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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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"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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