Benedict's head is down again, but he laughs as he hears the scroll unfurling more and more: yeah, it's like that.

"Not so far as you'd think," he muses, "I like... details." He pinches the cigarette from his mouth to exhale, with a glancing smile to his company.

"And-- you'll laugh, but-- it's nice to have a thing that's mine, in a way." Poor little rich boy, "something tangible I've done, that I'm doing. That I can do well. And I didn't inherit it, I asked for it."
He leans down again, making a small and careful note on something.