( open ) like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins

[eviscerates]

WHO: Ruby Lucas & open.
WHAT: Following the events of the missing shard bearer plot (here) Ruby insists on being taken to the dungeons and held there until she is fully detoxed from lyrium.
WHEN: From a gently timey-wimey point in mid-September to early October, at least. She may be in the dungeons longer, depends a bit.
WHERE: THE DUNGEONS, Skyhold.
NOTES: Rumours page & OOC report details, although the latter is more likely pertinent to people who were on the mission/were told about the mission directly/the advisors than general gossip. Alsi new cr is welcome! Ruby's info sheet is here.
WARNINGS: Horror themes! Reference to the events of the shard bearer plot, which include the Wolf attacking and eating people, forced lyrium ingestion, hallucinations, death, violence, torture.

She’s never forgotten that she’s a monster, that the people of Storybrooke had been ready to take up arms against her. Ruby Lucas wasn’t the sweet girl who remembered your coffee order and fixed you whiskey neat from the top shelf on a bad day. She was a vicious, wild thing. The Big Bad Wolf.

After the mission she told them to kill her or shackle her, and when she arrived back to Skyhold she refused to go to the medical tents. It wasn’t worth the risk - keep her locked up, keep her cloak bound across her throat so she couldn’t pull it away during a delirium. She had to stay in at least a month, she had to try and keep people safe.

The first two weeks she’s still recovering from her injuries and the lyrium is still distorting her memories and thoughts and what she sees, leaves her with a constant thirst and the unhealthy pallor in her skin is obvious. Treating the injuries will be ongoing, but the first week she sleeps almost constantly, and the second she is struggling with memories. If people visit during this time there is ever chance of her mind taking flashes from other people’s memories though she can’t make sense of much of anything.

After that she can be found in different states.

She might sit on the floor with her hands through the bars, putting together the most basic, non-volatile components and mechanisms for traps, setting then all in a box to be taken to the Requisition officer.

She might be standing with rotten fruit sliding down the side of her face and splattered across her clothes, perfectly still. Either the guard just hauled the offending fruit thrower who posed as a visitor out, or they might have been distracted by another job so the produce producers are there to be chased off. Unless your character would throw fruit? But then they might be hauled away.
(Note: probably only two of this one unless we work something particular out, just because I don’t want to undermine the efficiency of the Inquisition’s guards at protecting prisoners, even willing ones.)

Ruby may have stripped down some and be treating her wounds and attempting to change dressings and apply poultices, because healers shouldn’t have to go into her cell, as far as she’s concerned. Vicious puncture wounds dot her skin, perfect circular marks that are mostly uniform, but vary in size here and there. There is a jagged gash over her ribs and a burn across the other side, which make her hiss as she tries to pull the rank dressing away.

Or maybe she’s just sitting or lying down on her side, defeated and curled inward.

Wildcards welcome, pick your own location-limited adventure and give me an idea of timeframe/if you are okay with Ruby picking up memories or not if it’s set during the first couple of weeks.

Comments

[nonsibi]

Bellamy agrees with that statement with a nod. He doesn't shift from where he's leaned up against the wall. "That would be why I'm not here on duty."

In case she was wondering. He lifts his chin a little, the better by which to study what she's working on. An impulse toward usefulness he understands, especially when there's nothing better to do. Especially if you're waiting around for healing to work, wounds to knit up, magic to do what it does best. Especially if you're behind bars while all that's going on.

"You put yourself in here, is what I heard." He knows what he knows based on rumor. Better hearing it from her. "Means you could get when you want, too. Might take some work. Not a lot. So how long are you staying?"

[eviscerates]

"Huh." Somehow more an observation, than a sound of surprise, though the observations and question put it into focus, a frame that fits. "I'm not coming out until I know there's no more lyrium in my system. So, it might be a month, or two, or three. However long it takes to make sure there is no way I lose control again."

There is an unhappy tug at the corner of her mouth, as she glances down to twist together two components, and examines the new unit critically.

"Or if they deem me too dangerous, I guess I'll be down here as long as I have to be."

[nonsibi]

He nods, again, a short spare jerk of his head. But in truth, Bellamy isn't okay with lifetime imprisonment. It seems like a good idea at the time, an impulse toward justice, a good way to put off making an otherwise tough choice. Only the longer it goes on, the more difficult it is to defend--publicly, personally; to everyone, and to yourself. And if you believe that the prisoner deserves that kind of punishment, that it's merited, then you're leaving an open threat sitting around. Better to end it.

It should be easier to decide that of Ruby, someone--something--that fell out of a rift like a damn demon. Bellamy hadn't gone up against whatever it was that she'd become, but he had seen its handiwork. He knows what a threat looks like. He knows to put down dangers before they come back to get you.

"So, what. That was your first time? It's the lyrium that did it?" If you don't understand, get an understanding. "There's no chance of anything else turning you into-- that?"

It ends with that rough word, distant and a little cruel. He doesn't necessarily mean it that way. He doesn't have another word for it, whatever it, she, was.

[eviscerates]

"The lyrium is the first thing that ever forced me to lose control since I learned how to control it."

She glances down, grabs another round of pieces, starting to line them up. The palms of her hands are a dirty grey from the grease used to coat the components, but she pauses with her hand resting on the floor before looking up at him.

"I turn when I want to - or need to, usually. I can control the Wolf, because I am the Wolf. It's as much a part of me as magic is part of a mage. It's instinct and it's dangerous, but I can control it. I had to accept what I am, instead of fighting it or being scared of it."

Looking down, she frowns. "My grandparents didn't ever control it, I don't think. My Granny bought a cloak that stopped me from turning during Wolfstime. That's the only time I have to change, unless I'm wearing—"

The word lingers, and she tilts her head towards the red brocade cloak cascading from her shoulders, vibrant even as the rest of her seems dimmed. "She thought she could keep me from ever changing, so long as I always wore the cloak at night. Thing is," and she smiles, an unhappy thing as she picks up some components again, "sometimes young women like to ignore orders from boring old ladies who don't want them to have any fun."

It's not a simple or short answer and it's not done, but he seems like a smart guy. She's sure he can figure out a few details. "Do you know much about fairy tales?"