[closed] 2 feet below the surface I can still make out your wavy face

[dalishious]

WHO: Merrick, Metaari, Pel and Cyril
WHAT: The three of them try to calm Merrick down. It's going to be a long, long night.
WHEN: Right after this.
WHERE: From Cade's quarters to Cy and Merrick's
NOTES: PTSD symptoms, self-harm, probably more. Also like flashbacks of suicide and stuff it's not gonna be a pleasant log ok

From the moment his fist had connected with Cade's face, Merrick had stopped being Merrick-- at least, the Merrick that exists right now. He's a child, scrambling to make sense of the ragged emotions tearing through his tiny body, frantically reaching out for something he can never have again. He's a creature made of grief and helplessness and hate, hate so terrible and hot and thick and burning through his skin and sinew and down to his skeleton--

He's crushed against Metaari's chest, and he claws at the qunari's jacket, letting out keening noises and ragged moans as he is carried away. He has no sense of where he is anymore. He is somewhere else entirely.

Comments

[metaari]

Metaari keeps a tight hold on him as he runs through hallways, ignoring the shocked and wondering expressions of anyone he happens to pass. The door he's heading to is a familiar one by now and he skids to a halt, very nearly missing it as he slides by. He goes to bring a hand up to knock but hesitates letting go, eventually settling on just kicking at it.

"Cyril! If you're in there, you need to open this door now!"

[samahl]

Cyril had left the party the moment he had gotten the message. His first desire was to go where Merrick was, but Metaari had control of that situation, and Merrick needed somewhere safe to be. That meant going to his room and getting it ready for what might be a very long night. He had also made sure Pel was with him.

When he hears Metaari he opens the door and instantly tries to check out Merrick, see just how bad he is. The sight of him clawing and muttering is enough to make Cyril's face tighten. "Fenedhis," he mutters. "He's already gone," he adds in a stronger voice meant to be heard by Pel behind him. There's no shock in his voice. He knows exactly what it is and he's resigned to sticking with Merrick for as long as it takes.

He steps aside to let Metaari in. "Settle on the bed, see if he'll let you let go."

[mythalenaste]

Pel is the image of dead calm--not serenity, just utter, alert composure. She is in her element, fulfilling her life's purpose. How else should she be?

"Just transfer him to me; he'll be fine." She sits on the edge of bed and holds out her arms to receive him.

She and Merrick have been in this state of mind together for thirteen years; him experiencing it, her carrying him. She was the first to guide him through this. And every time, she rejoins him in the woods, with his father's head at their feet. These are the only times she can face that moment and own it without fear. Mythal gives her the strength when she needs it, and not a minute before.

[dalishious]

It's quiet for now, just heaving and muttering, his body rigid. It's almost enough to fool everyone that it's a small one, that it'll be over soon. He's curled his body up tightly, wrists twisting up and fingers hooked, and he's chewed through his bottom lip.

[metaari]

Metaari nods slightly as he steps into the room, cradling Merrick carefully against his body. He takes a seat on the bed next to Pel, his arms loosening slightly as he looks over toward her. He hadn't wanted to just let go while standing, in case Merrick wasn't so keen on letting go of him.

His eyes glance down and he turns to face her, opening his arms carefully. "Here..." He doesn't want to actually let him go, fears what might happen, but-- well, she's better equipped for this and he can recognize that fact.

[dalishious]

As soon as the hold around him loosens Merrick tears away, stumbling briefly before bolting for the door.

[samahl]

Cyril is still by the door and he moves carefully. "Whoa, Merrick. Don't." Sometimes Merrick will hear him or Pel and respond to their voices, other times he doesn't even realize that they're there, but at least Cyril locked the door to give them privacy.

[mythalenaste]

"Metaari." It's a command, uttered calmly but urgently, for him to head Merrick off.

"You're safe, da'len. We're home."

[metaari]

It isn't even necessary. Metaari had worried he'd try to run, would try to get out. The stumble is enough for him to recover from his surprise and he gets halfway out of the bed, a long arm coming out to hook around Merrick's waist. He sits back, hauling the elf with him, and he brings his other to wrap around him again as well.

"Come on, Merrick..."

[metaari]

Metaari casts Cyril a thankful glance at that. He's torn in half with what he wants: he wants to stay here, to see this through from start to finish, to see, but another part of him just wants to get out of there, to take a step away and organize his thoughts.

He pushes himself up to his feet and moves toward the door, hesitating at it for a moment. His eyes turn back and he frowns, pain flashing across his face before he turns and opens the door, stepping back out into the hallway with a deep sigh.

[samahl]

Cyril leads the way to the door and then Cyril and Metaari leave together and Cyril starts going towards where they can get some water. "How are you holding up?" he asks Metaari because he is concerned about Metaari's mental as well.

[metaari]

Metaari is quiet for some time, walking beside Cyril in relative silence. He pauses at the question and lifts his hands, gazing down at them. There's a bit of dried blood across them, obtained when he was hauling Merrick off of Cade, and he closes them into tight fists. A low rumble leaves him, something dangerous, and he turns to slam his fist into the nearest wall.

It's probably one of several temporary walls while the masons work on rebuilding Skyhold, but there's still a small crack from where it had connected.

He's holding up about that well.

"I should have had an eye on him. If I'd been nearby..."

[samahl]

"Don't blame yourself," Cyril says, though he knows it's going to a while before he stops blaming himself for being up enjoying a human party while all of this was happening.

"Can you tell me everything you know about what happened?"

[metaari]

He rubs the back of his neck and lets out a slow breath, his eyes falling closed for a moment before he shakes his head. "I showed up too late. The poor sod he was beating out--didn't have much of a recognizable face. Someone else arrived, I think they said his name was... Cade?"

His eyes open again and he glances sideways with a shrug. "Does that mean something?"

[samahl]

Cyril's face went stony after Metaari says the name. "It does. Cade is an ex templar who attacked Beleth. He broke her nose." That makes a lot of sense now. The whole night seems to be clicking into place for Cyril. How could he have been so stupid as not to be more vocal in discouraging Merrick from attacking Cade?

[metaari]

"Ah." Mettari shakes his head slightly and pinches the bridge of his nose as he sets off down the hallway again, heading to get that water. "I may not know much on your intertwined relationships, but even I know that's a bad move." A wry grin appears on his face for a moment before it disappears again into a frown.

[samahl]

Cyril nods a bit. "A terrible idea," he agrees. Then, after a moment, "You realize this is only going to get worse. During these fits, Merrick screams, and fights, and tries to hurt himself. It's heartbreaking to watch."

later in the night

[dalishious]

At some point Merrick had exhausted himself and had passed out in Pel's arms. It became strangely tranquil after that, with the moonlight pouring in from the holes in the walls and ceiling, enough that the others might decide to rest in turns as the hours drag on.

It's in that lull that Merrick eventually wakes, and melts down onto the floor beside the bed. Though his formal clothes had been shed and his many daggers removed, he always has a knife somewhere-- and this one he grabs from inside the mattress, moving with the speed he's learned from Zevran's training to hitch up his nightshirt and drive the blade down over and over into his thigh.

They're short, shallow stabs, accompanied by ragged breaths and a whispered chant of "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..."

[mythalenaste]

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no," Pel says gently as she wakes up. Instinctively, she places her arm over his thigh, palm down, because he'll be more hesitant to stab if it's her flesh and not his. That's if he's aware enough to see it's not his. If not, it doesn't matter. At least he won't be making minced meat out of his thigh.

[dalishious]

Merrick doesn't stab down at her, and instead reacts instinctively by swiping the knife in her direction. It catches the side of her face, leaving a shallow but substantial cut across her cheek.

[samahl]

Cyril was already up and near Pel when the slash happens. Quickly, he pulls Pel back, grabbing her gently by the arm to get her out of the way.

"Metaari, try to get that blade away from him," he says to the qunari. His voice is calm, because he doesn't want to freak Merrick out any more, but his eyes are alert and concerned. "Carefully." They needed to survive this night with Merrick's boyfriend intact, after all.

He tugs Pel towards his collection of oils where he has some healing poultice and the tend to her.

[metaari]

It's a familiar position that he's fallen asleep in: on the floor next to Merrick's bed, head pooled on the mattress, exhausted from worry. But it's a mercenary's instinct that has him awake but bone-weary, slowed enough to miss being able to get Pel out of the way before the blade strikes her.

He's up on one knee just a moment later, hauling himself onto the bed, arm coming out to once more wrap firmly around Merrick's middle so he can haul the slight frame to him. He has no fear of the blade itself, not with strength on his side, and the arm not holding Merrick comes up so he can wrap his hand around a too-thin wrist, firm but (hopefully) not crushing, keeping the arm locked and immobile. "Merrick. Open your fingers."

[mythalenaste]

Any time you're dealing with someone with a knife, you have to assume you will be cut. Pel can't remember who told her that first. But it's true, and that knowledge keeps her from being afraid. She holds up her hand against Cyril's attempts to drag her away, quietly going about healing Merrick's wounded thigh and the cut on her own cheek.

[dalishious]

Merrick struggles harder than he has all night. He twists his wrist in Metaari's grasp, likely bruising it as he uses all the strength he has to try and get away.

The sounds he makes are animalistic--snarling, spitting and growling--but for the anguished screams that continue to tear from his throat and lungs in turn.

[metaari]

As much as he wants to let go, to not hurt Merrick, he continues to hold on to him. Letting go now would just mean he could hurt himself even more, and it wouldn't give Pel the chance to heal him. His eyes flit up to Cyril and he gestures with his head. "I've got a firm grip, but if I shift it at all he'll break free. Can you pry his fingers open and get the knife?"