[open] you told them all I was crazy

[onlyhymns]

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.

Comments

[onlyhymns]

He looks at the cakes uncertainly, and recognizes that he's already eaten one, based on the taste in his mouth, but Cade can't help feeling that something is wrong. Just... permanently wrong, an undercurrent of wrongness.
Because he wants to believe in order, he goes to take a second one and bites into it with a little less gusto. Beleth knows what she's doing; he just has to focus on her, and remember her face and what she means to him. She wouldn't lie to him. He just needs to remember.

[arlathvhen]

She watches him carefully, a worried look on her face. Had he gotten enough lyrium? She's heard that they've been going through it absurdly fast, it's possible--she'll have to ask around later. Until then, there's not much else she can offer Cade. Make sure he eats, he drinks, he's taken care of. Right now, the best he can do is survive until it's all over.

Quietly, she reaches, and rests her fingers on top of his arm.

"It'll be okay, Cade. We're going to make it better. And then everything will be okay."

[onlyhymns]

Beleth knows what she's doing. Beleth knows what she's doing.
Cade nods, even smiling a little, choosing to believe her. He can see in her face that she means it, and that's all that matters right now.