The Scouting office is where this evening finds him. Copying maps, annotating others; a blank patch of coastline sketched into crag. Strictly unofficial. Call it freelancing.
He marks the creak of footsteps before glancing up, taking it in. A slight delay, and Strand stands, stretches out a hand to shake. Pulls out the nearest chair.
"No complaints," Brisk, gentlemanly. At odds with the obvious dip of Ander to his tongue. "Though I trust it's little to Minrathous."
Edited (oh my god i was so confident this wouldnt be a second beep and then...where/when) 2025-03-10 04:16 (UTC)
Benedict shakes his hand easily, pleasantly surprised by the invitation to sit down-- he accepts it, balancing his writing board on one knee as he crosses his legs.
"Sorry?" He blinks at Strand at the mention of Minrathous, remaining pleasant-- perhaps he misunderstood.
"What do you know of the Warden Siorus?" Personnel officer — whatever little that seems to account — it might well be something. "Left Riftwatch last Harvestmere."
"And there was nothing else strange?" Fingers pluck the air before his own face — pay attention, yes, but also a prod to memory — "No lasting changes?"
Edited (ugh figuring out voice) 2025-04-09 23:34 (UTC)
An explanation at last, and Benedict is not as horrified by it as he may have expected. A quirk of his brow, and, "...would you like me to... put them in touch with you?"
Narrowing his eyes slightly, Benedict thinks on it.
"Tavane and Strange you can just ask, I think," he muses, "they're," motormouths, "open books. Orlov will need a lighter touch, but I think if you explain why you want to know...?" He shrugs a shoulder.
"Thank you," He isn't so sure. Strand has never been a delicate man, and Benedict's already proven easy to fluster. That isn't promising for his definition of light; shuffles Orlov to the bottom of the list. "You've been a great help."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
too scary goodbye
He marks the creak of footsteps before glancing up, taking it in. A slight delay, and Strand stands, stretches out a hand to shake. Pulls out the nearest chair.
"No complaints," Brisk, gentlemanly. At odds with the obvious dip of Ander to his tongue. "Though I trust it's little to Minrathous."
ok i'll miss you
"Sorry?" He blinks at Strand at the mention of Minrathous, remaining pleasant-- perhaps he misunderstood.
no subject
Glowing signs, pictures in the air.
no subject
"I-- yes," he agrees blandly, "but Kirkwall's not so bad. Really." eventually
no subject
There must be some question to answer, box to check.
no subject
"I..." Well, they're in Scouting, so that answers that. "...do you have any questions?" He clears his throat. "About Riftwatch?"
no subject
no subject
"Not a lot," he admits, "...he turned into a bogfisher sometimes." There was that.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"He was a person, and then he was a bogfisher," he explains-- it's not that weird, mages exist-- "and then he was a person again."
no subject
Baudin, Hermione, Jayce, Porthmeus.
"Have all remained with Riftwatch?"
no subject
Benedict nods.
"Can I ask...?"
no subject
More or less.
"Your people are safe, we'd know by now. But I need their accounts."
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Tavane and Strange you can just ask, I think," he muses, "they're," motormouths, "open books. Orlov will need a lighter touch, but I think if you explain why you want to know...?" He shrugs a shoulder.
no subject
no subject
"...is there anything else you need, before I leave you alone?"
no subject
no subject