Benedict is at a point where he's unlikely to perceive any slights subtler than a slap in the face. When Atticus finds him again, he's in a group of young men around his own age, propped languidly against a pillar and maintaining relative silence while they discuss and dissect the female partygoers. When addressed from his other side, Benedict seems almost glad for the distraction, and turns toward Atticus with a smile that pretends to be polite but is in fact mostly drunk and ingratiating. "You understand right," he all but slurs, lifting his glass as though in a toast, "I hope your staff is prepared to meet my mother's standards."
"I hope your staff is prepared to meet my mother's standards."
This stupid boy could beggar all of Orlais with his near-sighted capacity for self-indulgence. Atticus can barely stomach it, and so decides not to. For the moment.
"Our staff? ...Oh," he begins, his thin eyebrows climbing quite high on his forehead. He does a good job of performing 'mild, chagrined shock' even though no part of him feels it. "Oh, I thought you had been informed about the living arrangements of my apprentices." His eyebrows draw together into a deep furrow and he shakes his head, murmuring another, troubled, 'oh dear' under his breath.
The look Atticus gives Benedict is the closest approximation that he can conjure to pitying. "Our staff don't service the apprentices' barracks." Yes, barracks--you heard that right, Benedict. Dormitory living--you, and perhaps twelve other snivelling spoilt wretches just like you, washing your own clothes, making your own beds, perhaps even boiling your own water for a cup of tea. Here it is, the edge of civilization--you've reached it.
He goes on with an idle gesture of his wine glass. "I think you will enjoy the apprentices' lodge. It's charmingly rustic, complete with a view of the lake. The bath house is but a short walk down hill."
Benedict's smile falters further, and it's totally gone when he fixes Atticus with an incredulous, affronted stare. "You're joking," he replies, an edge of panic in his voice, and then casts his eyes about for wherever his parents are sinking their talons at the moment. He'll find them, they'll fix it.
Feigning confusion, Atticus replies quietly with, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Before Benedict can sputter additional protests at him, Atticus makes his apologies and abandons his latest protégé to his despair, joining Ophelia on one of the many elaborate balconies overlooking the city of Minrathous. She gives him a suspicious look that he patently ignores, instead collecting a new glass of wine from a passing tray.
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When addressed from his other side, Benedict seems almost glad for the distraction, and turns toward Atticus with a smile that pretends to be polite but is in fact mostly drunk and ingratiating.
"You understand right," he all but slurs, lifting his glass as though in a toast, "I hope your staff is prepared to meet my mother's standards."
no subject
This stupid boy could beggar all of Orlais with his near-sighted capacity for self-indulgence. Atticus can barely stomach it, and so decides not to. For the moment.
"Our staff? ...Oh," he begins, his thin eyebrows climbing quite high on his forehead. He does a good job of performing 'mild, chagrined shock' even though no part of him feels it. "Oh, I thought you had been informed about the living arrangements of my apprentices." His eyebrows draw together into a deep furrow and he shakes his head, murmuring another, troubled, 'oh dear' under his breath.
no subject
no subject
He goes on with an idle gesture of his wine glass. "I think you will enjoy the apprentices' lodge. It's charmingly rustic, complete with a view of the lake. The bath house is but a short walk down hill."
He takes a fortifying sip of his wine.
no subject
"You're joking," he replies, an edge of panic in his voice, and then casts his eyes about for wherever his parents are sinking their talons at the moment. He'll find them, they'll fix it.
no subject
Before Benedict can sputter additional protests at him, Atticus makes his apologies and abandons his latest protégé to his despair, joining Ophelia on one of the many elaborate balconies overlooking the city of Minrathous. She gives him a suspicious look that he patently ignores, instead collecting a new glass of wine from a passing tray.