faderift | [OPEN] Running with my roots pulled up

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[OPEN] Running with my roots pulled up

WHO: Bruce ~~Banner~~ and whoever else
WHAT: Rumors abound. Bruce is good at pretending he can't hear anything. A dracolisk makes everyone's life hell.
WHEN: Across Justinian
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Belated open log thing for the remainder of June; prompts and such are under the cut. Starting in brackets but feel free to switch to prose and I will follow. If you want specific prompts/starters, let me know @

knightblazer or PM this journal!

one. trouble on four hooves. (stables)

[It's not exactly the first time the horsemaster is on his case and it probably won't be the last as well, if the current situation is to go by it.

Horsemaster Dennet wasn't exactly thrilled with the dracolisk that had decided to trail all the way back here with him (muttering along the lines of 'as if one of them wasn't enough'), but the one that Bruce... was stuck with had a tendency for more collateral damage. Nothing major, at least, but after breaking three gates and four fences in its apparent nightly ritual of getting out of the stables there were some lines that needed to be drawn. Thus, this current situation.

The hammer in his hand pounds loudly against the nails as Bruce does his best fixing up the damage the dracolisk had caused in the last few nights. The sleeves of his threadbare shirts are rolled up, for even with the chill here pounding away like this still made him sweat quite a bit, especially as he continued to toil away the hours.

Beside him the dracolisk chewed delicately on some hay, clearly much calmer and less prone to violence now that its human was around.]

two. not quite back to business (healing tents, courtyard)

[It was impossible to ignore the rumors, even if they weren't that hotly circulated, for better or for worse. But still the damage had been done and it would be a lie if he said that things were the same as before.

Nothing was the same as it used to be. After the fallout with Adelaide things didn't really quite look up. Patients who once came to him for help now avoided his gaze entirely and went to others, and the new ones who came in now looked at him with wariness, with all the suspicion that frustrated Bruce more than anything else. This was one of the reasons why he hid his magic away, why he stuck to herbs and what he could do with nothing but his head and his own two hands. He was here to help and he didn't need his magic to do it. It wasn't worth any of this.

(But of course, he deserved it. He knows that. He deserves every bit of this.)

Still, regardless of everything, he came here to do a job and despite all that had happened, there were always going to be people who needed help. So Bruce does the best he can, going around the courtyard to treat whoever was willing to accept his help and aiding anybody who came to his tent while he was in there.]

three. midnight mulling (battlements)

[The battlements had, in a way, become something of a sanctuary to him now. When the night gets this dark and most of Skyhold is asleep, the biting chill of the cold and the silence of the night comforts him well.

On most other nights he'd have the excuse of potion brewing to be up here but tonight that desire isn't there. He sits on the floor, back against one of the walls as he glances out to the mountains that surround them, the sky above that twinkle with countless stars. When everything feels so vast and overwhelming its easy enough to lose himself into the sight, to let them take him away from the chaos of his mind and his soul. To find that momentary peace within himself again, when every part of him rages for something else otherwise.]

wildcard.

[Feel free to throw in your own prompt or PM/contact me to plot out stuff!]

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[It's--surprising, to hear that. Considering her position he thought she would be thinking otherwise, but that's actually surprising. It takes him a moment longer than he expects to process this.]

I didn't think I'd be with the Inquisition for so long. [This, too, is truth. In all his years he's always wandered, never staying anywhere for long, always on the move - it had been necessary, then. But now with the chaos that's erupted all over Thedas since the Rift that opened at the Temple of Scared Ashes... A lot of things have changed since then. But Bruce can't just assume the best. He always assumes the worst. Paranoia is what kept him out of harm's away - what kept others safe. And that is one thing that hasn't changed.

He glances back briefly to the Seeker, sending over a questioning look.] If magic is indeed a gift, then why are there so many dangers with it? If magic is something that's meant for good, why does it always end up hurting people instead?

[ Well. If they're going to have this conversation, she's not going to do it looming over him. Cassandra settles herself down against the wall, sitting next to Bruce but keeping well out of his personal space. ]

'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' One of the Maker's sacred commandments. In an ideal world, it would always be followed. But we are far from ideal creatures. Magic in itself is not dangerous, any more than a knife in itself is dangerous. It is the person wielding it who determines whether it is used to help or to harm.

Edited (yeah i know how formatting works) 2016-06-22 22:08 (UTC)

[They're all far from ideal, but Bruce himself is more than that. He's ruined, dammed, broken and twisted into something that should have never be. But yet here he was, still living, still existing. Not for the first time, he wonders what was the point of him still being alive. Why does a person like him continue to live while so many others die?]

With a knife, one still has a choice in using it or keeping it aside. It's not the same with magic. [Once you have it it always haunts you and never lets you go, like a ghost that never fades.] Is it wrong to not want to use something so dangerously volatile? I know I've lied, but at the same time I've kept my word. I've never allowed myself to use magic except in the most dire circumstances.

[And until this it had only been... what, three times? Bruce always made it a point to avoid anything that could have required him to use any of his magic. Its why he stays in the camps, why he focuses on treating instead of fighting.]

That is why the Rite of Tranquility is used.

[ She says it quietly, not as any sort of suggestion or a proposed solution, but merely as a fact. It is a fact that mages are sometimes unable, or unwilling, to control their power. And in this ideal world that they can only strive for, those would be the only circumstances under which the Rite would ever be used.

She tilts her head at him, curious now. He can clearly control his magic, and is willing to do so - otherwise he would not have been so successful at refraining from using it. He would not have wanted to refrain. ]

Were you trained in a Circle?

[Bruce can't help but let out a small sound of amusement at the mention of Tranquility. Little does Cassandra know. Little does anybody know, really, but its not something he'll ever talk about. There are a lot of things he'll never talk about, really, but even he knows better than to talk of Tranquility to others, much less a Seeker.

If only it were possible. How much easier would that be.

At the question, he gives a nod - no use hiding that much, and its better than others thinking of whatever crazy alternatives they might have given him (even if so many truths about him are very out there).] Learned whatever they were willing to teach. Back then I thought as long as I had the knowledge, magic wouldn't be as terrifying as others made it out to be.

[ She frowns in slight disapproval at his reaction - Tranquility is hardly a laughing matter - but doesn't comment. There must be some reason for it, and she doubts it is a humorous one. Nor one he would willingly share.

Instead, she considers his question thoughtfully, tilting her head in inquiry and prompting him as gently as possible. ]

It did not work?

[ There's a story here, one she's not entirely certain she's earned. After all, they've only met once before. She barely knows him.

But from what she does know of him, he seems to be something of a loner even at the best of times. Perhaps telling someone - anyone - is just what he needs. ]

[The details Bruce will never talk about, but its easy enough to simplify what he learned from his mistakes, the guilt he still carries, the danger he's now become.]

It's magic. What can one expect from something that is still so unknown after all the Ages spent understanding it? [There's a bitter twist to his words here but Bruce doesn't hang on it for long; there's no point anyway. It'd only remind him of things best left untouched and silent.] It's something nobody was ever meant to have. Or at the very least-- [A brief pause.] --not humans.

[ There's a lengthy pause. Cassandra's own history with magic is a complicated one. It had taken a long time for her to stop blaming all mages, all magic, for her brother's death. It's all too easy to understand Bruce's fears; she can sympathize with him, and even respect him for it. She had seen too many mages who did not take the responsibility of magic seriously enough, and someone had always ended up paying the price for their negligence.

But then...there had been Galyan. The mage who had taught her so much, who had changed her entire outlook. She bites her lip, glancing over at Bruce. She had appealed to his faith once before, and still he had been skeptical. ]

Are you Andrastrian, Bruce? Do you believe in the Maker?

[ Not judgmental - even the Right Hand of the Divine wouldn't get very far condemning everyone who doesn't believe. Merely curious. ]

[There's a very long pause on Bruce's end, this time. Did he believe in the Maker? That's... well.

It's easy to say 'no'. In fact, the answer is no, but at the same time its more complicated than that. Believing the Maker was something you just grew up with - or at least it had been for him, from where he came from. The Maker was somebody you believed in and there wasn't any question about that. Even if his life hadn't been the best back then, at least there had been the Maker. The Maker was always there, watching, waiting, knowing. Giving you what you needed, he was told before, and all you had to do was to seize it.

Even when he lived in the Circles, the Maker was still in his life. Everything he had been dealt with was a trial, he believed, and all he had to do was to rise against it. So long as he proved himself, he became better, became good - then surely he would be recognized. The harder the challenge, the greater the reward; and so if the Maker would give him so many trials to go through then surely, it meant that he could be something so much greater. That he could be more than the helpless child who was hated by his own father, no longer remembering himself as the powerless boy who couldn't protect his own mother. He would be more than that.

But then--came the failings, the mistakes, the deaths and the ruin and Harlem. He remembers the way everything became crushed in that one night, that moment when he knew nothing mattered anymore. Regardless of what he did, the pain he lived through, the suffering he endured--nobody was going to see. Least of all The Maker.

What reason would a divine being care for a monster like him?

That's when he had tried to do it. To bring an end to the suffering, the pain, the hurt and the anger. To remove himself from the equation and take away the threat he kept bringing to others. But it hadn't take, and when even death wouldn't accept him Bruce could do nothing else but move on.

Bruce realizes belatedly how tightly his fists have clenched and he forces himself to relax, letting out a long, slow exhale. That had all been in the past. A past that he'd never escape from, yes, but--that's neither here nor there. In the end, nothing really matters. The only true certainty in his life is the anger that forever boils underneath his skin.]

No. [He finally says, voice tight, every part of him forcibly still.] And even if he is real, he's not somebody I could place my faith in.

[Not after everything.]

[ She waits, patiently, but watching him closely as he considers his answer. She can't help but notice the way his hands clench into fists, the way his expression tightens. Something had happened, then. He had lost his faith, and badly. ]

I see.

[ Quiet, as she absorbs what he had said - and what he hadn't. Her brow furrows slightly as she thinks. Faith in the Maker has always been such a part of her life, the steady rock she could fall back on for support when all else fails, that it's difficult to imagine life without it. A life where that comfort and support had been pulled out from under her feet. A life where she is alone.

It's terrifying to contemplate. ]

What - [ She stops, struggling for words. What else is there, she wonders, but doesn't ask. She wants to help him, not make him feel even worse. ] What do you place your faith in, then?

Nothing. [Pause.] Or just--people, I guess.

[Bruce shrugs, the gesture almost helpless.]

I simply try to focus on the here and now - the tangible things, things you and I can try to change. We're all fallible, but there's always been a strength in numbers.

[He knows its not the response Cassandra hopes, but these words at least sound better that the bitter, twisted thoughts that lurk at the back of his mind, the reality that Bruce can't believe in anything. There's nothing for him to believe, not to a person who has nothing and is actually nothing in truth. He's just a ghost of a man pretending to be somebody who he can never be.]

People.

[ He doesn't have to tell her what a fragile thing that is. The Maker - even though the Maker is gone, Cassandra can still believe that he is watching, that he has a plan and that her faith in him will be rewarded.

People are fallible, and selfish, and let themselves and others down every day. She gazes at him, wondering how much he believes what he says. ]

It is something, to believe in one's own strength. In our ability to make a difference. [ She raises an eyebrow, still curious. Still trying to understand him. ] Is that why you are here, with the Inquisition? To try to change things?

[A small laugh from Bruce, more bemused than anything else.] I wouldn't dare to think myself to be able to change anything, honestly.

[And yeah, that's certainly something after what after what he had just said earlier, but. The average person could probably stand with it. Bruce... he doesn't matter. Not when he's less than human.]

I just try to help however I can. [He shrugs once again.] It's all I've ever wanted to do.

[Even back then, even before... everything.]

You are certainly succeeding in that.

[ She says it with a certain emphasis, stressing the truth of it. Cassandra doesn't give compliments lightly, and she suspects that Bruce is the type to be singularly resistant to accepting them. ]

You are a skilled healer, Bruce. I have heard nothing but praise from your colleagues. And besides, I have seen for myself both your expertise and your talent with difficult patients.

[ She smiles, gently, willing to poke at herself a bit. ]

You have done good work, and you should be proud of it.

[ The but hangs in the air, unsaid. Is it enough for him? Is he actually satisfied with his life, or is he still hiding from something else? His destiny, perhaps. His potential to be more. ]

[A compliment from the Right Hand herself is not something Bruce ever expects himself to get, especially with recent events. It shows on his face briefly, a flash of surprise that he quickly covers up with a frown as he rubs the side of his face in an unconscious gesture.]

I, ah... thank you, I suppose. [Pause.] But you give too much credit. I'm just one person in the end, and there's only so much I can do.

[Compared to other people like Adelaide or Cassandra herself or most of the Inquisition, he really has nothing much to show.]

We are all "just one person," Bruce.

[ She can imagine his protests already, and waves them off ahead of time with a dismissive shake of her head. ]

I give you no more credit than you have earned. It is only when we work together that we ever manage to accomplish anything lasting at all.

[ And even that is never a guarantee. ]

[Bruce, indeed, does open his mouth to try and protest, but is stopped before he is able by Cassandra already waving them off. With nothing else to say for the moment all he can do is to fall back quiet, his hands rubbing together in an unconscious gesture.]

I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to go against something I had voiced out not too long ago. [A small, wry smile crosses his face as he says that, though it quickly turns into something a bit more grateful.] ...thank you for understanding, Seeker Pentaghast. Most others have not been--as open, but I don't blame them either.

[He had fooled them for--what, nearly a year? He had been around since Haven, after all.]

[ Cassandra inclines her head quietly in acknowledgement. ]

I have had my troubles with mages in the past. It is not so strange that you might wish to be free of magic's dangers and its complications.

[ She stands, signaling an end to the conversation, but glances down at him. ]

But it is a gift from the Maker - and it can be a gift from you to those you wish to help, if you choose to use it. What you do now is for you alone to decide. If you wish to speak again, however...I am here.

[If only there were as many people who could be as understanding as the Seeker - at least for this situation. But Bruce knows that not having to face the ire of one of the Inquisition's advisors is already something to be grateful for, much less her understanding.

He gives a small nod to her words as well as her offer, gaze flicking down to the ground for a moment before he looks back at her with a small smile of gratitude.]

I'm humbled by such an offer. [He says, voice quiet.] But I think I will be fine. [Or he will make himself be fine, anyway. He has to.] Thank you for lending an ear, Seeker Pentaghast. I truly appreciate it.

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[OPEN] Running with my roots pulled up

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