faderift | [open-ish] I am the wheel

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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I know."

Benedict sets the cloak aside carefully, picks up his wine glass, sips from it thoughtfully; there'll be no heavy drinking tonight, unless the afternoon takes a turn.

"But everybody has to hear things they don't like, sometimes."

Another sigh.

“I wish I could close off my ears, like how you can clench your asshole.”

He makes a ring of his fingers, which he then tightens in demonstration.

“Keep me from having to listen to you.”

Benedict wrinkles his nose, but he catches what's going on, and shakes his head.

"Valiant attempt," he mutters, "but you can't disgust me into changing my mind."

He sips from his wine again, diverting his gaze out toward the harbor.

"Why is it so important to you? To be disliked. You expend so much effort on it, it's exhausting to watch."

“Easy.”

There’s a smile on his face that’s just a little self-aware.

“People are going to dislike me no matter what I do. The effort I expend is to make sure they dislike me on my terms.”

"Oh, are they?" Sssip.

"I'll be sure to let Bastien know."

A light snort. An incorrect choice. Because - "He disliked me at first sight. So."

"And clearly loathes you now. A successful gambit indeed."

A wave of dismissal. “I’m not saying that people don’t eventually warm a bit. Now and again.”

Benedict rolls onto his side to face Byerly with a penetrating, don't-bullshit-me sort of look, the cup of wine perched thoughtfully at his lips.

"It's a lot of effort," he remarks again, "and not that I know anything, but working very closely with someone in particular taught me that sometimes-- it sounds crazy, I know-- a person can just say what he's actually thinking."

With an air of challenge, "I love the gift. You were kind to think of me."

Another, more emphatic wave.

“It was just something I picked up. You’ll wear it well enough, I fancy.”

And a glance over at Benedict. Come on, man; stop.

He won't. Meeting Byerly's eyes squarely, Benedict continues: "you know how I know you're full of shit?"

He sets his cup down, sits up to retrieve the cloak again, and turns back to display it to Byerly as he speaks,

"you've noticed that I like gold brocade and that I pair it with blue more than red now, because of Colin's earring. This is exactly the right length to flatter me, and exactly the weight and texture that will give it movement and versatility, and echoes a very specific Minrathousian aesthetic, which means that the person who had it made-- you, unless I'm mistaken-- not only knows and respects the details that would make the recipient-- me-- happy, but chose to utilize them. Very intentionally."

Byerly looks more and more mulish the more Benedict speaks. By the time the lad is done, he’s nearly crossed the line into peevish.

“Even if all of that is true - “ And it is, every detail - “We certainly don’t need to make some grand deal of it. Happy birthday. You’re welcome.”

"I know it's true," Benedict insists, folding his arms, "all you have to do is admit it. Admit you did something kind for me, because you knew it would make me happy."

Byerly sighs loudly.

"Honestly, you're making me want that wine after all."

Somehow, that breaks some of the tension, and Benedict grins-- it's a win for him, even if Byerly didn't say it aloud.

"Just admit it," he insists, flicking a small pebble from the beach toward his mopey companion.

"Ow," Byerly declares, quite loudly and far too emphatically. It is especially dramatic, considering that the pebble was a light one, and hit him on his clothed shoulder.

The cruel Benedict laughs and flicks another one. "Say it."

"I'll dunk your bloody head under water," he mutters. "Let you choke on the harbor's fish guts. How about that?"

"You can try."

Benedict flicks another pebble.

"Want to smoke?"

[open-ish] I am the wheel

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