faderift | [open] you told them all I was crazy

WHO: Cade, Simon, and anyone brave enough to visit them
WHAT: Blue Flu Boogaloo: Two Dudes Askew, Hijinks Ensue
WHEN: Phase II
WHERE: Simon's room, now with more Cade
NOTES: Ultra mega content warning for a variety of topics that might come up in flashbacks, most notably childhood sexual abuse, graphic violence, and possibly more which will be added as necessary.

I. Visit Both!

During the day, when they're both awake, the room is just a regular disaster zone. Simon's tools are laid out with no rhyme or reason, anything that could have at any point been tidy is in total disarray, and the room contains a frightening sense of lost control.
For more specifics, see their individual prompts:

II. Just Cade

Being easily worked up at the best of times, the lyrium problem has Cade nearly out of his mind and dissociating for what began as small spurts and has expanded to nearly all of his waking hours. It can be difficult to tell, being that it most often manifests as reclusiveness, with the thirty-something man sitting with his knees curled to his chest at the far end of his bed, his demeanor that of an eight-year-old with a monster in the closet. When it looks different, it's endless pacing, agitation, frantic muttering, the telltale signs of someone in danger of hurting himself.
Sometimes Simon or visitors can bring him out of it; sometimes he doesn't know who they are, or where he is. Dosing him with more lyrium results in pockets of lucidity, which rapidly turn despairing as he realizes he's losing it again, and they often aren't worth the trouble.

III. Just Simon

Anyone entering the room could be forgiven for not immediately realizing that Simon is there, when he is. It may be the first time in his entire life that he hasn't been the most immediately noticeable person in a given space. His bed is strewn with tools and books, the blankets pulled over his head to dampen whatever noise Cade makes, and beneath the covers, he shivers faintly.

He doesn't sleep, though, when he can help it--not here. Never here. He fights sleep now as hard as he's ever done, and if it means hauling himself out of bed inch by freezing, head-pounding, light-sensitive inch to go seek pharmaceutical help for it, he does as often as he can manage. His ability to manage grows increasingly less frequent by the day. He's promised himself to the researchers as a test subject, all but flinging himself at them in his desperation to find something that will help, magic or otherwise, but his memory of that commitment fades in and out and gradually dissolves altogether unless he's reminded of it.

He knows how this goes. It isn't the first time he's found himself in this lyrium-deprived boat with no memory of how he got there. The powerlessness is the point.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's night time, which explains Simon's absence, and Cade has just been pacing the room for hours, his knuckles and fingertips bloody from Maker-knows-what he's been doing, though the red smudges on the walls give some indication.
He stops when he hears a voice, and turns to look behind him with a jolt, lifting his shaking hands to grasp his upper arms protectively. There's something off about him; the glassiness in his eyes, the total silence with which he regards Anders, which communicates the unnerving fact that Cade doesn't know who he is.

It's stupid, and he knows it's Simon's room which would make going in an even greater level of stupid, but where would he be if he wasn't constantly making stupid decisions? Still in Kinloch Hold, likely, and he can't stand to leave the man bleeding.

Anders steps in and holds out a hand. "Let me see your hands, please." He considers saying Cade's name and dismisses the thought. If he's lucky - a rare occurrence, to be sure - he can take care of the injuries and be gone long before Cade has any idea of what's going on right now.

Cade flinches back when Anders steps in, but it's out of unfamiliarity rather than total fear. Something about the man's voice calms him down, however, and he extends his hands for him to see, timid and ashamed. "I'm sorry," he whispers, something childlike about his bearing, trust and fear in one.

Some of the hard resentment he's held against Cade cracks and Anders glances away for a moment before looking back. The man was still one of Meredith's, there's been no whispers of him feeling bad for all he likely did, but there's a flash of personhood there that Anders has never looked to see.

Despite the mix of emotions he doesn't know how to sort out, Anders takes Cade's injured hands in his and casts, healing the clearly self-inflicted wounds without additional judgement. Fever takes people in all sorts of different ways.

"You don't have to apologize to me for the wounds," he says quietly. "These don't hurt me. Only you." And whomever cares about Cade, though he doesn't need to put that guilt on the man. "Do you think you can take a break from hitting the wall?"

Pliant as a lamb, Cade lets Anders heal him, watching dolefully all the while. Hitting the wall hasn't been a conscious choice, per se; it's been happening for various reasons, none of which are healthy ones, but he doesn't actually remember doing it.
"I..." he murmurs, thinking hard, "I haven't taken my lyrium. Do you have any?" He has. Twice, actually, when a well-meaning source saw that he was in dire need of it.

He has a pair of lyrium potions in his own room in case of emergencies, but Anders has no idea what would do for a templar. Or even do to a templar, considering what's going on right now, so his answer is a shake of his head.

"No. I don't." He hesitates for a moment, glancing out at the hall. "Who distributes it to you all? Regularly?" If it's a templar responsible for getting it to him, they could be a mess too. He doesn't have a particular issue with Templars having the weakness for once, but they don't need the guys running fevers and going desperate from withdrawal too.

Some of the light leaves Cade's eyes, desperation creeping into his bearing, but he holds himself in check. He needs it. He needs it. He almost misses the question.
"Ser--" he begins, and catches, realizing he can't picture the person's face. "Ser..." What was the topic again? He stares past Anders, helpless. When he looks back at him, he searches his mind for something, anything useful to say.
"...I need lyrium," is what it turns into.

Andraste's asscheeks. Anders reaches for his crystal and stops - there's no point in calling Couple as she's likely a mess too. And calling Nell, who rumor has as in charge of Forces while Coupe is out, would more likely cause a deeper rift between them than getting Cade any help.

"All right," he says, trying to think. "All right. Are you capable of following me to the infirmary?" They had some locked up, and a partial portion, not a full one, shouldn't cause problems. He hopes. He doesn't know what else to do now that he's decided not to abandon Cade to this.

Cade nods, and seems about to go along with Anders, but his senses, however faint, kick in briefly.
"...who are you?" he asks, glancing around and then back at Anders. Don't... walk away with strangers??

"Someone who normally doesn't get along with you. But I can't leave you like this and I won't hurt you. Is that all right?"

Still no names. Names could jar Cade from his daze into something worse, something violent, and Anders would like to get the former Templar dosed and resting with no complications.

The argument isn't very compelling. Who doesn't he get along with? Cade searches his mind, and apart from the general sense, can't land on specifics. Someone is asking him to go somewhere, and he's not sure about it. Starting to dread it, even. It's not an entirely unfamiliar sensation.
"I'm not feeling well," he replies, with the shifty air of a far less mature person trying to beg off a chore. "...I... can't come today." He's not a good liar, and he's growing nervous.

"Okay." He's not going to push. Anders takes a step toward the doorway, already mentally going through the list of anyone who might be in any position to help Cade and unfortunately only finding one name. Poor Beleth was probably exhausted but that's who he's got.

"Try to get some rest," Anders says and heads for the doorway.

[open] you told them all I was crazy

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject