[ It's more or less by accident that Benedict stumbles upon Curly's and, subsequently, the bar it hides away. The reason he's out in the first place is an inability to sleep. Generally, it's not so difficult for him to drift off, and certainly the excitement and emotional whiplash of coming to this place would be enough to wear anyone out. Tonight, though, he's restless, as if it's all properly sunken in at last and all he does when he closes his eyes is think about it all.

So he opts for a walk.

Benedict doesn't think much of it. He's never had cause to assume the night was a dangerous time, and even here, while things might be peculiar and shockingly new, nothing's given him reason not to wander at odd hours. Besides, there seem to be others about just the same as him. And that's how it happens, really. He happens to catch a glance of a stranger standing at the back of the shop, only to be let into a door that's shut as promptly as it was opened. Curiosity piqued, Benedict goes to casually investigate, only to find himself saying something in surprise and being let in as well.

The music all about assaults his ears at first, loud and discordant as it accompanies the chatter of the patrons. He pushes his way through the crowd, half on his own accord and half jostled by the people already there as they move around, until he finds himself by the bar. There's a drink with mint in it that's presented to him, so he takes a seat, cautiously sipping the cocktail as he gaze takes in the dimly lit room. Hopefully no one sees the face he pulls when he finally tastes the drink. ]

[ Having accidentally found the speakeasy, Benedict takes to more nightly walks. After all, city's are always different during the day, and who knows what else he might discover by chance? He's never considered himself to be a particularly explorative sort, but there's little else to do. He doesn't want to be the odd man out, in any case.

On this night, there's nothing seemingly out of place, not at first. It's not quite as late as he'd been out before, so the streets aren't quite quiet yet. Not that he thinks they're ever completely quiet (especially know that he knows there's at least one place for the late night crowd to go). It takes Benedict a moment to realize, after taking a turn, that the street becomes quite literally deserted. He frowns a moment, and, as he looks back, the street he'd come from seems to be gone entirely. Odd, he thinks. His thoughts must have gotten the better of him and caused him to lose track of his steps.

Just what he needs, to get lost in a strange city.

And truly he must be lost, for this part of Carcosa looks nothing like the rest of it. It's jarringly different and verging on the absurd. Benedict must be more tired than he realized. He rubs his eyes and sees that sigil, the one they'd all worn at the masquerade. Pursing his lips together, Benedict steps towards it, then he sees another, and then another, and just when he realizes he's probably gotten himself even more lost, he finds himself in the stark white room. The sight of the paint makes him look around again, wondering if someone else might be there, or wondering if maybe this is some strange form of a gift.

(Can a city give a gift?)

When Benedict is certain he's not interrupting someone's work, he shrugs off his coat and rolls up his shirt sleeves, then dips a brush into the paint. ]

Choose your own adventure! Other locations in the city are fair game, and I'm willing to have him end up in jail if he was with the wrong person at the wrong place at the wrong time. As for painting, Benedict likes to depict landscapes, so feel free to interrupt the artist at work. Feel free to hit me up with any questions~