He thinks that over as he takes another drink from his glass.
"It's not so much that I do not care for it, I should think," Benedict says after a moment. "It's more so that ... I suppose I feel as though I'd like something different from my life."
Which he thinks Silver can understand, what with being a pirate and all of that.
Benedict downs what's in his cup with a bit of a wince.
"Perhaps we'd both find it more to our liking if we were take our leave and source out a drink elsewhere."
"I was about to suggest the same thing," Silver says promptly, and there's a mischief in his eyes and a smirk on his face as he downs the rest of his drink. The only thing he's not looking forward to is getting up and walking down those fucking steps.
Christ, why do mansions like this have to be so fucking big.
"You can come up with a great story about how I kidnapped you for ransom if your family worries, I promise to back up every word. There's a tavern where we're staying that has cheap rum and the food is barely tolerable. It's perfect."
"I'm sorry that you'll likely be terribly disappointed, as my family rarely concerns themselves when I choose to leave."
Benedict is up off his chair, reaching to assist Silver in standing. He hopes after the matter that he hasn't overstepped his bounds, and keeps himself near enough should Silver require a little extra assistance going down the stairs.
"Shall we get a carriage? I imagine your lodgings aren't particularly nearby."
Silver doesn't miss a beat as the other puts himself down, a smirk on his face. "Those are the perfect prizes, the ones no one realizes are missing until it's too late."
Benedict rises, and Silver would normally stand up by himself to prove a point, but there's something about the other. He can't describe it--it's the look, or the half-lopsided smile, or the fact that Benedict doesn't seem to either pity him or look at him in fear.
He allows himself to be helped up, though he doesn't say a thing about it, and the stairs are done on his own time (and significantly slower, something he's used to by now.)
"A carriage," He says, as if this whole concept is amusing to him (it is), and once they're on the main floor once more, he stops and glances over at Benedict.
"Wait but a moment, will you?" His gaze flicks over to Max, who is how talking to Rackham.
Benedict gives a slight bow of his head, demure in his gentlemen's way. Of course Silver will want to tell his friends that he's taking his leave. Benedict has long since stopped announcing his own departures. He's a grown man, after all, and his family trusts him to take care of himself, and he doesn't have the spotlight on him at all moments.
Though while he does wait for Silver to return, Anthony comes across him, and Benedict takes a moment to tease him about having all the ladies flocking after him.
Silver smiles at the way he bows his head. It's demure, almost lacking confidence--it's surprisingly endearing. Benedict himself is, and it's been so long for Silver to not feel threatened or to have to worry about someone inevitably backstabbing him. Perhaps Benedict has an ulterior motive, but Silver highly doubts it. He's fantastic at reading people.
Max and Silver share a quick word, and she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek--more for politeness, Silver assumes, in a world he's unfamiliar with. He likes Max, and as his gaze flicks across the room, he catches Benedict's gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. At first he thinks it's Max, and who would blame Benedict--she's gorgeous, and Silver's been lucky enough to bein her bed all those years ago--before he glances at Max.
Max's brow raises.
"Go be happy for the night," she whispers, all honeyed words and beautiful voice, and Silver can't help but grin. If anyone can tell who's looking at who and why, it's Max as she all but confirms it: Benedict's gaze is lingering on Silver, not Max.
Go and be happy for the night indeed.
By the time he's made his way back to Benedict, Rackham has not only returned but he's got a small gaggle of women titterinig over some of his stories, and Silver rolls his eyes at Benedict.
"Let us depart before I have to hear another word out of Captain Rackham's mouth about his trials and tribulations on the high seas."
Benedict wonders if he ought to look away. Their gazes meet and hold for a few, lingering moments, before Benedict decides he ought to not stare. So he glances away, letting himself be distracted by what's going on with everyone else until Silver rejoins him.
"How much of it is true?"
There's an amused look about him as he holds open the door for Silver. He spots his family's carriage sitting along all the others, and figures that the rest of his family will be there for long enough yet that their driver will have plenty of time to return. He also trusts the discreetness of his own family's driver than that of anyone else.
Silver purposely doesn't answer that, both because leaving some air of mystery is a little fun for him and also because he's fairly certain Rackham is telling a Charles Vane story, and that's a man who's memory is one he figures he ought to respect. Instead, he lifts his brows and gives a half-shrug to the other, making his way to the rather fancy carriage. Silver does need assistance, though it's quick and he uses Benedict's shoulder, not the butler's offered hand, to help himself.
He breathes in heavily as he gets comfortable, both of them opposite from each other, Silver's crutch on his lap.
"It's occurred to me that I know an awful lot about your family but quite little about you. Not what you are--who you are."
Benedict is certainly more than happy to oblige when it comes to help. The step up into the carriage can be challenging for some with both legs, let alone one in Silver's condition. Once the driver knows their destination, Benedict sits back as well, hands folded in his lap.
"I can't imagine anything about me that a travelled man such as yourself would find interesting."
It's hardly self-deprecating. Benedict doesn't find himself particularly interesting even among his community. His story isn't any different than theirs, after all - a boy of means, raised in society, sent off to a good school, who learned all the things a gentleman ought to know.
Silver's chuckle is warm, leaning back in the carriage as they go, no proper regard for etiquette--and not much regard for posture, either.
"I highly doubt that. If you were the most uninteresting person in all of London, that would still be interesting," he quips, voice light as he looks at the other. Benedict hasn't asked a single thing about him, really, he seems to just still be going on polite conversation.
Silver's never liked polite conversation.
"Indulge me. What do you do when you're not at balls, regretting every choice that's lead you there?"
"You do me a disservice, Mr. Silver," Benedict replies, lightly joking. Not every ball or party is a cause for regret. He enjoys time spent with family and it gives them something to joke about at later times. But the social calendar is certainly a busy one.
He hums a bit, feeling thoughtful over the question.
"Well, I sketch, I suppose. It's hardly anything but perhaps one day I'll produce something worthy of hanging upon someone's wall. "
"Silver," he corrects lightly. "Or John. I'm hardly worthy of a 'Mr,' name, not when I'm currently near an intrepid young purveyor of art." It's hard to tell if he's joking or not as the carriage rocks them both, gently swaying to their destination. silver dislikes carriages, he decides. an awful lot. The sway of the sea is better.
...To think he actually prefers the ocean now. There's a thought he doesn't want to dwell too much on.
"Can't say there are any galleries in Nassau, but I did know a very talented whore who was gifted when it came to sketching."
"Talent, I should think, doesn't discriminate based on one's status."
Though Benedict can't tell if Silver means she was very talented with her sketches or with other things related to her profession.
"But I'm afraid beyond that, I sometimes go riding with my brothers, or accompany my sisters should they need it. When we vacation in the country, I'll do some shooting. You must think me terribly dull company in comparison to pirates and captains."
Silver shakes his head--it's a conversation, Benedict, and he thinks he really ought to stop being so harsh on himself--and he grins.
"I find this fascinating," he says simply--and he means it. "My favourite thing is a good story. I reckon someone of your stature has quite a few." And, selfishly, any information is good information. "Why would you have to accompany a sister? There's no eminent danger in a ballroom."
"Is there not? I believe that most men behave gentlemanly, but I'm not blind to the notion that there are some hiding ill intent. It's the duty of a brother to ensure his sister's honour isn't put into question, or far worse."
Though the Bridgerton women certainly seem capable of taking care of themselves, it doesn't change the way they're viewed and meant to behave. A shame, truly. He agrees with Eloise that women should be afforded more luxuries such as men.
"And, certainly, once night falls it's improper to have a lady see herself to and from a place without a proper chaperone."
"Oh, of course, we can't have that," his sarcasm is overwhelming, though it's directed at the situation and not at all at Benedict. It won't be too long before they head towards the harbour and to where Jack's crew--and Silver and Max--are holed up. Silver begins taking down his hair as he talks.
"And you're ready and prepared, then? To be improper?"
"And you assume I've not been improper previously?"
Maybe not to grand lengths, sure, but Benedict imagines people would talk if they knew he spent some nights at parties with artists or the general working class of London. Or if they knew that he'd been with a married woman and another women older than him at the same time, or that maintained a frivolous relationship with the older woman for several weeks following. Or the other inclinations that have been coming to mind.
In regards to Benedict's upbringing, that's all quite improper.
"Or that I'm not being improper even now, accompanying you to the docks when I scarcely know you."
"I try not to assume anything about anyone--I quite find it saves far more time when your assumptions are inevitably wrong." He can't stop it, that small smirk, remembering what Max had said when she kissed his cheek. He combs his hair out idly, not putting too much effort in keeping it neat, and sweeps half of it up so the rest of his curls are loose.
Much better.
"You could try proving me wrong," he teases. "I do enjoy a good story."
Benedict watches, momentarily entranced by Silver's hair. It's not a style men here wear, long hair having gone out of fashion in society (though even then, it was never quite like that, Benedict thinks). He also thinks it looks incredibly soft.
"All in good time, Silver."
The carriage comes to a stop and Benedict climbs out, holding out an arm to assist Silver down as well. He tells the driver to head straight back to the party and not to concern himself for Benedict for the rest of the night, for he'll catch a cab back home.
Silver's smile widens at that, watching the other and his gaze carefully and laughing as they head out. He takes Benedict's arm, too, silently grateful for not having to appear like he doesn't need any help.
Strange, he thinks how it doesn't bother him. It really ought to.
The inn is one of the cheapest in the harbour, and far from poor artists' lodgings: it's a shithole, the smell of stale ale and tabacco lingering, the entire place incredibly loud. Someone's playing a fiddle, and there's a couple making out inn the corner, and he can see Anne scowling from a corner in the room behind her hat and hair. Silver nods and raises his brows. Anne glares and drinks her drink.
Everyone is eyeing Benedict--most want to fleece him, all are curious, but he's with Silver, so they stay a polite distance--as distant as you can in a place like this.
"Upstairs, or somewhere more private?" Silver asks, leaning on his crutch.
Benedict finds himself stepping a bit closer to Silver once they enter the inn. He's not sure what he'd expected - something charmingly immoral, perhaps, but this is far from anything Benedict's ever experienced. He realizes how he must look in his finely tailored clothes, with his high collar and cravat and his white gloves. They must all immediately dislike him.
"If it's all the same to you, I've been stuck in a crowd all night, so perhaps somewhere with a touch of privacy."
He's a mark--an easy one, at that, and if he wasn't with Long John Silver, he'd probably be done for. That's what happens when a crew takes over an entire inn -- you start edging other people out. The innkeeps don't mind either because of fear or gold, and with the group Silver's running with, he's betting it's an even split. It pays to have a bit of a persona sometimes.
He knows very well Anne is staring at them while everyone else has moved on as they make their way up the stairs (it's always fucking stairs), where the first door on the right is a small, cramped room. It's got the essentials, but not much else--a bed, a small chest, a small basin and mirror. There's not much in the sense of personal effects either, save for a belt that hangs on a chair. His cutlass hangs from said belt, and on the nightstand is what's quite clearly a flintlock pistol.
Silver had left mostly weaponless, which made him feel naked, although he does have a small dagger tucked into his jacket discreetly.
"I suppose the grand tour is in order," he quips, and grabs a dark glass bottle before making his way to his bed and all but collapsing. Standing out of spite at the ball has wiped him out. He uncorks the bottle, taking a swig before handing it over to Benedict. Dark, rich rum, straight from Nassau.
It’s the smallest room that Benedict has ever seen, and certainly the most mundane. He imagines his mother would be prone to a fainting spell if she knew he’d stepped into any place so unkempt. He immediately finds it rather charming, in an exciting way.
As Silver collapses on to the bed (a cot, really, more than anything, Benedict thinks), Benedict steps towards the the pistol. He brushes his fingers along it, familiar at least with a pistol, but the cutlass is new. Benedict knows fencing, of course. A gentleman’s sport but the weapons are so childish in comparison and Benedict finds it hard not to wrap his hand around the hilt to see the weight. Thankfully, Silver distracts him with the offer of a drink.
“Thank you.”
He takes a smell, which maybe was a bad idea, and then braces himself as he takes a drink. And makes a face of regret.
Silver notices. That's what Silver does, he notices things and reason that people tick, ways to pry information of favours out of them so he can live his life as unobstructed as possible. Keep one eye on other people at all times, though with Benedict, he finds it's more idle curiousity than self-preservation.
He touches the pistol, and then the sword, and Silver swears Benedict's staring at it so intently he may as well be studying it for some sort of fancy exam. The distraction is more so Benedict can feel more at ease, and as the other scrunches up his face, Silver takes the bottle from him so he can have a generous drink.
He looks better like this, Silver thinks. Still in his finery, but more curious than demure. It's enough to make him look the other over, really look, and he offers the bottle back if he wants it, his other hand moving to the sword to lift it up. He hands it to Benedict, careful not to cut the other or point it in a threatening way.
Taking the bottle, Benedict takes another pull from it, a bit more conservative in his drink this time as he knows what to expect from it, and sets it down. He removes his gloves, then his coat to reveal a cream coloured vest that's finely embroidered with bees, and then he reaches to take the sword.
"On the contrary, I suspect it's bite to be quite bad to the man on the receiving end."
It's certainly a menacing looking weapon, and as heavy as Benedict had expected. At least he doesn't seem entirely out of his depth as he holds it. The room is too small to give it a proper swing, but there's a sort of thrill about it, like he's playing pirates with his youngest brother.
"Have you brought many men down with it, Mr. Silver?"
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"It's not so much that I do not care for it, I should think," Benedict says after a moment. "It's more so that ... I suppose I feel as though I'd like something different from my life."
Which he thinks Silver can understand, what with being a pirate and all of that.
Benedict downs what's in his cup with a bit of a wince.
"Perhaps we'd both find it more to our liking if we were take our leave and source out a drink elsewhere."
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Christ, why do mansions like this have to be so fucking big.
"You can come up with a great story about how I kidnapped you for ransom if your family worries, I promise to back up every word. There's a tavern where we're staying that has cheap rum and the food is barely tolerable. It's perfect."
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Benedict is up off his chair, reaching to assist Silver in standing. He hopes after the matter that he hasn't overstepped his bounds, and keeps himself near enough should Silver require a little extra assistance going down the stairs.
"Shall we get a carriage? I imagine your lodgings aren't particularly nearby."
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Benedict rises, and Silver would normally stand up by himself to prove a point, but there's something about the other. He can't describe it--it's the look, or the half-lopsided smile, or the fact that Benedict doesn't seem to either pity him or look at him in fear.
He allows himself to be helped up, though he doesn't say a thing about it, and the stairs are done on his own time (and significantly slower, something he's used to by now.)
"A carriage," He says, as if this whole concept is amusing to him (it is), and once they're on the main floor once more, he stops and glances over at Benedict.
"Wait but a moment, will you?" His gaze flicks over to Max, who is how talking to Rackham.
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Benedict gives a slight bow of his head, demure in his gentlemen's way. Of course Silver will want to tell his friends that he's taking his leave. Benedict has long since stopped announcing his own departures. He's a grown man, after all, and his family trusts him to take care of himself, and he doesn't have the spotlight on him at all moments.
Though while he does wait for Silver to return, Anthony comes across him, and Benedict takes a moment to tease him about having all the ladies flocking after him.
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Max and Silver share a quick word, and she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek--more for politeness, Silver assumes, in a world he's unfamiliar with. He likes Max, and as his gaze flicks across the room, he catches Benedict's gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. At first he thinks it's Max, and who would blame Benedict--she's gorgeous, and Silver's been lucky enough to bein her bed all those years ago--before he glances at Max.
Max's brow raises.
"Go be happy for the night," she whispers, all honeyed words and beautiful voice, and Silver can't help but grin. If anyone can tell who's looking at who and why, it's Max as she all but confirms it: Benedict's gaze is lingering on Silver, not Max.
Go and be happy for the night indeed.
By the time he's made his way back to Benedict, Rackham has not only returned but he's got a small gaggle of women titterinig over some of his stories, and Silver rolls his eyes at Benedict.
"Let us depart before I have to hear another word out of Captain Rackham's mouth about his trials and tribulations on the high seas."
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"How much of it is true?"
There's an amused look about him as he holds open the door for Silver. He spots his family's carriage sitting along all the others, and figures that the rest of his family will be there for long enough yet that their driver will have plenty of time to return. He also trusts the discreetness of his own family's driver than that of anyone else.
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He breathes in heavily as he gets comfortable, both of them opposite from each other, Silver's crutch on his lap.
"It's occurred to me that I know an awful lot about your family but quite little about you. Not what you are--who you are."
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"I can't imagine anything about me that a travelled man such as yourself would find interesting."
It's hardly self-deprecating. Benedict doesn't find himself particularly interesting even among his community. His story isn't any different than theirs, after all - a boy of means, raised in society, sent off to a good school, who learned all the things a gentleman ought to know.
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"I highly doubt that. If you were the most uninteresting person in all of London, that would still be interesting," he quips, voice light as he looks at the other. Benedict hasn't asked a single thing about him, really, he seems to just still be going on polite conversation.
Silver's never liked polite conversation.
"Indulge me. What do you do when you're not at balls, regretting every choice that's lead you there?"
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He hums a bit, feeling thoughtful over the question.
"Well, I sketch, I suppose. It's hardly anything but perhaps one day I'll produce something worthy of hanging upon someone's wall. "
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...To think he actually prefers the ocean now. There's a thought he doesn't want to dwell too much on.
"Can't say there are any galleries in Nassau, but I did know a very talented whore who was gifted when it came to sketching."
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Though Benedict can't tell if Silver means she was very talented with her sketches or with other things related to her profession.
"But I'm afraid beyond that, I sometimes go riding with my brothers, or accompany my sisters should they need it. When we vacation in the country, I'll do some shooting. You must think me terribly dull company in comparison to pirates and captains."
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"I find this fascinating," he says simply--and he means it. "My favourite thing is a good story. I reckon someone of your stature has quite a few." And, selfishly, any information is good information. "Why would you have to accompany a sister? There's no eminent danger in a ballroom."
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Though the Bridgerton women certainly seem capable of taking care of themselves, it doesn't change the way they're viewed and meant to behave. A shame, truly. He agrees with Eloise that women should be afforded more luxuries such as men.
"And, certainly, once night falls it's improper to have a lady see herself to and from a place without a proper chaperone."
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"And you're ready and prepared, then? To be improper?"
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Maybe not to grand lengths, sure, but Benedict imagines people would talk if they knew he spent some nights at parties with artists or the general working class of London. Or if they knew that he'd been with a married woman and another women older than him at the same time, or that maintained a frivolous relationship with the older woman for several weeks following. Or the other inclinations that have been coming to mind.
In regards to Benedict's upbringing, that's all quite improper.
"Or that I'm not being improper even now, accompanying you to the docks when I scarcely know you."
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Much better.
"You could try proving me wrong," he teases. "I do enjoy a good story."
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"All in good time, Silver."
The carriage comes to a stop and Benedict climbs out, holding out an arm to assist Silver down as well. He tells the driver to head straight back to the party and not to concern himself for Benedict for the rest of the night, for he'll catch a cab back home.
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Strange, he thinks how it doesn't bother him. It really ought to.
The inn is one of the cheapest in the harbour, and far from poor artists' lodgings: it's a shithole, the smell of stale ale and tabacco lingering, the entire place incredibly loud. Someone's playing a fiddle, and there's a couple making out inn the corner, and he can see Anne scowling from a corner in the room behind her hat and hair. Silver nods and raises his brows. Anne glares and drinks her drink.
Everyone is eyeing Benedict--most want to fleece him, all are curious, but he's with Silver, so they stay a polite distance--as distant as you can in a place like this.
"Upstairs, or somewhere more private?" Silver asks, leaning on his crutch.
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"If it's all the same to you, I've been stuck in a crowd all night, so perhaps somewhere with a touch of privacy."
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He knows very well Anne is staring at them while everyone else has moved on as they make their way up the stairs (it's always fucking stairs), where the first door on the right is a small, cramped room. It's got the essentials, but not much else--a bed, a small chest, a small basin and mirror. There's not much in the sense of personal effects either, save for a belt that hangs on a chair. His cutlass hangs from said belt, and on the nightstand is what's quite clearly a flintlock pistol.
Silver had left mostly weaponless, which made him feel naked, although he does have a small dagger tucked into his jacket discreetly.
"I suppose the grand tour is in order," he quips, and grabs a dark glass bottle before making his way to his bed and all but collapsing. Standing out of spite at the ball has wiped him out. He uncorks the bottle, taking a swig before handing it over to Benedict. Dark, rich rum, straight from Nassau.
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As Silver collapses on to the bed (a cot, really, more than anything, Benedict thinks), Benedict steps towards the the pistol. He brushes his fingers along it, familiar at least with a pistol, but the cutlass is new. Benedict knows fencing, of course. A gentleman’s sport but the weapons are so childish in comparison and Benedict finds it hard not to wrap his hand around the hilt to see the weight. Thankfully, Silver distracts him with the offer of a drink.
“Thank you.”
He takes a smell, which maybe was a bad idea, and then braces himself as he takes a drink. And makes a face of regret.
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He touches the pistol, and then the sword, and Silver swears Benedict's staring at it so intently he may as well be studying it for some sort of fancy exam. The distraction is more so Benedict can feel more at ease, and as the other scrunches up his face, Silver takes the bottle from him so he can have a generous drink.
He looks better like this, Silver thinks. Still in his finery, but more curious than demure. It's enough to make him look the other over, really look, and he offers the bottle back if he wants it, his other hand moving to the sword to lift it up. He hands it to Benedict, careful not to cut the other or point it in a threatening way.
"It won't bite."
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"On the contrary, I suspect it's bite to be quite bad to the man on the receiving end."
It's certainly a menacing looking weapon, and as heavy as Benedict had expected. At least he doesn't seem entirely out of his depth as he holds it. The room is too small to give it a proper swing, but there's a sort of thrill about it, like he's playing pirates with his youngest brother.
"Have you brought many men down with it, Mr. Silver?"
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