Between the unusual tension of the situation and Vlast’s specific warning, something breaks. Benedict erupts into laughter comprised half of genuine hilarity at the mental image of Abby biting him, and half Something Else.
Vlast stares in utter bewilderment at the outburst of laughter (to say nothing of the other tables, startled by the noise).
It's hard for him to tell if what he said was, unintentionally, quite funny or if the stress Benedict has been putting himself under has driven him a little mad.
"Ridiculous," he scoffs, grumbling under his breath as he takes a draught of wine.
But as his lips touch the rim of his glass, there is the faintest hint of a smile - almost as though he's pleased with himself for getting Benedict to laugh again.
It is a double-edged sword for Benedict that Vlast's very limited experience with interpersonal relationships leaves him rather oblivious to the implications.
On one hand, what Abby biting Clarisse means has flown right over his head. On the other, it's going to take a lot of work to get the rifter qunari to recognize the obvious for what it is.
"...Ah. They're quarreling. Is it over food? Territory? ...No, forget I asked."
He shakes his head. Not his circus, not his monkeys.
"Stop fretting. I already said I won't get involved."
Normally this would be the perfect opportunity to let the subject go, but one might say Benedict has a vested interest in Vlast being able to read certain signals. He arches his eyebrows over his wine at the qunari, waiting for the punchline- and when it never comes,
“it’s…” he begins, and, realizing this is a delicate needle to thread without digging himself deeper in his own guilt spiral, adds, “good biting.”
Vlast's upper lip curls in his confusion and disbelief. Benedict may as well have just said there's such a thing as good hemorrhoids.
Biting is for warding off rivals, it's for catching and killing prey, it's for ripping flesh from bone.
Perhaps in some cases that's good, but only for the victor.
Then again, humans are full of quirks and nuances. Once upon a time, Sadizi had tried to explain, but Vlast had brushed him off when he soon learned that very few of those matters applied to him.
Trapped in this mortal form, Vlast is reconciling with the fact he may have to re-assess.
Benedict takes a breath, blows it out, and picks up a pastry to bite thoughtfully into it, staring past Vlast for a moment. This clearly isn’t about gossip anymore.
“It’s like,” he continues, once he’s finished with the bite, “well how do your kind show that— that they like each other?”
The innocent bite of pastry holds his fascination, at least for a moment. The question hangs in the meantime.
And then Vlast's gaze turns inward.
"We don't."
...Like each other, that is.
Vlast reaches for the bottle, refilling their glasses. It's something to occupy his hands while he tries to find some way to summarize the ongoing conflict with his immediate family.
"Whatever affection endures between my kind decays under the weight of time, duty, or death."
"Not... like humans. We just - we draw on magic from the Mists. Shape it into another." What an odd question. "What does that have to do with the topic at hand...?"
At first, confusion; then, Benedict catches his meaning and laughs again.
“You should drink more water,” he advises— only twice, sheesh— “but there’s.”
He pauses, collects himself. This isn’t the most appropriate conversation to have in public, and Maker knows he wouldn’t want someone talking about his equipment so casually.
“There are other things,” he explains, gentling his tone, “I can… find you some books. If you like.”
To do or say more at the moment would be… it doesn’t feel right. Vlast is far from a child, but an innocence like his is a delicate thing, too easily upset by haste and carelessness.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It's hard for him to tell if what he said was, unintentionally, quite funny or if the stress Benedict has been putting himself under has driven him a little mad.
"Ridiculous," he scoffs, grumbling under his breath as he takes a draught of wine.
But as his lips touch the rim of his glass, there is the faintest hint of a smile - almost as though he's pleased with himself for getting Benedict to laugh again.
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“It’s sweet of you to worry,” he chides, “but Abby’s not going to bite me. She’ll have to save it for Clarisse—“
He claps his hand over his mouth. IDIOT,
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On one hand, what Abby biting Clarisse means has flown right over his head. On the other, it's going to take a lot of work to get the rifter qunari to recognize the obvious for what it is.
"...Ah. They're quarreling. Is it over food? Territory? ...No, forget I asked."
He shakes his head. Not his circus, not his monkeys.
"Stop fretting. I already said I won't get involved."
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“it’s…” he begins, and, realizing this is a delicate needle to thread without digging himself deeper in his own guilt spiral, adds, “good biting.”
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Biting is for warding off rivals, it's for catching and killing prey, it's for ripping flesh from bone.
Perhaps in some cases that's good, but only for the victor.
Then again, humans are full of quirks and nuances. Once upon a time, Sadizi had tried to explain, but Vlast had brushed him off when he soon learned that very few of those matters applied to him.
Trapped in this mortal form, Vlast is reconciling with the fact he may have to re-assess.
"Explain."
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“It’s like,” he continues, once he’s finished with the bite, “well how do your kind show that— that they like each other?”
He innocently bites the pastry again.
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And then Vlast's gaze turns inward.
"We don't."
...Like each other, that is.
Vlast reaches for the bottle, refilling their glasses. It's something to occupy his hands while he tries to find some way to summarize the ongoing conflict with his immediate family.
"Whatever affection endures between my kind decays under the weight of time, duty, or death."
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"Not... like humans. We just - we draw on magic from the Mists. Shape it into another." What an odd question. "What does that have to do with the topic at hand...?"
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"Do you," Benedict asks, in a low and concerned voice, "do you know how more people are made?"
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He doesn't.
“Sadizi explained it all to me.”
He really didn't.
“I'm not sure what biting has to do with it. One would think that would be antithetical to whole process.”
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“Tell me how.”
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Duh.
"He mentioned something about fluids but I had already lost interest by then."
There's a brief, thoughtful moment.
"I also know humans carry their young in their belly. It looks... uncomfortable."
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He steadies himself a moment, swallows, and smiles in a strangled sort of way.
“Which appendage,” he asks.
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"The one I didn't have before coming here."
And which makes wearing pants such a fucking ordeal.
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“You haven’t used it yet,” he guesses, and pops a bit of cheese into his mouth, smirking.
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"Of course I have. At least twice a day."
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“You should drink more water,” he advises— only twice, sheesh— “but there’s.”
He pauses, collects himself. This isn’t the most appropriate conversation to have in public, and Maker knows he wouldn’t want someone talking about his equipment so casually.
“There are other things,” he explains, gentling his tone, “I can… find you some books. If you like.”
To do or say more at the moment would be… it doesn’t feel right. Vlast is far from a child, but an innocence like his is a delicate thing, too easily upset by haste and carelessness.
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"I doubt it could hurt," Vlast admits. "There are... many gaps in my understanding of people. I know this now."
He still doesn't get what his mother saw in mortals. Maybe he never will. But he's starting to see what questions he should have been asking.