[ Waking up with a hangover is nothing new, but what is new are his surroundings. Head pounding, he tries to focus on the draperies and color scheme, squinting blearily as a maid scurries in and tells him breakfast is ready.

Again, nothing new there, but the halls are different, and he is oh so clearly not where he is supposed to be. Or where he went to sleep. Or anywhere remotely familiar, for that matter. It's not odd to wake up in a strange place but he knows this isn't where he'd passed out. At least a solid wardrobe of his things are tucked away, and he dresses with shaky, hungover hands.

Seated at the table he stares at his breakfast, blinking hard, trying to make sense of it, any of it. Nothing comes to mind though, and he's rather hungry, and so he digs in, devouring the plate in front of him. Only once his stomach is filled and the headache recedes does he explore, wandering the manor confused and lost. ]

Where am I?

[ A few days in he can't help but notice the construction what must denote upcoming festivities. Curiosity gets the better of him and once the events begin he can't help but participate, because what else is there for him to do? This is all beyond his scope of understanding, being plucked from home and thrown to the wolves here, so he signs himself up for archery, swordfighting/fencing and polo. Thing's he's good at, though not nearly as good as his brother. Benedict is usually here for the spectacle of it all, gossipy auntie that he is, and his play generally turns into observation more than actually attempting to win - but there is, of course, a competitive streak in all Bridgertons, so there is effort put in, at least.

So, clad in Seelie light colors, tie swapped for cravat, he leans into the event, available for talk, play, or general company.

The nude wrestling has him wildly red though, so unless someone catches him, he won't stick around there.

Well, maybe he looks a little.. ]

Rather risqué, is it not?

[ Finding himself wandering the forest with a flower gripped in his hand isn't what he'd anticipated after the events of the faire, but there's a compulsion he can't resist. He'll think upon that later, alone in his bed, wonder what that was and how it tugged at him so deeply, but in the moment he doesn't question it, only follows the pull deeper into the woods.

A kiss can be exchanged upon meeting his match, though he also continues to the chapel where he lingers, reading the inscription with a furrowed brow. ]

The words make sense, but what are we to do with them?

(( ooc; open to anything not listed, I'm easy and so is Ben ;) if something strikes your fancy that I didn't prompt for, feel free to go nuts or pm here or virtuously for questions! ))