Benjamin felt a moment of panic as they were chided for needling the matter at hand instead of basking in the revelry. But he didn’t really know how to [i]bask[/i], especially not in revelry. Maybe in some warm tea and a good book. This party was toying with his emotions like a cat with a mouse. No, even easier. Like a cat with a perfectly round ball of string. So easy to catch and dismantle, that it might choose not to. Benjamin hoped for that.

It was then that Mister Spices laughed. The scholar said nothing, maybe a little less panicked but still quiet in everything. His breathing slowed, though.

He watched Isolde take a long drag from one of the hookahs. His allergies were bad enough that he didn’t want to tempt his sinuses with such poignant fumes. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap, wringing his fingers together not out of worry—but because he didn’t know how to behave himself in such a situation. The Master started to speak about why they were all here. Benjamin’s brows knitted, but that was hidden by his mask. How could his knowledge be helpful in helping a Master? They should know all about the Fourth City without a bat of a lash. That being said, he was a pathological researcher. Maybe that was the skill they wanted. Maybe.

It was then he was aware of others that surrounded him. His eyes snagged on both the men that spoke up. One was concrete in their pledge, while the other flitted around it like a moth to the flame. Benjamin just twisted his fingers into a nervous knot. He then exhaled, assured that Mister Spices wouldn’t eat him whole because he decided to speak.

“I can definitely lend my expertise,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Though I don’t know how much of a help it’ll be given your knowledge.” 

[@Hekazu]