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[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran, Luciano, and YOU
WHAT: Catch all for the month
WHEN: June/Justinian
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Prose or Brackets are fine, roll with what you like most. If you want a specific prompt hit me up on plurk @ here!

[ After the Baptism (Early Justinian) ]

Early in the evening, after some small ceremony in Skyhold's chapel, Zevran can be found surrounded by his Kestrels, sitting quietly in a corner of The Herald's rest as they played music and sang a great many traditional Antivan pieces. There is food and wine and dancing and Zevran partakes only a little. While he may look tired and a little overwhelmed, the night is a joyous one all the same. In his arms, on his lap, or sitting on the table with Zevran's steadying hand upon his back is a small elven child. All wide blue eyes and blonde curls, tanned skin that is marred only by the smudge of ashes in a circle on his forehead as is custom, dressed in a simple cotton shift Luciano Arainai claps and squeals in turn, gnawing on whatever is within reach or patting down Zevran's shirt with sticky hands. He is a child, they are sticky, it is a known fact. To the end of the night exhaustion catches hold for both, leaving the infant cranky and Zevran struggling to soothe him long enough to slip away to their rooms.


[ Garden ]

Afternoons find Zevran lounging in the garden- fresh air is both good for him and supposedly healthy for children- as long as he is able to keep Lucci from shoving things into his mouth that are not meant to be eaten. Which is everything. Which means it is less lounging and more tugging upon a leash and harness he has rigged to let his child roam but not too far- only a few feet from where he is sprawled and sketching upon a blanket. Most of his attention is actually on his son but it does the boy well to assume he has leave to explore. At least until he crawls back to demand food or attention or- whatever it is infants want. Zevran is still learning to interpret his various burbles and shrieks.


[ Courtyard ]

Zevran is, for the moment, trapped under the dead weight of his son- the slightest shifting earns a familiar screwing up of Lucci's face that has him resigned to simply leaning back against the tree where he'd stopped walking to shift his grip earlier and wait out the nap. He dare not doze himself- too tense against the open area, how vulnerable they are, how exposed. Tensing too much causes the same small sounds of upset and thus he is forced to sit, mind that he does not lock up, and wait for Lucci to fall deep enough asleep that he might carry him back to their room or rouse himself enough to make the trip worthwhile.


[ Hot Springs ]

"Your voice does carry, you know." Idle and conversational, Zevran has found a shallower edge of the hot springs when he'd truly rather a deep soak- but elven infants do not swim well and as such he must sit over here. With a shrieking, splashing child rigged safely in some manner of wicker basket he'd lowered into the water to keep Lucci from falling over backward and drowning. And to keep these little floating toys (maker only knows who gave them to him, he cannot recall) from floating away. "Yes, yes, splashing the water is marvelous fun- please hold still."

Not that Lucci is one to listen, wriggling under Zevran's hands as he tries to clean...something...sticky from his son's hair. "What is this, honey? How did you get honey in your hair? When were you near honey?"


[ Training Grounds ]

There are rare days when Lucci is not quite so prone to shrieking and crawling, not quite so intent on escape and Zevran can wrap him in a sling of sorts, tucked up against his chest, and actually train his Kestrels. It is an adjustment, every so often he must away to change the child's soiled underclothes or to feed him and the extra weight is odd and leaves him sore at the end of a few hours- but with one hand on Lucci's back to support him, the other gesturing as he speaks in rapid fire Antivan, directing his Kestrels through their maneuvers.

Comments

[ombranera]

"I cannot very well take him elsewhere at the moment, he cannot understand what we are saying, merely our tone." He tucks Lucci against his chest, giving him an iced ring of fabric to gnaw upon. It works, more or less.

"And I can promise you he will be sitting in with us for most of our talks in the future as well." An absentee father he will not be, if he must do this, he will try not to be terrible at it. "Shall I guess and you nod? Would that be preferable?"

Honestly, sarcasm there but Cade is welcome to take it as an earnest suggestion.

[onlyhymns]

When even heartelt smiles aren't believable to Cade as sincere, one can bet that the smallest trace of sarcasm is noticed and then overassessed. Cade recognizes that he is mocked often and by many, regardless of whether or not he's present, but here, in a moment of vulnerability, he finds he can't withstand it as easily. Usually when this happens, he just leaves, so as to avoid making a fool of himself; Alistair has seen it several times now, likely without realizing what it was.
And this-- this is a compound scenario. There's a child in the room. Not even quite an infant, a child who is beginning to develop a personality, who can recognize people when he looks at them, who can understand things that are upsetting and frightening, even if he can't articulate them. Even being near children is enough to make Cade feel nauseated, and now he's expected to speak honestly about his deep feelings while staring at one. Over and over.

He blinks rapidly at Zevran, his expression chilling. Then he stands, shaking his head with a look of mild aggravation, though over exactly what is unclear. "Never mind," he mumbles, straightening the chair before stepping away from it. He looks like he might say more, but decides he would only make a mess of it, and simply turns to walk toward the door without fanfare.

[ombranera]

"...Maker's breath-" Lucci burbles something that sounds like a question as Zevran sets him back in the basket and moves to stand himself. "I can try to find someone to mind him if it is that distressing, Cade."

The idea is to have him less stressed. Less tightly wound and less likely to lash out or walk off the battlements. Why this has fallen to him- no, he knows why. He simply does not know how to make it less his problem than it already is. But if this is to be minded, he must do so with some measure of care, real or feigned.

"Give me half an hour and I can take him to Mia and we can discuss whatever it was that happened." Because it needed discussing. One does not simply walk through the Fade and come out unscathed.

[onlyhymns]

Cade stops with his hand on the latch, but doesn't turn around right away, instead using this as an opportunity to prepare himself to turn around without being an idiot. When he finally does, he looks harried, nervous, one hand still on the door in case he has to excuse himself rapidly.
"I can't," he breathes, "...I can't keep doing this." He pushes his free hand through his hair, dropping his gaze for a moment to take a deep breath.
"You don't even like me," he says finally, letting it fall as he looks up again, "I'm not stupid. And I'm not... I'm just wasting your time." He blinks slowly, perhaps just squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "You have a baby. And I shouldn't be around him." There's a quaver in his voice. "We both know it, and it's... I can't. I don't want to do this." The only thing worse than being a mess is being a mess and a burden, and giving people more reasons to dislike him isn't high on his list. Even if it's... mostly too late for that. "...you don't either."

[ombranera]

"I don't have to like you to deal with you." That is what this is, dealing with. Neither angry nor frustrated- if anything? He sounds bored. "If anything I am ambivalent toward you."

Neither liking nor not liking, and he has fucked men he's hated before, held them while they wept. Talking to someone that he feels nothing for? Is practically tame in comparison. "It is not a waste. How may outbursts have you had since we started this, mm? How much time have you lost?"

None. It is not a perfect fix, this he knows, but it is A fix. It is what works so far. And if it keeps this man sane and from killing anyone else or himself? That is reason enough to continue. "Do I want to spend an hour of my day listening to you excuse the actions of a man that took your childhood by the throat and rattled it around for fun? No. If I could beat you into some manner of control as was done for me? I would. But you are far too old for such a thing to take and, truly, that would take more effort than simply sitting, listening, and flogging you on the occasions when you break a rule."

[onlyhymns]

Not that he didn't already more or less know, but still hearing the confirmation isn't exactly easy. Cade's eyes squeeze closed again, and though they're damp and red when they open, he holds himself together.
"Then don't," he says, unable to comprehend why it couldn't be that easy. "..I..." He hesitates, and gives a wince as though in physical pain.

"I can't do this anymore." A strange calm seems to settle over him on this revelation. "Just... tell them to put the chaperones back on me. Or put me in the dungeon. Or I'll just go." He looks up, and though he fixes his gaze on Zevran, there's a distance to it, cogs turning behind his tired eyes. "...I'm just... in the way."

[ombranera]

"The chaperones that were slowly driving you mad, the dungeon where you will also slowly go mad, or allow you to leave where you attempt to take your own life?" In some manner or another. Again, he wonders, why not just let him do it or why not put the knife to him and be done with it.

Again he cannot find a satisfactory reason to do so- and he cannot find a satisfactory reason to not.

"Cade, if this is not working, what must change? Must it be handled by someone that cares?" Because that is an empty barrel if he's ever seen one.

[onlyhymns]

And one final cut to the heart, not that it's Zevran's fault-- he's just telling it like it is. Or asking, but they both know the answer.
Cade sighs out a breath, looks up at the elf with what might be a smile if it weren't so subtly anguished, then opens the door and quietly sees himself out.