If this were a video game, there would be a pressure gauge hovering somewhere near Athessa, showing a number that increases the closer she gets to dunking the Vint. And, when he introduces their little inside joke, the number stops rising, even falls a few points when she smirks back.
"You're the one who brought up who has more interesting sausage."
The ferry gets to the dock at about that moment, and the number drops even further, back into safe territory — but not before she shoves him a little, playfully.
"You better watch it with that boring talk, though," she warns, but keeps her tone light. She wants him to heed her, not cower like a kicked puppy. "Or I really will have to kick your ass."
He remains thus until they're up on the dock and Athessa offers that warning, which elicits a little scoff. "Maker, I was joking," he says with a roll of his eyes, "he would've laughed."
"I know he would. I know exactly how it'd sound, too."
To prove it, she does an impression of Colin's self-conscious laugh. She's heard it often enough, when she points out something he does that even he doesn't realize, but before she has a chance to clarify the good things about it. Athessa even ducks her head the way Colin would, and feigns the flicker of a smile.
Giving an undignified bark of laughter, Benedict quickly covers his mouth and glances around, perhaps afraid someone will see him enjoying himself too much and decide he can't come back on the mainland again.
"...all right, where're we going," he swerves, leaning over her to try and see where she put the list, "I can take you to the best fabric stall."
Strolling along beside her, Benedict remains in high spirits, and seems to enjoy talking to and haggling with the merchants. He actually, perhaps surprisingly, appears to know a lot about different fabrics, how this one will react to that treatment or how that one will catch this kind of light-- in the end, the deals they get are solid ones, as he demonstrates someone who can't be fleeced, at least in this department.
As they move on to the next item, he looks pleased as punch, carrying two bolts of their chosen fabric, one in each arm.
Athessa glances sidelong at him, appraising how he seems now compared to...every other time she sees him.
"You sure know a lot about cloth," she says, sounding kind of impressed. But only kind of. "And negotiating."
She doesn't think she has to point out that she would've had to haggle the merchant down from an even bigger markup if Benedict weren't here. Though it comes at the price of people assuming she's his servant.
"My father's a textile merchant," Bene admits, with as much of a shrug as he can manage while holding his cargo, "he took me to auctions sometimes, just to show me what he did. They were boring and loud, and I knew it wouldn't be my future as long as Mother had a say in it, but.
She doesn't hesitate to flash more gaps in her education, but it isn't an intentional attempt to give him silent permission to not be perfect or anything.
She just doesn't care to pretend to be smarter than she is.
"Well, for Riftwatch, it was all about preparing rooms for notable guests. Making sure they were comfortable, had everything they needed, that sort of thing. I decorated the rooms to reflect the importance of the visitors."
Athessa looks at him again, assessing whether or not he's lying. Not about the job description, but about liking it. It doesn't seem like he realizes how servile the position sounds.
A little test, just in case: "What about guests who aren't important?"
"I mean..." He doesn't seem to realize it's a test, but perhaps that's for the better. "Important just means they were invited by Riftwatch. People's personal guests usually stay nearby, or with them in their rooms, or," he waves his hand dismissively. "It's not like someone would be visiting and I'd hear 'oh yeah, put him in the shit room'. They were all nice."
The scoff gets a raised eyebrow, and if she weren't just speaking her mind honestly she might be contrary out of spite when she points at a different gold lantern. "I like that one better."
"Why that one?" Bene asks, looking between them, "this one is the same hue as the embroidery. Look." He unravels a bit of the fabric to hold it next to the lantern and show her.
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"You're the one who brought up who has more interesting sausage."
The ferry gets to the dock at about that moment, and the number drops even further, back into safe territory — but not before she shoves him a little, playfully.
"You better watch it with that boring talk, though," she warns, but keeps her tone light. She wants him to heed her, not cower like a kicked puppy. "Or I really will have to kick your ass."
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He remains thus until they're up on the dock and Athessa offers that warning, which elicits a little scoff.
"Maker, I was joking," he says with a roll of his eyes, "he would've laughed."
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To prove it, she does an impression of Colin's self-conscious laugh. She's heard it often enough, when she points out something he does that even he doesn't realize, but before she has a chance to clarify the good things about it. Athessa even ducks her head the way Colin would, and feigns the flicker of a smile.
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"...all right, where're we going," he swerves, leaning over her to try and see where she put the list, "I can take you to the best fabric stall."
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"You'd better be prepared to take us to the second- or maybe third-best fabric stall," she says, and produces the list again. "We're on a budget."
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"Fine," he agrees without too much fuss, "as long as what we get doesn't look like the second or third best."
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She may not know where the fabric stalls he wants to go to are, but she knows where Hightown is, so she starts walking that-a-way.
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As they move on to the next item, he looks pleased as punch, carrying two bolts of their chosen fabric, one in each arm.
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"You sure know a lot about cloth," she says, sounding kind of impressed. But only kind of. "And negotiating."
She doesn't think she has to point out that she would've had to haggle the merchant down from an even bigger markup if Benedict weren't here. Though it comes at the price of people assuming she's his servant.
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I picked up a few things, I guess."
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What does he even like? Other than expensive things and sucking cock.
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"I like it," he decides, "I liked being chamberlain, and it was a lot of that."
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She just doesn't care to pretend to be smarter than she is.
"What does a chamberlain do, anyway?"
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He seems a little wistful.
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A little test, just in case: "What about guests who aren't important?"
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"Important just means they were invited by Riftwatch. People's personal guests usually stay nearby, or with them in their rooms, or," he waves his hand dismissively. "It's not like someone would be visiting and I'd hear 'oh yeah, put him in the shit room'. They were all nice."
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A beat.
"What did you like about it?"
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"We need paper lanterns," he reminds her, nodding toward a nearby stall that specializes in them.
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"Being Chamberlain sounds an awful lot like being a servant with a fancy title."
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"In my experience, servants carry out the orders made by their employers." He inspects a couple of show pieces, and holds one up to choose it.
"It's like the difference between the architect and the construction workers."
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He unravels a bit of the fabric to hold it next to the lantern and show her.
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