[open-ish] I am the wheel

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict Artemaeus and his many friends and admirers
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: Solace
WHERE: around the Gallows
NOTES: HMU if you want a closed prompt, wildcards also welcome

I. Diplomacy office (open to first taker only please)

It's sweltering at the top of the central-- only-- tower, but nonetheless Benedict is there to dig through the files he himself organized over the past however many years, possessed by some spirit of Diligence (not actually, don't worry) to overhaul the whole system once he found what he was initially looking for.

A mug of forgotten coffee sits on the desk that used to be his, and he himself sits on the floor, cigarette in mouth as he leafs through some folio or another, sorting its contents into new piles.

II. Birthday Boy (ota)

The heat has temporarily broken for the evening, with a lovely little breeze slipping into the Gallows over the harbor. Benedict has parked himself out on the makeshift beach where he'd hosted the party, resting across a blanket and some pillows, with a bottle of wine and his water pipe to accompany him. It's a familiar sight for late July: a small party thrown for himself, to which anyone who feels like stopping by is invited and offered a drink and a toke.

He rests back on his elbows over a pillow, the pipe's hose pressed thoughtfully between his lips as he looks out at the sea, the picture of quiet serenity.


for Clarisse

It's midday, and the tower is quiet, with everyone heads down over their respective tasks; but if Clarisse is concentrating, this is likely interrupted by the little rap on her doorframe as Benedict pokes his head around. Neighbors.

"I'm making coffee," he sleepily announces, "want any?"


for Caius

The person in Caius' tent is not the person he met up in Tevinter, though that should hardly be a surprise, considering how the mission resolved; Benedict still, uncannily, maintains all of Fausta's mannerisms, even if he's not required to play-act anymore.

"I tried to snatch the best-smelling one," he informs Caius as he shows him to the tent, "which isn't saying a lot, but. We do what we can."
Batting the flap open reveals that he's done his best to make it homey, with an assortment of pillows and throws and tapestries that all seem to convene around his beloved water pipe, currently sitting dormant. A smoky, strong but not unpleasant aroma lingers within the space, suggesting that it was used recently-- but at least not inside, or they'd be suffocating.


for Abby

The Noose is moderately busy for a weeknight, but not so packed as to be suffocating. It's not unusual to find Benedict there, tucked comfortably against one of the walls with a mug of wine as he works or draws or just people watches-- it's safe to say he hasn't gone on one of his little dockside excursions since before the Envy Demon Incident, as much as he may want to. If nothing else, security is key, and getting too drunk is antithetical to that.

When he sees Abby's familiar face, he meets her eyes with a playful little quirk of his mouth and a nudge of his head. Sit with me?

Comments

i

[dissolving]

Cedric raps the side of the open door. Hauled himself up here enough times now to spy it less strange; still, an echo of that first meeting, an office below.

Unrecalled by half the room.

"Heard y'were up here," Some face on the stairs. "After those guides?"

[altusimperius]

Lifting his head from concentration, Benedict spares a smile of greeting for Cedric, compulsively tucking an errant strand of hair behind one ear-- his hair is drawn back in a little tail that doesn't account for the forward strands, which fall unpleasantly into his (sweaty) face.

"Yeah," he answers easily, setting aside a page, "I don't suppose you're here to help?"

Or to bullshit and keep him company, which is virtually the same as helping.

[dissolving]

"Read it already. Says 's rude t'volunteer your colleagues,"

Joking, clearly, because he collects the forgotten mug and eases to the floor cross-legged; cup handed out (does he still want this?) A gesture between piles.

"Just tell me where t'start, don't wanna mess your system."

Benedict knows it better than the rest of them.

[altusimperius]

The cup is accepted with a little start-- oh yes, that-- and Benedict nearly sips from it, but pauses and makes a face. Pulling aside a corner of the rug he's on, he traces a little glyph on the floor with his finger, then sets the mug atop it to reheat.
Coffee on a hot day still has to be hot, apparently.

"I haven't touched anything bthat way yet," he says pleasantly, gesturing further back in the office, "I rearranged everything at some point in Byerly's tenure, but it was over multiple years, so I can't remember if what I'm looking for is going to be in Intra-Organization Correspondence or Mission Reports or just Diplomacy Memoranda."
He furrows his brow at what he's currently holding, then shakes his head and sets it aside.

"We're due for an overhaul anyway."

ii.

[bouchonne]

"Felix natalis," Byerly says, his Tevene accent so broadly Southern that it's practically a provocation.

He strolls up, elegant as anything, a jaunty scarf around his neck, and drops a soft but weighty package directly in Benedict's lap.

[altusimperius]

A little gasp as the package nearly hits wrong, but Benedict catches it with a grin up at Byerly.

"Stay a while," he offers, and nudges his head toward the wine bottle as he begins to untie the twine.

[bouchonne]

"Sure enough."

Byerly sprawls himself across the blanket, elbows on the pillows - doesn't go for the wine, though, or the pipe, the poor sober bastard. Instead, he just turns his gaze out towards the sea.

The package, once opened, is a cloak - a good cloak, something intended for the outside, but still with a bit of flair and style. The generous cut, coupled with the relatively light weave in the wool, means that it has the ability to swish and billow impressively, if a fellow walks with enough urgency.

[altusimperius]

Ah. Right-- Benedict doesn't press, remembering only a moment too late why Byerly won't be partaking. It's all right.

He finishes opening the package and takes a long moment to admire its contents, drawing the fabric through his hands, holding the cloak up to smile at how the light catches it.

"You're too good to me," he says, and rather means it.

[laruetheday]

Clarisse is... well, she's in her office, if not concentrating. She has some paperwork sitting in front of her, but when Benedict pops his head in he definitely catches her doodling on her forearm with some black ink and a little brush.

"Oh, hey." A very smooth recovery as she sits up straight and smears ink across one of the papers with her arm.

"Fuck. Uh, yeah, actually. Coffee sounds good."

[altusimperius]

Benedict's little cat-smile forms-- yes, he saw, and isn't going to say anything-- and he nods.

"We don't have much," he admits, "but Byerly gave me a bag of his stash when I got the new position."

A pause,

"if you want a break, I can show you how to make it."

[laruetheday]

How to make it? Huh. A wild new idea she's never thought of before, but not a bad one.

"Okay." Clarisse gets up from her seat and crosses the room to him. "I've actually never made coffee before."

She's never made a lot of things before, actually. Jude was showing her how to bake bread, sort of, before he disappeared. But cooking anything other than, like, ramen? No.

[altusimperius]

He waits, supported by one shoulder on the doorframe until Clarisse approaches, when he straightens to lead the way to the stairs and the kitchens.

"I learned how when I started working for Byerly," he explains, "I had no idea. I had to run all the way down to the infirmary to ask a friend what to do."

ii

[allthatgleamsisgold]

The party has long since reached and passed its zenith by the time Vlast drops by, carrying a small wooden box in his hand.

It doesn't take much for him to find Benedict - the man is sprawled out like Vabbian nobility with their little pleasure barges, complete with one of those water pipes humans seem to like so much.

(He never understood the attraction - whenever he spews smoke, it's because he managed to eat something that disagreed with his not-so-delicate constitution.)

The little wooden box is thrust unceremoniously under Benedict's nose.

"I am told gifts are customary for such occasions," he says, the unspoken implication being that if they aren't, someone was messing with him and taking advantage of his ignorance.

"You certainly like parties."

(The contents of the plain wooden box is nothing more than an equally plain looking penknife, folded into a plain looking wood handle. The thrum of magic coming from it suggests there's a bit more going on under the surface.)

[altusimperius]

A little jolt of surprise, and Benedict sits up, accepting the box with a curious look up at its donor.

"Vlast!" he gasps, delighted, "you didn't have to!"
Opening it with a smile, he removes the pen knife from its case to inspect it.

"What's that feeling?"

[allthatgleamsisgold]

"Magic."

An understatement of all understatements.

The knife itself is otherwise unremarkable. It's on the higher end of what Vlast's stipend can afford him.

But something has been done to it - steel doesn't usually have a faintly golden sheen, nor catch the light so brilliantly, casting iridescent patterns in the fashion of a prism.

"Keep it hidden. If you ever find yourself disarmed, it will serve you well as a conduit for your own magic."

He has not forgotten what Benedict said about being captured by demons.

[altusimperius]

It's a thoughtful gift-- extremely thoughtful, more thoughtful than he has any right to, having known Vlast for such a short period. Benedict is touched by the gesture, and his smile softens.

"Thank you," he says, voice quiet with sincerity, "want to sit a while?"

[armd]

Yes, she will sit with him.

It's good to see him in The Noose, and not (yet?) completely drunk — she's supported Benedict more than once in getting back to the Gallows but this evening she's not entirely in the mood for it. To be clear, she'd do it anyway if she had to, but she'd be way less sympathetic about it. Everything is kinda... hard right now. She can feel herself closing off and it's not great, knowing that but doing it anyway, but Abby thinks this might be what she needs for right now.

This, and an ale.

"Hey." She might seem a bit tired to him: the result of late nights and keeping herself mercilessly busy. "You good?"

[altusimperius]

It's clear there's an edge to Abby when she sits down, but Benedict tries not to notice it, in as much as keeping the interaction normal and not fussing at her seems like the way to go.

"Mmhmm," he intones pleasantly, "and you?"

You look like shit, his face says, but blessedly his mouth doesn't.

[armd]

Abby snorts. "Sure."

What other answer is there? Anything else is gonna bring the mood relentlessly down and she doesn't wanna do that. Or think about any of this, really. "Guard duty sucks right now."

Minus one tower to look at, and having to watch the skies intermittently? Boring. Long. "Thank fuck we have a tavern here. Do you know how many times I've finished a shift and just missed the ferry into Kirkwall?"

[sumptus]

"I've smelled worse."

There's been a lot of new in his first days in Kirkwall, and a lot of tight-rope walking over a pit of deepstalkers in the days since he'd reached out to Riftwatch, so the tent, even with its slightly alien touches of fanciness, draws something more like relief from him.

But the water pipe, that earns the crack of a smile.

"D'they even have anything to smoke here?" They don't even have streetlights.

[altusimperius]

Mirroring the smile, Benedict goes to plunk onto his cot. The other one is open and untouched, leaving plenty of decorating space for Caius, should he want it.

"I know where to find it," he says cryptically, "it's nothing like you'll get up north, but still packs a punch when it needs to."
He gestures to the pipe, "just say the word when you're in the mood, I'll show you."

[sumptus]

"Wouldn't want to impose."

He will absolutely impose, once the idea of relaxing feels less like losing the last vestiges control. For now, he follows after, looking over the empty space that's meant to be his.

"Besides, you've got to stay sharp, right? To keep an eye on me?"

Nobody's said as much. It's not a cell. But that doesn't mean he has anybody's trust yet.

for Vlast

[altusimperius]

Everyone's been busy with the latest mission, and it's entirely possible neither Vlast nor Benedict has even really seen the other in their newly-assigned shared room until now.
But one evening, Benedict is taking advantage of some downtime by sitting on the floor by his bed with a mirror, a small bowl of wax beside him that he proceeds to heat and spread across his lower face. He looks up when the door opens, but is careful not to emote and disturb his process.

[allthatgleamsisgold]

Vlast is a surprisingly quiet roommate as these things go. From the look of him and his perpetually foul temper, one would imagine he'd be little better than a bull in a china shop.

In fairness, he's barely around to make much noise, clearly preferring to roam outdoors, returning only for curfew (when he feels amenable). But when he's there, he may as well be a ghost.

The door only creaks and there is only the soft scuff of his footfalls and the crinkle of wrapping as he sets a few parcels on the end of his bed and when Benedict looks up, the 'Qunari' does a double-take.

"...What are you doing to your face...?" he asks, not quite alarmed but there is definitely a note of concern in his growling voice.

[altusimperius]

"Waxing," Benedict replies simply, moving his mouth as little as possible. If he's a little bit embarrassed by it, this shows only in his eyes, which regard Vlast with a touch of wariness: don't be weird, dudes do this all the time, at least you weren't here for the below-the-face part,

gripping a bit of dried wax between his thumb and forefinger, he rips it from his upper lip with a sound that's half-gasp and half-yip.

"I don't like," he explains, tears in his eyes, "when there's hair on my face." BEAUTY IS PAIN