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WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: February 7, midafternoon
OPEN TO: Peggy Carter, Credence Barebone
WARNINGS: none at the moment
STATUS: open

With lunch made, consumed, and now tidied up, Benedict is at something of a loss for what to do. There aren't nearly as many chores for him to tackle in the dead of winter as there were when he first arrived, which means he winds up holed up in the Inn common room, near the fire, with one of his blankets from the gifts he'd been given and his very fascinating copy of Tarzan of the Apes.

It is set on the Surface, in a thick jungle rife with wild animals that could tear you limb from limb if they so chose, and Benedict is both horrified and desperately intrigued as to how anyone could possibly live there. The fact that he, himself, is also living on the Surface is something he tries not to think much about. He's still half-convinced it's only a matter of time before a nest of Silkweavers overruns the habble and they'll all be horrifically murdered before any sort of defense can be mustered. Without his gauntlet here, or even his sword, he knows he won't be much of a match for a real opponent, let alone a contingent of them. Murderous fauna just one more entry in the long list of things that are apparently out to kill them, behind the weather, it seems.

The door is open, allowing noise and heat to seep in and out of the room, so Benedict isn't completely shut off from the rest of the community, glancing up from his book every time someone passes by to see who it is in case they require his assistance.

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Ever since she'd had her conversation with Credence, Peggy's mind won't leave the prospect of a portrait alone. Her own artistic skills leave a great deal to the imagination, but now that she's had a moment or two to process the grief of losing Steve along with the strangeness of her new powers, she can turn her thoughts back to this. Wearing gloves to keep herself from creating too much snow or ice, she closes the door behind her as she enters the inn, raising a brow at the peaceful scene she finds.

"Good book?" she asks, gesturing to the novel in Benedict's hands, recalling it from her own childhood when she and Michael would read novels in the backyard before imagining that world before them.

When Miss Carter pokes her head in the door, Benedict lifts his own to smile at her, his book lowering slightly, enough to indicate that her presence isn't unwelcome and he won't begrudge her speaking to him. Benedict is sadly well-used to never being able to finish a book in peace, having two younger sisters and Gwen as his cousin, so he doesn't mind the interruption.

"It's certainly diverting," he admits, shutting the book around one finger so he doesn't lose his place. "Are all the creatures in it real? The gorillas and jaguars?" He pronounces it jag-you-are, the syllables clunky and awkward in his mouth like he's never had to connect them in that way before. "I have never heard of such things. They sound fearsome."

He's also, not that he would ever admit it aloud, a little apprehensive about those creatures appearing suddenly in the middle of the habble. What would they all do if a gorilla suddenly appeared?

"Not in all parts of the world, but many of them, yes," Peggy assures him as she settles her coat across a chair, tentatively stepping inside and craning her neck towards the stairs, wondering if Credence is here. It would certainly make this a quick trip, but she's missing a part of the equation. "Mostly, I've only seen them in zoos," she admits, taking a seat opposite Benedict.

"Perhaps you'll lend it to me after," she suggests. "Our books are so limited, I'd entertain the distraction."

He grimaces a little, not liking the sound of that at all. At least her comment makes it seem that they aren't common around here, which is some small comfort. He has enough to worry about with the threat of Silkweavers, an enemy he at least has experience with and knows how to kill. The creatures in the book are utterly foreign to him and he's not sure how he'd handle an attack from them.

"What's a zoo?" he asks, opening the book again to take a peek at the page number before closing it completely and setting it aside. He's got company now, he can't keep half his attention diverted to something else. He was raised better than that.

"Of course. Perhaps we could set up a library, of sorts, so that everyone can take advantage of the books we've collected." They'd need a sign-out sheet of some kind, so people would know who has what book, but that could surely be arranged.

"Terrible things, mainly. They're set up for people's entertainment, putting animals behind bars to let people wander by and look at them," she notes with mild discontent, shaking her head. "I'm glad that we don't seem to have anything of the like here, though perhaps it is a zoo and we're the exhibit." If that's the case, she can only hope their captors are frustrated with the performance of their subjects.

"Do you happen to know if there are any artists at the inn, today?" she asks, switching topics without much warning, mainly because she wants to make sure she asks before too many people start going about their day.

"That doesn't sound very entertaining," he replies slowly, trying to imagine just what that would look like. Benedict's experience with animals is mostly limited to vermin and cats, and, of course, the sheep and cow he's seen down here in this habble. It doesn't make for a very entertaining zoo, in his mind, but then again, what does he know?

Her question has him blinking at her, surprise preventing him from replying for a second. What would she have need of an artist for?

"I'm not sure," he confesses. "There hasn't been much in the way of supplies since I arrived, so I haven't seen anyone painting or anything of that nature. What do you need an artist for?"

"I made a promise to someone that I would keep an eye out for an artist," she says, "so that they might create a portrait from a description. We don't exactly have much of our loved ones here, that it would mean the world to have something hand-created like that. I'm an awful hand at sketching, so I had to promise to find someone else."

If only Steve were still here, it would be an easy favour to ask, but she's back to a world without Steve Rogers in it, a dim and lifeless one that she knows how to live in, but will have to adjust to, once more.

"Oh, that's...not really what I was expecting," he replies with a quiet chuckle. "Yes, I see what you mean. Well, I'm not much of a talent, but I have been forced to sit through a few art lessons in my youth, so I might be able to assist you," he continues, lifting one shoulder as he offers his help. "It might not hurt to put the word out, though, as I'm sure there are others more talented than I that might be able to do a better job of it."

"Shall we do a test run?" Peggy suggests, wary of bringing this to Credence before she does at least a little bit of a warm-up. She looks around and starts to go through some of the supplies, finding a piece of charcoal to offer out to Benedict, giving him an encouraging nod. "I'll describe someone and you try and put him on paper. If I'm satisfied, I'll employ you with payment of food or some other sort of service."

He watches with amusement as Miss Carter gets up and goes hunting for supplies for him to use for his audition, dutifully holding out his palm for the charcoal she unearths and hands to him.

"You don't have to pay me, Miss Carter," he protests, casting about for somewhere to draw before turning to his book, carefully opening the final page and smoothing out the blank paper there. "I'm happy to help. There isn't very much for me to do, as winter is still in full swing and the Inn is now full, leaving my Kate with no shortage of helpers. I'm just glad for the distraction."

Edited 2017-02-09 04:21 (UTC)

Amused, Peggy doesn't let it show on her face precisely what she thinks about 'my Kate', though she thinks it's absolutely lovely. "Good, then," she says, settling down with her palms over her thighs, her mind having already been made up as to precisely whom she wants to describe. She begins, then, with the dark hair and dark features, the shape of Daniel's mouth (known intimately, at this point) and jaw, the movie-star like features she'd always admired.

"Should I slow down?" she asks, in the midst of describing the peak of his hair upon his forehead.

At first, Benedict just watches her as she describes the man she wants him to draw, letting the image form in his head without looking directly at it, like a mirage or a reflection on shimmering water.

Slowly, letting her words wash over him, he starts to sketch across the narrow sheet of paper, the charcoal in his hands smudging his fingers already. It's messy at first, an impression of a face more than an exact likeness, but the more she speaks, and the more he draws, the more detail comes through.

"No, no, you're fine," he replies absently, using the pad of one finger to smudge a shadow across the face until it was soft and smoky. "Keep going."

Peggy feels a touch embarrassed, mainly because she has the feeling that the details she's giving now sound rather personal in nature, though as she speaks, now, it's of the colour of Daniel's eyes, the shape of them, the way he smiles. She can feel her heart beat just a little more and she wills it to steady, inhaling deeply and sitting a little straighter.

If nothing else, she'll also have this picture to keep to herself, for better or worse.

Benedict glances up to look at her face when Miss Carter starts to wax poetic about the color of the man's eyes, aware that her tone of voice can really only mean one thing. Not that he can really throw stones here, as he knows full well that's exactly how he sounds when he talks about Kate.

He quickly shifts his eyes back down to his work so it won't look like he's staring at her, or teasing her somehow, and focuses with extra effort to make his drawing look as good as possible.

If this is going to be a sketch of Miss Carter's sweetheart, he wants it to look as accurate as possible.

Peggy clears her throat and tries to ease back, describing the slope of Daniel's neck and shoulders, simply to give context as to what the face looks like in comparison to the rest of him. "Do you need any more?" she asks, hoping that she hasn't rambled on impossibly to the point that he's now sick of her.

She's hopeful that he's good at drawing, not only for Credence's sake anymore, but also for her own.

He's actually quite nervous by the time he finishes, not sure if he's done Miss Carter's man justice, and dithers a little by using the edge of his knuckle to soften the shadow under the jawline a little before he tells himself he's just going to make it worse if he continues and forces himself to put the charcoal down.

"I suppose that depends on whether or not you think it's an acceptable likeness," he replies, curling his smudged hand in on itself so he won't get more dirty fingerprints over everything as he turns the book around and hands it to her.

"Does it pass muster?"

It's not a perfect photograph or a replica of the man, but it captures enough of him that she immediately knows that Credence is going to be quite satisfied (or so she hopes). She takes the corner of the page tenderly, already knowing that she's going to come back later to ask Benny, as nicely as she can, to draw Steve. Luckily, he has some frame of reference, given the man's recent disappearance.

"I might employ you for myself one more time," she admits, reaching out to squeeze his hand in thanks. "It's wonderful," she praises. "Do you mind if I search for Credence and bring him down, if he's here?"

"It's not that great..." he demurs, a gentle stain of crimson creeping up the back of his neck to tinge his ears red. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more accurate."

He carefully wipes his fingers on his black scrub pants, grateful for the dark fabric and its ability to not look like he's been rolling around in the fireplace when he uses it to clean his fingers. "No, that should be fine. He might be upstairs in his room, or perhaps with Kira somewhere." Benedict doesn't tend to keep tabs on the people in the Inn, simply because he's usually busy doing other things and he's used to people coming and going as they please. "If he's not there, we can pick this up another time. It might give me an opportunity to find more paper."

Peggy gives him a grateful nod of her head, heading upstairs in order to find Credence's room, having tucked away her photo very cautiously so that it won't smudge or ruin any of the lovely lines. "Credence?" she calls politely. "Are you here? It's Peggy, I've a bit of a treat for you, if you'd like to come downstairs with me."

She's rather hopeful that he'll like it, knowing that her own appreciation for such a thing already tells her that it would be hard not to.

He knows of Benedict, of course. Not well, but they do live in the same surroundings. He knows Miss Kelly is fond of him, and that's all that Credence really cares about.

But it's Peggy gently calling for him, and he looks up among where he'd been tucked in his blankets like he's seen Kira do for eternity, a pen and his journal by his side. "Miss?" He calls, and it's more confusion than anything.

Kira is far more graceful at untangling himself than Credence is, that's for certain--as he tries to rid himself of the duvet and the scarf and the millions of warm things he's nested in, it goes haywire, and there's a soft thump and a small 'ow' as the floor greets him with open arms.

After, when he's upright, he greets Peggy with a slightly distracted gaze before snapping to.

"A treat?"

He doesn't think he's had one before.

Peggy's brimming with hope and excitement, pleased that she's managed to follow through on the promise that she'd mentioned earlier. She's used to getting her way through dogged pursuit, but in this case, it'll yield happiness for someone else. "Yes," she agrees, giving him a fond look given the state of him. "We're just downstairs, Benedict and I," she says. "Take your time, but when you're ready, come down and join us and I'll explain."

With luck, they'll end this day with Credence possessing a little bit more of the family he holds dear.

"Benedict?" Credence echoes, and he feels like all he's done, disoriented and dizzy, is to just repeat what she says. He closes his eyes, shuts them as tight as he can, and takes a small breath.

Surprises, presents... They're good things, usually. It's not like Peggy is going to give him a necklace with that symbol on it. Peggy's one of the smartest, prettiest people he knows.

He nods, smoothing his hair down as if self-conscious, and motions for her to lead the way.

She nods and waits outside the door, heading downstairs and keeping an eye over her shoulder. "Benedict, I've Credence here," she says, when she takes the last step and gets her foot flat on the ground. She turns to look at Credence over her shoulder, gesturing to the armchair that she had been sitting in before. "Remember how we were talking about having someone help to draw a portrait of your sister?"

She gestures towards Benedict, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. "I think I've found someone who can help."

Benedict has taken the time between Miss Carter's disappearing upstairs and her eventual reappearance to hunt down some more paper, or at least, another book he can cannibalize by ripping out a blank page. Luckily, he's been successful, so by the time Miss Carter returns with Credence in tow, he's found enough supplies to do his task justice — he thinks — and has relocated to a nearby table with a proper surface upon which he can draw.

"Hello, Credence," he says gently, watching the young man the way he sometimes watches the livestock that are still alive in this habble; with a mixture of curiosity and gentle trepidation, like he's not quite sure how to prevent them from spooking. "Miss Carter says you'd like me to draw for you."

It's a look that helps Benedict in the long run: Credence knows of Benedict, of course. He's seen him around, most notably as Miss Kelley's suitor, and had memorized the name once he overheard it. He's obviously a friend of Peggy, as well, and after Credence sweeps his gaze from head to toe, he decides that two very important women he trusts can't be wrong. Not with the gentle look.

And then he says it--he says he can draw, and Credence's shock turns into something else. It's a mix of anxiousness and wariness, trying not to be too hopeful but ultimately failing.

"Really?" He asks, and before he can help himself: "When I left she was all alone, and with Ma dead, and I think about her quite a bit."

--maybe that's too much. It probably is, and Credence, realizing it a little too late, shuffles his feet and slumps his shoulders just a little more. Change the subject--that's what people do in these situations, right?

"I mean--I'm sorry, I'd love a picture, if you'd be so inclined. And thank you, Miss Carter."

Peggy gives Credence a pleased smile, already knowing that the drawing should turn out well after her little test. "Would you like me to stay?" she offers Credence, glancing back to Benedict to also make sure with him that he would be okay with such a thing. "Or would you both prefer some privacy?"

"You can stay if you'd like," Credence says softly, and then over at Benedict. "If that's okay with you, too."

"It's up to you, Credence," Benedict insists, but gestures for Miss Carter to sit down as well, if she'd like, since Credence seems to be alright with the idea. Benedict doesn't mind one way or the other, but if Miss Carter's presence will make him feel more comfortable, then he's glad for her company.

He smooths out the paper a little with his clean hand, using the edge of his wrist to hold it in place so he won't get smudgy fingerprints on it, and turns to Credence properly.

"Why don't you tell me a little bit about your sister before we get properly started, hm?"

She quietly takes a seat nearby, not meaning to interrupt, but wanting to provide a steady presence for Credence, should he feel he needs it. If he wants, if Benedict wants, she can also make herself scarce, but until then, she neatly arranges the skirt of the dress she's wearing today, legs crossed at the ankles as she walks a tightrope of paying just enough attention to seem supportive without paying overtly much to seem too invested in something that isn't her business.

Credence waits until Peggy's seated. After all, it's only fair, and once she seems comfortable he presses his lips into a thin, thoughtful line. His brows furrow, but it's not confusion. This time, he's concentrating. He's trying to remember every single thing.

"She reminds me of a field mouse," He says after a few moments of silence. "She's very quiet unless she's singing songs she was taught--she, uhm. She was one of Ma's newer kids, taken rom a family of 12. But even though she missed them and cried about it and had nightmares about it like everyone else, the next day she always played hopscotch and sung like nothing was wrong."

He misses her. He misses her the most, because she was alone and Credence had scared her most of all. He wants to tell them that he left her, crying in the corner, while he finally gave into all of the hatred he didn't even know he had.

His hands curl into themselves, nails pressing into the palm of his hands.

"Modesty was very nice," He surmises. "Nothing bad should have happened to her, but it did. Just like it did Chastity, too, or anyone Ma took." He's not sure if this is what they meant--or if Benedict just wanted a solid, physical description or not. His lips twitch, suddenly unsure, and he sinks down into his chair. This isn't therapy, this is just a drawing.

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