[open] together we can see what we will find

[onlyhymns]

WHO: Cade, his smarmy brother Callum, you!!
WHAT: Cade's life has been turned inside out and upside down. His brother has chosen a terrible time to visit, but has resolved to make the most of it. Come be part of the trainwreck.
WHEN: late Solace
WHERE: mostly around Lowtown
NOTES: There's gonna be a lot of drunken debauchery, and both brothers are going to do things likely both stupid and offensive, so if that's not your bag then you might want to steer clear.

It all began when a blond man strode into the barracks in the Gallows, whistling to himself as he perused the numbers on the doors and finally knocked on one. There, Simon was treated to the sight of someone very familiar and yet not: he resembled Cade, but taller, healthier, and significantly more charming. His name was Callum, and he had come to find his little brother, whom he knew to have just returned to Kirkwall.

Thus they went from the Gallows to Lowtown, where the little brother in question was found in the inn where he'd begun to take up residence not a full day previous. An exceedingly awkward greeting was had, a brotherly razzing that might have been less menacing if they had seen each other at any point over the last twenty-seven years, and the decision to celebrate Callum's visit with a night on the town.

Cade, being who he is, was unable to say no-- and, in his current state, thought a sustained poisoning via alcohol might just be what the doctor ordered.
And the rest... is not yet history, but it's about to be.

I. The First Night

The brothers Harimann and Simon have begun their night of carousing with a visit to the Hanged Man, where Callum diligently ensures that no one wants for a drink or a laugh. They're at a table towards the front, the older brother chatting effusively to Simon and the younger staring into his mug. Callum is quick enough to smile and greet anyone who should come their way, with an offer to join them.

Anyone remaining in the tavern long enough to see them leave might note that Cade can barely stand on his own, but at least it can be inferred that he gets home safely.

II. The Second Night

a. Back in the Hanged Man for another session, tonight is all about catching up. Callum, however, quickly grows bored with Cade's reticence and total unwillingness to pick up girls, and not-so-subtly ditches him at their table in favor of chatting up any locals pretty enough to catch his eye.

b. This ultimately resolves in Callum disappearing into one of the upstairs room with a few ladies, where he remains indefinitely. Cade remains at their table, idly spinning a coin with his head resting on his hand. Either he has total faith that his brother is coming back, or he's too drunk to stand.

III. The Third Night

It starts the same as the others, then Callum starts talking some shit. Any Fereldans in the pub are the subject of his mockery, and it isn't long before things escalate. [I would like this to be one thread, even if multiple people join!]

IV. The Following Morning

A badly-bruised and aching Cade awakens in a cell with no sign of Callum or memory of how he got there. He is, at least, relieved to find that this is not the dungeon of the Gallows, but the drunk tank of the City Guard.

a. Perhaps someone comes to collect him and pay his bail, either in a timely fashion or ...not. [one thread only please, first come first serve]

b. The rest of the day is spent nursing a hangover and trying to come to terms with what's been going on. Callum is nowhere to be found, which is cause for some concern.

V. Special prompts

If you'd like a character-specific scene that isn't covered above, hit me up!

Comments

[limier]

She thinks of asking where Callum went, and decides she doesn’t care. There are only so many fucks that she has to give for spoiled nobility, and that position’s currently occupied.

"And you chose to engage," Flatly. "Why?"

[onlyhymns]

"What does it matter," Cade snaps, massaging the bridge of his nose, "why would you even care." Maker, the Templars threw him out and still they're up his arse? When will it end?

[limier]

Because I've just staked the next month of my stipend that you'll not repeat the incident, and my reputation to your continued good behaviour, you peaky little shit —

"One of us has to." He clearly hasn't been. Her chin tips down to regard him. "Why did you engage?"

[onlyhymns]

He finds himself hating how calm she is, how intrusive and condescending and... why is she even here?
But regardless, Cade is able to glean that Wren isn't going away until he answers her. "I don't know," he growls, squinting at her again, "I don't remember. I'm sure it was as idiotic as you're going to tell me it is, does that help?"

[limier]

Something in her jaw shifts. This has been a very long month.

(Longer yet for Cade.)

"Would it? Is that the aim of all this?" One hand unpeels into a curt gesture. "Some echo chamber of admonition?"

Nothing left to lose, Anders had told her, had feared for who Cade might hurt next. Wren knows exactly who. The bruises on him now are only the ugly confirmation of gut instinct.

"Open your eyes." She's not being figurative. "You want to wound yourself so badly, then open your eyes when you look at me."

[onlyhymns]

Cade scowls, because... yes, that's pretty much exactly it. An echo chamber of admonition, an obsession with it. A need. Because if there isn't that, it means he's been doing the right thing all along, and the universe has been punishing him unfairly, and that hurts too much to consider.

He tries to open his eyes, but one can only go so far, nearly swollen shut; the other keeps compulsively closing again, repelled by the sun. He ducks his head again, furious with... maybe her, maybe himself, maybe just everything.

[limier]

There’s almost satisfaction in it — an old and distant reflex —

A huff of breath, she shakes it off. Being right about this is no victory.

"Where are you staying?"

It had been some relief, to think him still rooming with Ashlock. That had evaporated shortly enough.

[onlyhymns]

Cade shrugs. "An inn," he mumbles, gesturing vaguely in the direction of it. It's better than a shithole, but a shithole would've been more appropriate.

[limier]

"Come on, then." The sweep of an arm. "Let's get those cleaned up."

No purpose to her usual method of dealing with this nonsense, not when Cade's already looking for punishment. If expectations are going to be made clear, they're going to require a different approach.

That can wait until he less resembles mincemeat. Some focus will be necessary, here.

[onlyhymns]

He shuffles along with her, keeping his head lowered and away from any who might recognize him. He considers being on the lookout for Callum, but a part of him is smart enough to leave well enough alone; does that make him a bad brother? He'll find out eventually, he supposes.

When they arrive at the inn, he leads Wren inside and up to his room, though he stops in the doorway. You don't just... bring a woman into your room in the middle of the day.

[limier]

It takes her a moment to recognize the issue.

It’s not as though there weren’t always some concerned with modesty in the barracks, just that most got over it after a few years of sleeping in the same sweaty, cramped quarters.

Cade’s not a templar any more, and she supposes that alters the context; it will be seen differently here, out of armor and outside his home territory. Even so, it’s — well. It would be unkind to laugh.

"We may leave the door open, if you prefer," Evenly, "I am going to call for hot water, you ought to soak your knuckles."

She’ll wait for a decision before vanishing again downstairs, to return bearing an assortment of herbs with the basin.

[onlyhymns]

Cade's modesty has ever been a point of ridicule, among his fellows as well as outsiders. He's so shy it's almost a psychosis, and although he dreads what Wren is about to do, he's grateful for her overall lack of commentary.
Reluctantly, he nods, and steps back to grant her admittance. He looks at the floor all the while, his bearing shifting from grouchy to tired. He feels like hot garbage.

[limier]

She casts him a questioning look, another to the doorway: Open or shut?

"There is a shirt in the bundle."

Wren sets it on the edge of the little bed, stoops back to begin rooting through leaves and salves. The cloth's cheap, Chantry quality; mass-spun for the rank and file, and somewhat recently dyed a pale, robin's egg blue. The cut's different, Orlesian, but it won't be quite so big on him as the others.

It feels a touch less foolish now to have gotten him the damn thing. Cade smells like stale vomit, and from the way he moves, she'd wager someone got a few kicks on him before the night was through.

"Hands in," She instructs to the basin, fishes out a rag to soak alongside. "The pain in your head. How bad?"

[onlyhymns]

Maker. He follows her gaze to the door, and moves to close it, but-- pauses, before it can click shut. He glances back at Wren with a look that verges on fearful before leaving it be, cracked but still able to open in a hurry. ...should it need to be.

Given her other instructions, Cade grudgingly obliges, though he doesn't change his shirt just yet. First his hands go in the basin, and he keeps his head ducked, as if worried seeing his face will just remind her of why he's not worth the effort. "It's fine," he lies, hunching his shoulders. Just go away, is all he's saying: stop hounding me and let me be pathetic in peace.

[limier]

"Is it?"

She stops shredding elfroot a moment to consider, at last glances up to find the bangs shadowing his eyes. The hangover will fade, with time, and rest, and some water in him. The hangover's not the real problem here.

"What does fine mean to you?"

[onlyhymns]

Cade is still looking at his hands when Wren's question hits him, and he frowns, caught off guard.
"...tenable," he decides, resting back on his heels and lifting his hands out of the water with a wince, "I'll live."

[limier]

"That is," How to even begin to broach this? You don't speak about this sort of thing. No one does; templars, soldiers least of all. "That is what concerns me."

She works some paste into the rag, passes it out and taps her eye in indication: on this one, with the swelling —

"It is not an easy thing, living."

[onlyhymns]

Cade stares at the pinkened water as he kneels there, at least grudgingly accepting the treated rag and pressing it to his eye as Wren speaks.
"It's shit," he mutters to himself, perhaps just loudly enough to be heard. Nothing about living has treated him well, least of all lately.

[limier]

"It is," She agrees — regrets it, before the words have even fully left her mouth. Life's shit, but what else is there to do? That's precisely the problem. Still, no taking it back now. "Utter shit, at times."

"How is it shit lately?"

[onlyhymns]

Cade pauses for a few seconds before looking up at Wren, his expression saying it all. Are You Being Serious

[limier]

She lifts her eyebrows in response, waits. Use your words bitch.

[onlyhymns]

Words are for people who aren't sitting on the floor of their post-firing inn room with bloody knuckles, smelling like booze and vomit! Probably.

He's bad at holding eye contact, so Cade breaks first, naturally, his face going red beneath the cloth he holds against it. "...it's all wrong," he mumbles. "I'm all wrong."

[limier]

Wren can guess, can pull together pieces enough (conversation, conjecture) to suppose the shape of what he's saying. Harriman's spent his life shoved into the mold of a sole purpose.

The context cracks, the shape remains; the expectations do — right up until they don't. She can guess, but guessing at what he's saying, assuming the words for him is the easy way out for them both.

"Wrong for what? For the Order, for the Inquisition?" She eases down to a crouch, to put them both closer to level. "For living?"

Just wrong.

[onlyhymns]

Still he avoids her gaze, his petulance draining as shame replaces it. Cade can be childish, and he knows this, hates it as much as anything else, but has no explanation or solution for it. He's afraid most of the time, and it makes him rash and emotional. He's embarrassing himself and he knows it.

"I'm sorry," he says, resting back into a more comfortable kneel, self-consciously tucking his free hand under the elbow of the one holding the cloth. "For all of it. For. ...everything." For living. Wren is trying to help, and he's being awful.

and then i took out the chancy line but forgot to take out this header whoop

[limier]

She lets the silent sit a moment, before doing the same. A huff of breath, she leans back against the bedframe; still perhaps half a foot of distance between them.

"You do not need to apologize for the world." Everything is a lot to pin on any one head. "Or for this. It happens."

More softly, she repeats,

"This happens," Her fingers lace together loose, fall away once more. "It hurts."

"It does not hurt forever."