definitely does not wipe his eye.

potential wrap or yrs to wrap?

[portalling]

When all else fails, steal from Professor Xavier. Besides: if the professor hadn’t given him another chance, he too might’ve been dead by the end of it.

Stephen is polite enough to keep his own gaze flitting away, to not look directly at Benedict as he ducks his head. It’s unseemly, being forced to be Perceived when you’re going through it. He understands. So instead: he takes another sip of his wine, sweet on his tongue.

“You want a drink?” he asks after a while. Offering a deflection, a safe out. “You should probably get to enjoy some of the party you’ve put together.”