faderift | You can't wake up, this is not a dream [OPEN]

WHO: Logan and YOU!
WHAT: Open log for August and Kingsway, Logan settling into Skyhold.
WHEN: August and Kingsway
WHERE: All over Skyhold
NOTES: mild to moderate horror in introspection, probably nothing else

1.you are not a human being
Some person of seemingly minor importance was being entertained in Skyhold. Logan stood against a wall in his whole uniform except for breastplate and shoulder pads, finely-made clothing that marked him out. He had his arms crossed, hiding the marked left hand, observing quietly as someone he hadn't met yet made a formal welcome to this visitor. He was learning the etiquette and social requirements of this place, so he might be somewhat prepared whenever he had to meet someone important.

2.low on self-esteem so you run on gasoline
Logan had been offered a bed in a tent, at least for now, down in the valley below the castle. It was cold and terribly public and not at all what he was used to, but he told himself it was temporary and accepted it without complaint. He was not a king here, and had no right to demand things of the organization that had taken him in. The distance of several worlds from the Crawler seemed to make him more able to take such things rationally. Some small blessing.

It didn't stop the nightmares, though.

Some nights, he could control it enough to stay in his bed until dawn. Other nights, it drove him up and out of the tent, gasping and staggering behind it to vomit and just praying he didn't hit anything important. He stood there in his trousers with no shoes or shirt, hands on his knees, shaking, left hand clenched tightly. He was covered in sweat, despite the cold night air.

3.are you insane like me
Most of the soldiers didn't want to spar with Logan, which was fine. He was left-handed, which made a spar awkward, and he didn't know what would happen inside his head if he injured someone. The Crawler's influence was lessened, but not gone.

His preferred style of sword seemed rather uncommon, so he had a plain, common longsword, and he was learning on a training dummy what movements might work and what didn't. He paused, thinking he might get a drink of water, but his attention was caught by the light when he let go of the sword. The ache was radiating up his arm -- he'd overworked it, and that was making it worse. He stared into the light, wondering if he might see through it.

Cut it off, hissed the Crawler's sibilant voice. It won't hurt anymore, and it is no use to you. You don't need to fight. You're tainted, broken. Let the blade fall, let all of the blades fall...

He clenched his hand tight, then picked up the sword again and began swinging almost frantically. The water was forgotten.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It had been one of those nights. They seemed to come alone more rarely of late, but now and then they sprung up for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. The nights when the dark and twisted things came out of the shadows of his mind. He slid out of bed, avoiding waking his companion, and made his way into the night to run-walk, to get his blood bumping and his muscles burning.

He had long since learned the layout of Skyhold in the darker hours of the night by now, but it was that which made it easier to spot someone else up at this hour, looking somewhat distressed. He knew the hunched over look of vomiting, and as he drew closer he caught the sour smell of it.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked as he walked up, making sure to make plenty of noise as he did so.

Logan spat on the ground, still bent over. "I'm fine," he said, voice steadier than he expected it to be.

You're not fine, whispered the voice. You're broken. You should have let yourself fall from that cliff. You could end your suffering, end your pain. It wasn't worth the effort expended in saving you.

He let out a frustrated growl, pressing the heel of his right hand to his forehead. Why wouldn't it just shut up?

"Yeah, sure look fine," Kirk said in the tone of someone who had been fed that lie once to often. Or, in his case, tried to feed it to someone else.

He looked around, but didn't see anything that could immediately help like a cup of water (which, frankly, would have been suspect anyways, but still). He had no medicine on him either, though he had a few satchels of herbs at his home he kept for emergencies.

"Come on, let's see if we can get you something to wash your mouth out with."

Logan let himself be led away, mostly because the alternative involved making a scene and staying near the foul puddle he'd created. "Wait," he said, after a few steps. He ducked into the nearby tent, and came back out with boots. He'd had to fling himself from bed to make it outside before he vomited, so he was only in a pair of sleeping pants -- a shirt was noticeably absent, still, but he might be wanting to let his sweaty skin dry. Also, his left hand was still clenched tight, and shoes were easier one-handed than a shirt.

Kirk paused, letting the other go back for his boots. If he noticed the fact that his left hand remained clenched, he did not say anything of it. If he noticed the sweat, he said nothing of it. Those things were not for him to know or pry on to deeply, not if the other didn't wish to talk. He knew enough about nightmares to know that they weren't always things you wanted to talk about anyways. Or so he guessed was the cause.

"My name's Kirk," he said softly as he led Logan through the dark. "Well, James Tiberius Kirk, but that's a mouthful, so Kirk works just fine. I'm a Rifter." Something to fill the quiet, even a little, be a tiny distraction.

"Ki-" Logan stopped himself. He didn't feel much like a king right now, and didn't want to admit that he was. A fine king he made, caught puking his guts out from a nightmare. Like a child. Like some broken thing.

"Logan." He could be just a man. "Also a rifter. From a place called Albion."

Kirk didn't think much of the stop, somewhat naturally believing it was the other testing out the pronunciation of his name, or simply rethinking a sentence.

"Earth, myself," Kirk nodded his head, making his way towards the black smith's quarters where he kept his home, and where he also knew there was water and cups. "Welcome to Skyhold. It's not much, but it's home - for now."

"You've been here some time, I take it?" Logan asked, ducking his head to step under the cover of the quarters. The forge was idle but burning low, so Logan went to stand near it, warming himself. The cold air was drying his sweat quickly, and he was going to start shivering soon.

"Almost half a year now, when I think about it," he said after a moment, a note of awe in his voice, as if he could not quite believe it. He gathered up a cup and went to one of the quenching fires, which he believed were probably the most hygienic given that they were partially sanitized with burning iron.

He came to Logan and offered him the cup, thankful that the night was not particularly chill thanks to Skyhold's unique position above the hot springs.

"I'll try and answer questions for you, but I am still learning many things myself."

You can't wake up, this is not a dream [OPEN]

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