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.
"They are not the same color," Benedict insists, with a touch of impatience, "and I'm the one in charge of the decorating, so I think it's my decision."
See what happens when he tries to be diplomatic? See??
"Maker's breath they're not the same color!" Benedict answers, tense but cheerful, and hands over the down payment so the merchant can begin taking a proper order. He's focused on that until they've got it settled, then turns toward Athessa again with a smile that seems to say 'are we done!'
He gives her the stinkeye for a moment, but then, with control of the situation back in his own hands, he perks up and withdraws the list. "Candles," he chirps, and beckons for her to follow.
"Not the nice scented ones," Bene replies pleasantly, and off they go to another stall.
This goes on for a while: once they get the candles, they need ribbon for the candlesticks and other accoutrements, flowers, feathers, all ordered in detail and set to be delivered to the Gallows the day before the event. The fabric is given over to an artisan to be made into drapings, and it's evening by the time they've finished.
Checking off the last of the list, Benedict smiles down at Athessa, clearly having had the time of his life. "Ready to head back?"
And by the end of it all, Athessa doesn't feel like she's learned anything at all about party planning. Which is fine, honestly. She's not planning on throwing any parties.
"Sure," she says, and shrugs. Looking at him with the same appraisal she did earlier, she tilts her head and says: "It's weird. I don't think I've ever seen you...like this."
"Like what?" He's prepared for it to be a barb of some kind, but is in a good enough mood to let that particularly anxiety slide as they board the ferry.
It's a distracted syllable, still buried under her scrutiny, being examined and pulled apart and reexamined. Unable to really quantify it, she looks out over the bay as well.
"Aw, fuck," she groans, realizing something. Something terrible.
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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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"It's not bad, but I think the harder edges will look better with the rounded arches of the hall. Visual interest, and all that."
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"They are the same color. And the curvy lines of this one will match the rounded arches."
How much of this is contrarianism? How much is actual opinion? Who knows!
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See what happens when he tries to be diplomatic? See??
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"But they are the same color."
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"Anything else?"
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She holds up her empty hands, because at some point the list ended up in his pocket. How'd that happen?
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"Candles," he chirps, and beckons for her to follow.
See, this is fun!
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It's nice that he's having fun, anyway. One might think that Athessa was the one who got dragged along on this shopping trip.
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This goes on for a while: once they get the candles, they need ribbon for the candlesticks and other accoutrements, flowers, feathers, all ordered in detail and set to be delivered to the Gallows the day before the event. The fabric is given over to an artisan to be made into drapings, and it's evening by the time they've finished.
Checking off the last of the list, Benedict smiles down at Athessa, clearly having had the time of his life.
"Ready to head back?"
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"Sure," she says, and shrugs. Looking at him with the same appraisal she did earlier, she tilts her head and says: "It's weird. I don't think I've ever seen you...like this."
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He's prepared for it to be a barb of some kind, but is in a good enough mood to let that particularly anxiety slide as they board the ferry.
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The word catches him off-guard, and he blinks at her, then out at the bay.
"...I guess I am." He smirks faintly, uncertainly. Then, with a sheepish shrug, "...thanks for bringing me out."
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It's a distracted syllable, still buried under her scrutiny, being examined and pulled apart and reexamined. Unable to really quantify it, she looks out over the bay as well.
"Aw, fuck," she groans, realizing something. Something terrible.
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