It's early evening and the work day hasn't quite finished when Benedict appears back in the office, carrying some folio or another that he was meant to retrieve. He sets it absently on Byerly's desk, his hand shaking, and goes to sit on his own, where he proceeds to stare at the surface of it with a face like he's seen a ghost.]
[If he hadn't already been en route to the diplomacy office with work materials, Benedict probably would've gone AWOL for the rest of the day-- but here he is, looking like he's about to crawl out of his skin, and he looks back at Byerly with a helpless expression.]
I don't know what to do.
[He opens his mouth, closes it again, takes a breath.]
[He hesitates, perhaps afraid he’ll be seen as speaking against a department head in an organization within which he’s already on this ice. But still— use your words.]
...is angry that... Jone didn’t listen when I told her no. He said this is the last hour he’s wasting on me.
[Far from tattling on a disliked supervisor, Bene looks like he’s one breath from a blind panic.]
Does that mean— I go back down? If he’s dissatisfied, or— or does it mean—
[The metaphysical finger-across-throat gesture hangs in the air, it’s presence known even if he didn’t perform it.]
[ He sighs, and speaks with rare sincerity. Not that sincerity seems all that nice on Byerly - his voice is clipped and brusque, rather than kindly - but there's no teasing or irony or drollness when he says: ]
There is but one thing that can put you back into a cell: another betrayal. Flint's ill temper matters not one bit. I do not have the patience for squandering resources in the name of pettiness, nor does Yseult, nor Thranduil. And his hatred of Tevinter is not responsible for determining Riftwatch policies.
[ Irritably: ]
I suppose I'm to blame. I asked him to intervene with that brute of a woman.
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the same day as Jone's message, but later;
It's early evening and the work day hasn't quite finished when Benedict appears back in the office, carrying some folio or another that he was meant to retrieve. He sets it absently on Byerly's desk, his hand shaking, and goes to sit on his own, where he proceeds to stare at the surface of it with a face like he's seen a ghost.]
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You're looking unwell.
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I don't know what to do.
[He opens his mouth, closes it again, takes a breath.]
I don't.... I don't know what to do.
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[ His tone is breezy. Only the angle of his eyebrow reveals some measure of concern. ]
What is the precise dilemma before you?
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[He hesitates, perhaps afraid he’ll be seen as speaking against a department head in an organization within which he’s already on this ice.
But still— use your words.]
...is angry that... Jone didn’t listen when I told her no. He said this is the last hour he’s wasting on me.
[Far from tattling on a disliked supervisor, Bene looks like he’s one breath from a blind panic.]
Does that mean— I go back down? If he’s dissatisfied, or— or does it mean—
[The metaphysical finger-across-throat gesture hangs in the air, it’s presence known even if he didn’t perform it.]
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[ By stares a moment, genuinely taken aback - then rolls his eyes grandly. Who knows whether that's a reassuring gesture or a devastating one. ]
Maker preserve me, that rampaging druffalo. [ Then - ] No. Flint's good opinion matters not at all when it comes to you.
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[This is not a new concern, only one reupped every time Flint becomes aware of him again, for some reason or another.]
I’m not saying you’re wrong, [and he picks his words carefully, painfully,] but I can’t go back down there. I can’t.
[His eyes are shining and desperate.]
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There is but one thing that can put you back into a cell: another betrayal. Flint's ill temper matters not one bit. I do not have the patience for squandering resources in the name of pettiness, nor does Yseult, nor Thranduil. And his hatred of Tevinter is not responsible for determining Riftwatch policies.
[ Irritably: ]
I suppose I'm to blame. I asked him to intervene with that brute of a woman.
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[Brusque though it may be, Bene finds reassurance in it. Finally, he begins to calm down, his heartbeat slowing and some color returning to his face.]
I do everything I can to stay out of his way.
[There’s gratitude in his face, but he’s trying to be circumspect about it, having already brought enough dramatics into the office.]
I don’t mind what Jone is trying to do. I... well, you know. [They've been over it already.] I’ll speak to her again. ...in a bit.
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It is our job to keep peace amongst the fractious personalities here. Even if Flint is acting as though you must solve this problem yourself.
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[He sighs out deeply, relieved.]
I suppose I can be useful now.
[A glance to the work on his desk.]
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Try not to spread that too widely, will you? I do have a reputation to uphold.
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I promise it won't eclipse news of the daily beatings.
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