faderift | [open] peel the scars from off my back

Entry tags:

[open] peel the scars from off my back

WHO: Cade and you!
WHAT: Just hangin' around, livin' life, bein' weird
WHEN: Cloudreach
WHERE: The Gallows and Lowtown, mostly
NOTES: All the usual warnings that come with Cade. If you'd like a specific prompt, hit me up or just throw one in the comments.

I. Out and about in the Gallows (recommended for our new Templar friends)

Cade has not been to collect his lyrium dosage since before all the Templars were ravaged by their mysterious illness, but he still arrives every morning looking fit as a fiddle (comparatively) to start his workday with Enchanter Shivana. Being that he's a reclusive and fairly off-putting person by virtue of his... well, him-ness, Cade has never been part of any group that hasn't had its share of rumors about what he's about. But lately he's become more of a cautionary tale, a there-but-by-the-grace-of-the-Maker-go-I when he slinks by any on-duty Templar and avoids their gaze.
Despite being kicked out of the Templars, and not collecting his lyrium, he's not having withdrawals. He also works under at least one elf (two if Beleth counts), practices archery on the regular, and almost, if you squint, seems to be starting to live a normal life.
That bastard's hiding something.

II. Lowtown

Now that the weather has gotten warmer, Cade stays out later in his little hiding places where he reads or writes or just watches the sea. He can often be found in the evening with his back to a wall and his gaze beyond the people walking by, finding solitude where there's really none to be found.

Periodically someone tries to mug him and comes away disappointed, or gets a coin or two. It's an occupational hazard of living by the docks.

III. The Chantry Garden

Regardless of weather, every day at dawn Cade can be found at the newly-carved Andraste shine in the center of what remains of the forest, saying his morning prayers before he continues uptown to the Gallows. It's not nice to disturb him, but inevitably someone does on occasion.

IV. Misc!

Choose Your Own Adventure

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A small half-smile ghosts onto Nari’s lips, and she looks down, lifting her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

"...Neither have I," she says. Nari thins her lips in thought, looks back up at him. She’d wanted so much to be able to somehow navigate this well from the start, even though all previous experience with learning something new gave that hope the lie. It’s just that normally new materials didn’t look at you and make your breath catch. What kind of person could start smithing with a rank novice’s hand if they cared this much about the metal?

It was different than all of that though. She’d practiced once she’d had it, on a pillow as suggested. Knew the weight, the balance, how far to stand. She’d even stood in her room stripped to the waist to feel the stinging thud of it for herself, so she’d know. This part, though, this talking, there was no practicing for. At a loss for where to go, she thinks back. Cade had always responded best to the precise things she thought she shouldn’t say. Nari blows a breath through her nose and sits in the discomfort of it.

"I think I started wrong," she says finally, pulling her legs up, "which is what I was afraid of. That I don’t know what I’m doing, but only have one chance to get it right or—" or what? She didn’t actually know what the nameless fear in the pit of her stomach was. "—or you won’t—" Nari gestures helplessly, "—trust me? ...anymore?" a brief pause, as her eyes lower to where apparently she'd been twisting her hands together slowly. "...if you do?"

He looks up uncertainly when Nari speaks again, pursing his lips and listening carefully. When she makes her concerns clear, it occurs to Cade that can actually do something about it.
"...I do," he admits, "and I... I'm not..." He's not good with words, and it frustrates him now more than ever. "I promise, if... if it goes wrong, I won't blame you."

She knows he means it to be comforting, but there's something heartbreaking in hearing Cade say he's willing to absolve her of that blame. Rather than as intended, it makes her want to take more responsibility; but it's a desire that's wholly hers now, rather than a worry about consequence. That would do.

"...Okay." Nari exhales, dipping her chin in a shallow nod. She worries at her lower lip. "Let's-- okay. Let me start again. Tell me what you want," she says, her gaze full of gravity. Then, more quietly, "If you're worried, I'm not-- I promise I won't be scared of it." Of you. "I'm far more frightened of not knowing."

Here Cade had hoped he would get here, toss over the whip, she'd go to town, and it would be done with. All this talking is making him anxious, like he's fooling himself somehow, lying to her, and a shameful excuse for a person in general. He goes a little red when he thinks about voicing what he wants to do, when it should be self-explanatory, is this a trick? Is he this big of an idiot?

With an awkward motion, he tugs open his bag and withdraws the homemade whip he uses, knotted ropes stained an awful brown with dried blood. He turns it around so the handle side is facing Nari, and extends it out to her, his eyes lowered and his hand shaking. This is what he wants.

For once Nari's deeply glad he's not looking, since she winces painfully at the sight of it. She can't, however, disguise the in-drawn breath that accompanies the squeeze of her heart; hopes he attributes it to her steadying herself rather than her deep dismay.

Anything made by someone's hand is art. All art speaks, and what Cade has made and carried and used all these years does so with a desolation that is almost palpable. Nari stares at the stains, wonders how many years of his blood is inside the fibers. It seems he'd not often cared for it, but no-one truly cares for tools they come to like this. She'd thrown the knife she'd used on herself into the sea.

She can't. She won't. Not with that.

But even as she reaches out to cover his shaking outstretched hand with her own to gently lower it, she's reaching her other to carefully lift the lid of the box tucked beside her and retrieve what it holds, pulling it across her lap accompanied by the soft sound of leather on cloth to where it'll be visible.

Nahariel doesn't, on the whole, care for the finer things in life. She wears simple clothing until it falls apart. Simple, too, are her food, her bedding; her few valuable possessions all gifts. Her one indulgence is her tools. It's for those that she trades and sells her boxes, her statuettes, her staves. They cost her dearly, but it's a cost she's always been more than willing to pay.

The nine flat dark braids of the cat she'd traded for lie across her thighs, their tips like tapered leaves, their leather oiled supple with care and shining dully in the firelight. Her thumb rubs nervously at the wrapped hardwood of its carefully balanced handle.

"I'm... prideful, Cade. When I work, I always use my own tools," she says, her voice low and careful, unsure again as she makes her counter-offer. "Is that... all right?"

Edited 2018-04-05 03:29 (UTC)

He looks up in surprise when Nari presses his hand downward, and Cade's eyes shift to what she withdraws instead; a shiver passes through him, not because it looks all that fearsome-- which it does-- but because... she bought something. Or... acquired it somehow, whatever the case, but she did it after they spoke, and did it... for him. That's unthinkable.
He stares at the cat for a long moment, then slowly raises his eyes to meet Nari's, bewilderment in them, and a sentiment that he can't place. He knows he can't give her an intelligent answer, so instead he nods the affirmative. It's all right, but now everything is different.

Edited 2018-04-05 03:57 (UTC)

It's Cade's bewildered look-- part of the family of expressions that always tugs at the places in her that want to care for him-- that gives Nari the solid base she needs to nod back and then rise to her feet. She takes a few steps toward the fire to look into it and draw the falls through her hand to feel the myriad small edges that braiding the leather had made-- dull as they may be, they'll sting.

For all that she was about to do this, there's still something that makes her keep her back turned to allow him the privacy to strip off his shirt alone.

"Brace on the couch with your arms out," she says as evenly as she's able. It's gentle, despite being instruction rather than suggestion. "If you don't tell me-- want me-- to stop, I need to know without question when you go down. If you're like that, I'll see it right away."

Sounds fair enough. Cade has gone a bright red by the time Nari turns around, and suddenly this is something entirely new, a ritual, not the same as kneeling on the floor with his shirt off and pummeling his own back. It's...
It brings to mind the abbey, how the other children, the ones who acted out, would get a switch to their legs; how this never happened to him, but he couldn't stop thinking about it when he saw it, wondering how it must feel. Being acted upon by someone other than oneself, someone with that power.
Save for one person, no one ever paid him that much attention. Feeling his thoughts going in a bad direction, he gives his head a little shake and carefully folds his shirt to lay it next to his old rope contraption, where they can both be recovered when this is over.
Then, shaking now and not quite sure why, he does as instructed and braces himself.

She waits, watching the edges of the fire lick out, the bright sparks that follow it sometimes to fade in the air, until the noise of cloth stops, and takes a slow breath. Turns back around.

Nari looks at him. For a moment, she sees him like sculpture: line and curve, the dancing dapple of the shadows over the pale delicacy of his skin, how the firelight turns his hair to burnished gold, and she wants to stand like this for far longer than she should. A small shake of her head and her eyes are searching across the marked plane of his back to make sure he'd not added anything new since the forest, is gratified to see nothing angry or livid. Yet. whispers a little voice, which she quashes. She wasn't here to hurt him-- or, at least, not like that.

How far had she stood? Here. Her feet, bare, make only the smallest pad of sound as she moves behind him. She'd been right about the height-- but then, she was good at that sort of estimation. Even so, she's not about to start in on him without checking. She lets the braids waterfall from her hand, lowering the whip to her side and rolling her wrist.

Another breath.

She tests in an arc, lightly, a bare brush; her eyes are trained hawkish, intent, to see where it falls between his shoulders. More right. She corrects, tests again backhanded. Better.

Last breath.

The third time, her arm's in it, and the strike lands angled across his shoulders with a thud that's both heavy impact and brighter dig of where the braids edges flare slightly.

Normally Cade hates when someone is near and he can't see them, especially when he's in any state of undress. But he's unusually focused at the moment, and every sound Nari makes behind him is amplified tenfold by the anticipation of what's to come. Footsteps, the swish of the implement that makes him flinch before it ever touches him; then it does, but it doesn't hurt, and he shivers at its contact.
It's... exhilarating in a way this could never be when he was doing it. Because he can't see it, because it's out of his control. And that's... strangely ideal.
A sharp intake of breath follows the impact-- he'd been lost in his head, and this brought him out of it.

Whatever nervous hesitance had still vibrated in Nahariel dropped away suddenly now that she'd actually struck him-- now it was craft, and she wore her worship of that gift in the graceful curving lines of the vallaslin she'd chosen all those years ago.

His quick breath, the unbidden tense of his shoulders, the way that even with that he held his place on his knees, still braced. If she'd somehow worried that this had been some long improbable game, that would have dropped away as well.

Free of all that, Nari stood a little straighter. She made her wrist loose, kept her gaze intent, swung again. Cyril had said not to cross the wounds, but she'd not made any, so she's free to alternate as she wishes.

If, for some reason, he ever looks like he's anticipating where her next blow falls then, well, she'll just change it.

The difference is striking, quite literally, between this and when he does it himself. The hits are that much harder on account of having the range of motion to make them, but that makes them all the more... satisfying?... despite the discomfort. Cade is a quiet person in every way, but even he can't stifle the occasional small gasp or whimper when Nari strikes true, and soon he finds his hands sweating and his grip on the couch slipping as a result. He readjusts, instinctively shrinking away from the beating even as he continues to let it happen, his back twisting subtly as his self-control dwindles.
It's a lot, but it's not too much. Not yet.

Nari can feel a burn slowly building in her shoulder, but she's not about to let that stop her, even if she has to compensate by twisting slightly to let her back help. He hadn't told her to stop, and despite the flinching he's still holding in place. That, and there's something about the intermittent sounds he can't stifle that makes her belly clench low and hard; makes her want to chase them.

Since she's let herself move, for this, beyond the hows and whys and shouldn'ts that make her bound to thought... she starts paying better attention to cause and effect, and does.

Perhaps he'll think more deeply about it later, but at the moment all Cade knows is the burn in his back and how it seems to encompass his entire being. This is what he's always wanted: to be able to go away, to just Not Be, even if it means suffering. Maybe the suffering is part of it.
Over time the small sounds graduate to the occasional feeble open-mouthed cry, an intake of breath that begins to suspiciously resemble a sob. His forehead is now pressed into one of his arms, both hands maintaining their death grip.

She'd not known what to expect, of course. It certainly wasn't this. Not how her focus had narrowed to be keen as the edge of a blade, rendering the rest of the room-- of everything-- unimportant. Not how the fierce oath she'd made to Mythal, that she would not add to the story patterned across her back, would dim and be overshadowed by this intense and frightening desire to make not just a mark but her mark on him. Make him remember for days when he sat back in a chair, leaned against a wall, lay down to sleep, that he'd been here. That it had been her that forced out those small unbidden cries. They were hers.

Her breath starting to come jagged as well, Nari realized she didn't know this self. Was coming to know it. Didn't know what to think about it. So she didn't. Instead, she watched and cherished how Cade's head bent to his arm with unconscious animal grace and readied herself to cease with the barest notice.

When he hits himself, Cade knows when to stop because he physically can't raise his arm anymore, the pain is so terrible. He's usually bleeding at that point, and he has to come back to himself in time to clean up and make sure to remove all traces of the activity.
The pain is terrible here, but he doesn't feel that telltale wetness of blood on his back; sweat, yes, but that's all over. At some point a threshold is crossed, and he's not thinking about it anymore, just knotting his hands-- fingers sore from gripping the cushion-- in his hair and sobbing quietly into the couch, the sound muffled by the fabric. It's probably been enough, but he doesn't know what that is, and hadn't predicted that he'd go away from it like this. She could flay him straight to the bone and, in his current state, Cade wouldn't notice.

It's not a bad place to be, all things considered. It feels right to be here, even if it hurts.

The weak repeated heave of his shoulders, the way he's stopped trying to avoid her blows at all, that he's finally left entirely the position she'd put him in and isn't moving back to it now; they collect like tallies in her mind and say 'stop', even if he hadn't. If she was wrong, she was wrong, and he could tell her later and she could make adjustments-- why are you planning for this again-- but now, she lets her angry shoulder drop, runs a hand that's shivering with exertion and adrenaline through her hair. The sweat from her forehead picked up by the gesture and run through it makes it hang in segments when it swings forward again.

Weary mind prompts her to properly lay the whip-- her hand is sore too, tense from keeping the grip-- over the arm of the couch before she moves to kneel beside the man she'd just beaten and touch the back of his neck. Not lightly this time. She lets her hand have a weight; be grounding.

Edited 2018-04-05 07:42 (UTC)

Broken though it may sound, Cade's sobs have opened something in him, something that needed to be re-broken so it could heal. He calms slightly when Nari's hand presses on his neck, but keeps whimpering into his arms, tempted to apologize for making a scene if he weren't so drained and so In It. It's a great upheaval of energy, his body purging itself of all the tension and awfulness he keeps inside, that he can't express in some normal civilized way.

Normally, when Sina'd come to her to weep-- her only frame of reference-- Nari would curl around her, her chest pressed to the younger woman's back. Given the state of things, the welts she'd just finished raising, that would most likely hurt more than help. The slight release of tension with the press of her hand makes her want to do more, though, so she stands to slide onto the couch beside where his head rests on his arms and reaches to gently hold the outside of his shoulders and pull towards her slightly, an invitation to rest on her lap instead.

Unlike the bitter crying of a young woman coming to terms with her mortality, Cade's is a font of relief. He's already starting to calm down a little when Nari sits by his head and pulls him toward her. It's a natural motion-- was this ever natural for him?-- to lay his head down where she guides it, something deep within him opening a new and filling him a feeling so raw and powerful that it's almost like grief.

His mother used to hold him this way, when he was upset, and he could hug her and cry and know that the world would go on. He had been so little then, and no one had been there for the intervening twenty-eight or so years. It has an automatic reassuring effect, as much as it also hurts.

It's darker now. The fire has burned low without tending, although it's not yet down to embers. The quality of the remaining light, the way the shadows have pulled around them; the space feels small and protected to Nari, entirely separate from the rest of it. The tower, the island, the town, none of it is there. The weight of his head, the way it had fallen into place against her as if it belonged there. This all, together, is why there is no hesitation when she lifts one hand from his shoulder to thread it carefully through the damp muss of his curls. Why she can let her gaze soften and unfocus, redirecting the attention to the gentle, gradual, repetitive work of putting it to rights; and then, simply, the continuance of the motion.

The episode continues to resolve itself into that pure, complete exhaustion that can only come from the total expulsion of all ills, but Cade maintains his position even after he feels he's mostly calm. The hand in his hair is so foreign yet familiar, a gesture of being wanted, cared for, safe; he didn't know until now that he'd stay here the rest of his life just to chase that feeling.
The stinging in his back is a reminder of what's happened, but between that and the tenderness Nari is providing now, Cade feels unusually at peace. He angles his head slightly, just enough to press his mouth against her leg, a grateful kiss no further thought out than a cat bumping its head against the hand of the person feeding it.

Thoughtless or not, the hand in his hair stills very briefly as she feels rather than sees the slight turn of his head, the small soft pressure that follows. Pulled from her reverie, Nari realizes with sudden clarity that the animal that had filled her chest for weeks with its pacing had quieted, leaving only the cool serenity of the moon on water, and her eyes brim with the relief of it. She could stay too, here this way. Would, if she could stop the heavens turning with only wanting.

Even though she'd not broken skin, his back still needs tending. The little pot of salve she'd tucked by the box is well within her reach, but the water isn't. Perhaps just a little while longer.

Finally, with a last pass of her hand across his head, a light squeeze of his shoulder with the other, and a quiet regretful sigh, Nari moves to slowly extricate herself and pad to the basin where she wets a cloth. She squeezes it between her hands to let the excess water fall, then return to kneel behind him to clean the sweat where it's dried on the still reddened plane of his upper back, mindful of the lines she'd raised.

The body wants to heal itself, and for that it needs sleep; Cade almost dozes off in the time it takes for Nari to decide to get up for the salve, but he lifts his head easily and follows her with his bleary gaze. It occurs to him to apologize, for-- what, being in the way?-- but when he tries, his voice is gone and he decides not to force it.
It's easy enough to vocalize when the wet cloth touches the raw skin on his back, however, and he hisses in a small jolt of surprise. He remains, though, doesn't try to avoid the touch, just makes the occasional quiet sound of discomfort when a dab presses just right.

He never treats himself afterward, but perhaps he owes it to her.

Nari makes quiet sympathetic noises when he hisses-- a world away from earlier when she'd stooped after his cries like a hawk at the hunt-- replaces the cloth with the smooth glide of her salve covered hand, wonders at his skin being nearly hot to the touch from the friction of the assault, the rush of blood that had risen to rebuild after. She wipes her hand on the cloth, folds it, and as she rises to return to the couch bends to brush her lips across the back of his neck as unconsciously as he'd turned into her.

(She notices afterward, but decides to file it with all the other things she had to think about later rather than think about it enough to blush now.)

This time when she sits she pulls her legs up to stretch its length, her back braced on the arm. Uncertain again and hoping that he'd not closed off since she'd broken the closeness they'd shared before she moved, Nari slowly extends an arm out in the universal gesture of there's a place for you here.

[open] peel the scars from off my back

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cw- self harm

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here we gooo~ [/mario]

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what even happened to my words in that last tag

I ate them <3

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