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(That's a pretty good assessment. There's a sigh, the sound of hands skimming down over a face. Then, a thumbnail pinging off of teeth. She feels too-seen, and is trying to decide if she's comfortable with it.
In an attempt to break the tension:) And 'cause Wysteria is being fucking annoying.
In an attempt to break the tension:) And 'cause Wysteria is being fucking annoying.
Yeah, she definitely does that.
[A slow, deep sigh.]
You're not wrong, though. About what you said about the experiments.
[A slow, deep sigh.]
You're not wrong, though. About what you said about the experiments.
He's not really the lecturing kind, but Abby's stubbornness is butting up against Benedict's own, and he feels his resolve weakening quickly.
"Lots of them," he continues, steeling his voice to keep emotion out of it (and probably failing). "They would probably fill this room, shoulder to shoulder. Some of them are still here, and most of them. Aren't. Because they vanished into thin air."
His mouth twitches when he closes it, and he tosses his head in the guise of straightening his hair. "We don't know where they went. They don't get a funeral, because they might be alive. But they might not be. The main thing is that they're gone forever, and nobody gets--"
He tosses his head again, clearing his throat harshly.
"Lots of them," he continues, steeling his voice to keep emotion out of it (and probably failing). "They would probably fill this room, shoulder to shoulder. Some of them are still here, and most of them. Aren't. Because they vanished into thin air."
His mouth twitches when he closes it, and he tosses his head in the guise of straightening his hair. "We don't know where they went. They don't get a funeral, because they might be alive. But they might not be. The main thing is that they're gone forever, and nobody gets--"
He tosses his head again, clearing his throat harshly.
When that emotion twists up through his voice she looks at him quick, eyes sharp and narrowed—she waits for him to finish speaking, or at least, to run out of words. "You don't have to explain to me what it's like to have people one day and lose them the next. I get it." Did he forget where she came from? He was there himself, if only for a moment.
She adds, clearing her throat and finding it dislodges that ache. "What I don't get is why you're all so okay with experimenting with lyrium. What if it does something to you, and you can't take that back?"
There is worry, there. Buried deep.
She adds, clearing her throat and finding it dislodges that ache. "What I don't get is why you're all so okay with experimenting with lyrium. What if it does something to you, and you can't take that back?"
There is worry, there. Buried deep.
"Not just lose them," Benedict insists, and he's getting sloppy, he knows this, but-- "there's no death or farewell or-- or anything, you just can't find them one day. And it doesn't matter who they were to you, they're just-- you don't know. You don't know where they are, or if they are. Just that they're gone."
The level to which he's straining to keep his face straight is borderline comical, and he eventually cedes a temporary defeat as he ducks his head and pretends to focus on his as-of-now untouched meal.
"Plenty of things have been done to me that I can't take back. At least it's my choice this time. It's worth it." He sniffs wetly, angrily. "...it's worth it if we can find even one answer."
The level to which he's straining to keep his face straight is borderline comical, and he eventually cedes a temporary defeat as he ducks his head and pretends to focus on his as-of-now untouched meal.
"Plenty of things have been done to me that I can't take back. At least it's my choice this time. It's worth it." He sniffs wetly, angrily. "...it's worth it if we can find even one answer."
"No," she argues, pushing back, but he keeps going over the top of her. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from saying that it is like that, was like that back home. People left, people disappeared, they defected. They died out on missions you weren't part of, you never saw a body, only heard a story. Or drew your own conclusions when they stopped showing up at breakfast.
Benedict is upset, and trying not to show it. Abby waits him out. She isn't looking at him either, she's picking bits off her bread but not bringing them to her mouth any more, opting to create a pile to the side of her plate.
"I get it. Okay? I do, I just—" How does she explain this? It's difficult. She's frowning thoughtfully. "Fenris told me about what happens when people are exposed to lyrium. When he was here, I mean, he told me, and it's fucked up. And we all just fucking died and came back." Though, not all of them did; Jude is gone, and what Ellie said is true. She is mad and upset, and burying it under other things, lashing out in a different direction. She breathes out. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you guys. And this lyrium shit feels bad."
Benedict is upset, and trying not to show it. Abby waits him out. She isn't looking at him either, she's picking bits off her bread but not bringing them to her mouth any more, opting to create a pile to the side of her plate.
"I get it. Okay? I do, I just—" How does she explain this? It's difficult. She's frowning thoughtfully. "Fenris told me about what happens when people are exposed to lyrium. When he was here, I mean, he told me, and it's fucked up. And we all just fucking died and came back." Though, not all of them did; Jude is gone, and what Ellie said is true. She is mad and upset, and burying it under other things, lashing out in a different direction. She breathes out. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you guys. And this lyrium shit feels bad."
This has gone wretchedly, Benedict already knows he's far overplayed his hand and made a fool of himself like he always does, and he shoves another bite in his deeply frowning mouth to stop it from either talking or quivering.
Abby thus gets a word in edgewise, and although he bristles in response, he doesn't argue-- say what you will about Benedict Artemaeus, but he'll never talk with his mouth full. By the time he's finished chewing again, Abby has said her piece, and the wind has left his sails.
"Well," he says in an attempt at his usual primness, "I don't. Want anything bad to happen to you. ...guys." He's thrown off momentarily by the colloquialism, squinting as if he isn't sure he's saying it right, or that he should be saying it at all.
Abby thus gets a word in edgewise, and although he bristles in response, he doesn't argue-- say what you will about Benedict Artemaeus, but he'll never talk with his mouth full. By the time he's finished chewing again, Abby has said her piece, and the wind has left his sails.
"Well," he says in an attempt at his usual primness, "I don't. Want anything bad to happen to you. ...guys." He's thrown off momentarily by the colloquialism, squinting as if he isn't sure he's saying it right, or that he should be saying it at all.
You're welcome.
[It sounds a little awkward. Ellie didn't expect to be thanked for telling the truth.]
From what I can see, Derrica's overseeing stuff. But.
I dunno. I keep hearing Astarion and Fenris in my head. It's gonna go and go until all of a sudden, it goes too far.
[It sounds a little awkward. Ellie didn't expect to be thanked for telling the truth.]
From what I can see, Derrica's overseeing stuff. But.
I dunno. I keep hearing Astarion and Fenris in my head. It's gonna go and go until all of a sudden, it goes too far.
Yeah, and it makes her smile a little bit. "Sorta," isn't her way of helping him out of what he just said. "Sounds crazy to put it like this, considering everything, but it's a lot safer here, so it hasn't all been terrible. But it has been hard to adjust.
"Where are you from?" She doesn't actually know this about Vanya, and a flash of embarrassment makes her voice a bit softer, almost hesitant.
"Where are you from?" She doesn't actually know this about Vanya, and a flash of embarrassment makes her voice a bit softer, almost hesitant.
(It's not because she's telling the truth, it's because she's telling it to Abby at all. She didn't have to.
With satisfaction:) Exactly. And I know they're going to be as careful as possible, but if something goes wrong that's—Benedict, with a hole in his face. And that would really piss him off!
With satisfaction:) Exactly. And I know they're going to be as careful as possible, but if something goes wrong that's—Benedict, with a hole in his face. And that would really piss him off!
It'd piss a lot of people off.
I can get where he's coming from, and I trust Viktor. Mostly. But it's gonna be tense.
I can get where he's coming from, and I trust Viktor. Mostly. But it's gonna be tense.
Abby doesn't really notice him tripping up over the expression. She's eating the shredded bits of her roll to remove the evidence of it, brow furrowed. Mouth curling down at the corners, jaw set and back teeth touching each other painfully when she chews, sensitive from being ground in her sleep.
"I know." And there's no talking the other out of it, is there.
A pause. She nibbles bread. She adds, less angry and worried, more sulky, "I didn't do anything to that fucking sign-up sheet, you know."
"I know." And there's no talking the other out of it, is there.
A pause. She nibbles bread. She adds, less angry and worried, more sulky, "I didn't do anything to that fucking sign-up sheet, you know."
Good question. I don't remember a lot of the actual conversation before everybody got upset.
"What?"
He looks up, taken entirely out of his head by the remark.
"...the one for the study?"
He looks up, taken entirely out of his head by the remark.
"...the one for the study?"
"Oh. I didn't realize..."
Did something happen to the signup sheet? After he put his name down he just went on living his life.
"...wait, is that what Wysteria was going on about?"
Did something happen to the signup sheet? After he put his name down he just went on living his life.
"...wait, is that what Wysteria was going on about?"
Benedict stares at Abby for a moment, incredulous, but a slow smile of amusement begins to creep over his face. Sabotage.
A snicker spills out of him before he can stop it.
"She made it sound like someone tampered with the lyrium."
A snicker spills out of him before he can stop it.
"She made it sound like someone tampered with the lyrium."
By the time the ferry has hacked across the harbor, dusk has given way to a purplish early evening. Various lamps have been lit in public house windows; the merchant stalls have rolled up their mats and hurried off with their wares; and the crowding of hawkers and traders which stuffs the harbor front during daylight hours is diminishing with each passing hour as upstanding tradesman quit their work to hurry home or find their way to a drink. In their place, the sailors and fishermen and businessmen and women of somewhat sketchier repute bustle to fill various vacated posts. Here are is a roving knot of merchant sailors, hard handed and already stinking of ale, laughing loudly as they traipse up a stairwell; and here are two harried members of the Kirkwall guard peeling a wriggling pickpocket out of a gutter; and there pass a cadre of dwarven mercenaries, clinking in their ring mail and leathers as they walk ahead of a bobbing palanquin whose curtains have been drawn tight shut.
Desidério Amanza cuts a sharp little figure in this muggy scrapped light between intermittent lanterns as he and Abby climb the stairwell up out of the harbor front and into the warren-like tangle of streets which begin a half story above it. At some point between his arriving and today, he's found himself a smart coat more fit for the weather than what he'd arrived with. He's also wearing the long Riftwatch uniform cloak, jauntily tossed across one shoulder thanks to the fact that it is not, presently, pissing down buckets of rain on their heads.
Every step he takes clinks softly: the wear of leather and metal from the sword belt he wears, the rapier's pommel cajoling eagerly against a buckle or miscellaneous stud.
"I don't think I managed to catch your roommate's name," he is saying while rifling around in the interior pocket of his coat.
Desidério Amanza cuts a sharp little figure in this muggy scrapped light between intermittent lanterns as he and Abby climb the stairwell up out of the harbor front and into the warren-like tangle of streets which begin a half story above it. At some point between his arriving and today, he's found himself a smart coat more fit for the weather than what he'd arrived with. He's also wearing the long Riftwatch uniform cloak, jauntily tossed across one shoulder thanks to the fact that it is not, presently, pissing down buckets of rain on their heads.
Every step he takes clinks softly: the wear of leather and metal from the sword belt he wears, the rapier's pommel cajoling eagerly against a buckle or miscellaneous stud.
"I don't think I managed to catch your roommate's name," he is saying while rifling around in the interior pocket of his coat.
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