( The idea that anyone might be able to cast magic without crystals in this place — that it isn't the reserve of the despised and the Dominant — is a mental hurdle the likes of which Benedikta has never experienced before. In a way she supposes she ought to be pleased by this revelation: with Garuda all but gone learning under the academicians of Thorn could be a way for her to regain some of her former power—

But her pride can't stand the idea of savoring crumbs in such a manner; of having to beg tutelage for something that once made up the very fabric of her being. When Garuda awoke within her Benedikta finally learned what it meant to have power — what it meant to have a sliver of control over her own destiny — and listening to those academics break down it down into a series of equations felt like swallowing so much ice. She hadn't understood that the fuck they were talking about, of that much she's certain. Now, in the aftermath, she stands in a secluded courtyard of the Castle Thorne, a frown creasing her brow as she flexes and curls her hands before her. )

... Fuck.

( She closes her eyes, the strain visible in the pull of her shoulders as she tries, tries to call upon the wind, only to scatter a few leaves across the flagstones on a wavering stream of air. The effort of that alone has sweat beading at her brow, leaves her chest heaving as she gasps for breath, and she bares her teeth in a ragged shriek before turning to slam her palm into the nearest wall. Once, that would have shattered the masonry.

Now?

All she has is a skinned palm. )

Fuuuck!

( Benedikta turns to the tavern.

It's been some time since she felt so utterly fucking lost — her worth as a person left when that miserable nobody tore Garuda out of her very chest, ripping out her identity, her power, all the plans she had for her future under King Barnabas's new world order. Not for the first time in her life she finds herself cursing the people around her: Cid, for filling her with hope only to break her heart when he left her in Ash; Barnabas, who she knows only kept her close for her Eikon and for his cock; Hugo, for his pathetic devotion to the lie of their affair; that Branded bastard, for reducing her to what she is now.

She could have done it, if that wretch and his dog hadn't fucking interfered. With Garuda at her beck and call she could have torn their miserable world apart.

But that was then, and this is now. A long moment passes as she drains the last of her cup of wine, wrinkles her nose, then gestures for a passing serving girl to bring her another. It's bitter piss in comparison to what she enjoyed at the King's leisure — his wines had been fit for royalty, after all — but for the time being it'll have to do. She doesn't know how many cups she's sunk when a figure slides into the seat across the table. The tail-end of an eyebrow lifts as the man makes himself comfortable:

How about some company, sweetheart?

Calmly as anything, Benedikta reaches for the knife that had accompanied the soup and crust of bread she'd dined on earlier that evening. )

If you don't vacate that seat in ... ( She sighs irritably as she waves the knife a little, pulling a number out of thin air as though it's a huge inconvenience to her: ) Let's say six seconds, I'll slit your throat right here with this fucking butterknife.

( She points the knife directly at his throat, hiccups once, then expertly flips it before jamming the blade down into the table. )

Do you understand me?

( Tales of her exploits? Really?

Benedikta leans against the wall as she lifts a slender pipe to her lips, the tobacco crackling pleasantly as it glows a brief, hot amber. It isn't as fine a pipe as she'd had as Waloed's primary Intelligencer but it certainly does the job, and she hums contemplatively before letting a ribbon of smoke curl from between her parted lips.

Tales of her fucking expoits as a Dominant of Garuda, and yet here she is, reduced to seeking out creatures that have apparently wandered in from an extra-dimensional rift to get up to no good in Castle Thorne. It is a bitter pill to swallow, make no mistake about that, and she clenches her left hand into a fist for half a heartbeat before letting it fall lax at her side again.

Now isn't the time to let herself whip up into a frenzied rage. Abraxas may not be Valisthea but she's determined to find out whether it might offer a solution to the problems she left behind, and to do that she needs to make an impression on the people who matter in this Greagor-forsaken realm. She is, after all, a survivor before all else. She's already cozied herself in close with one King; she'll be damned if she can't find a way to do it again.

Benedikta pushes away from the wall to approach the mages handing out orbs, her gait the confident sashay of a woman who's used to getting her own way. When she comes to a halt she sucks in another mouthful of smoke, raises an eyebrow at the other Summoned awaiting a partner, and gives them a bored glance up and down before blowing a thin stream of smoke off to the side. )

... I suppose you'll do.

( Nocwich is already proving itself preferable to Castle Thorne — not least because the people here apparently have a better grasp on how to have a good time. Where Thorne seems to place a great deal of value in pomp, circumstance, and academic tradition, the jagged edges of this land of eternal night appeals deeply to Benedikta: she could do great work here, she thinks, if she could find a way in with whomever runs the place.

As one of Waloed's finest intelligencers she knows that she has skills to offer. They'll need dressing up a little differently in this place, certainly, but it's enough to give her a back-up plan should her relationship with Thorne fall through.

Still, those are thoughts for the future. For the time being she's conducting basic reconnaissance. and she knows well enough that there are few venues better suited to the gathering of gossip than taverns, gambling halls, and brothels. The so-called Vampires have made themselves an elegant space in which to conduct their gambling business, and Benedikta has pulled herself together somewhat since the incident at the Mute Lute. This time she's hoping someone might be interested in taking the spot next to her at the bar.

Her allowance from the Castle isn't exceptional but it's stretched to an outfit that has her fitting right in, and she's nursing a suspiciously blood-red cocktail as she listens out for any interesting conversations. When she takes a sip it leaves a dark stain on her lips that she licks away thoughtlessly, her eyes sharp over the rim of her elegant glass as she lets her attention wander to observe a game of cards.

... Hm. Perhaps while she's here, it would serve her well to learn the rules. )

Permissions, opt-out, and theme warnings here! Please check them out if you're interested in tagging Benna here — FFXVI deals with some extremely grim themes and I'd like to be as sensitive as possible to people's comfort levels. I will be doing my very best to mark all spoilers where relevant, however please do let me know if you're okay with them just so I know what I can include in meta text ♥

Feel free to add me on Plurk at witchbolts if you'd like to hash something out or plot!