If Benedict notices Ophelia's stare, he doesn't show it beyond smiling blithely back at her-- he's probably too buzzed to notice even the minute social cues he'd normally see and ignore anyway. "Magister Pavus," he replies easily, "trying to wiggle his way back into favor now that Dorian's gone turncoat." Swish swish goes his wine. "I hear it's not the only thing he's tried to turn, if you catch my meaning."
Atticus barely disguises the look of distaste on his face--not that he brooks any moral objection to Magister Pavus' choice to do what he will with his wayward son, but to leverage blood magic to do so put a foul taste in his mouth. He briefly considers the extent to which he'd be willing to interfere with Octavius' life to prevent him from engaging in similar behavior, and decide very little. Drawing undue attention to the aberration only enhances the scandal.
And blood magic is, for his own reasons, an unacceptable avenue to pursue.
"I believe I do, Master Aremaeus," Ophelia replies genially and takes a small sip from her wine.
The party continues on for some time; Ophelia makes the rounds to those of her colleagues and acquaintances who are present, with Tavi tagging along beside her putting his best foot forward so as to not shame his mother, or his ever distant, somewhat frightening father. Atticus joins them for a time, then withdraws to one of the ornamental bookshelves lining the walls of the main gala hall. The titles are all the trite nonsense you'd expect to find at an event like this.
At some point, he determines that if he doesn't speak more than a few sentences to Benedict this whole evening, he'll end up slighting the boy and inviting irksome scandal into his life. So he approaches Benedict again, at whatever cluster of people he's joined, and waits until an appropriate moment to speak to him.
"I understand you're to be joining our household before the end of the season."
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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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-07-28 05:08 am (UTC)"Magister Pavus," he replies easily, "trying to wiggle his way back into favor now that Dorian's gone turncoat." Swish swish goes his wine. "I hear it's not the only thing he's tried to turn, if you catch my meaning."
no subject
Date: 2017-07-28 01:43 pm (UTC)And blood magic is, for his own reasons, an unacceptable avenue to pursue.
"I believe I do, Master Aremaeus," Ophelia replies genially and takes a small sip from her wine.
The party continues on for some time; Ophelia makes the rounds to those of her colleagues and acquaintances who are present, with Tavi tagging along beside her putting his best foot forward so as to not shame his mother, or his ever distant, somewhat frightening father. Atticus joins them for a time, then withdraws to one of the ornamental bookshelves lining the walls of the main gala hall. The titles are all the trite nonsense you'd expect to find at an event like this.
At some point, he determines that if he doesn't speak more than a few sentences to Benedict this whole evening, he'll end up slighting the boy and inviting irksome scandal into his life. So he approaches Benedict again, at whatever cluster of people he's joined, and waits until an appropriate moment to speak to him.
"I understand you're to be joining our household before the end of the season."
no subject
Date: 2017-07-28 06:12 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2017-07-28 06:46 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2017-07-28 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-07-28 07:21 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2017-07-28 09:15 pm (UTC)"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
Date: 2017-07-29 12:29 am (UTC)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.