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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Seemingly content to kneel there for a while, Cade only looks up when he notices Nari beckoning to him, and he looks at her all red-faced and puffy-eyed, uncertain. Lying down sounds wonderful right now, of course in a way that won't aggravate the newly-acquired welts, but lying down... beside someone? A small pang of anxiety sounds in an otherwise cleared field of emotion, and he finds himself looking a bit too long, deliberating too intently.
Irrationally, the question: what if he does it, and then can't leave?

Ah, there it was.

Cade was like a June's knot carved by life, and it had been an unforgiving artisan. When she was with him, she'd come up against one unmoving piece or another; layer after layer. Some would move with a simple careful push or pull, some were visible yet stuck somewhere deeper within the puzzle, but it wasn't possible to tell which it was unless she placed her fingers and tried.

For the space of a fire burning to its coals, she'd found a sort of pattern and followed it, piece after piece coming away easily in her hands, and she'd reveled in it. Now here again, the click of wood against itself.

He's still thinking, hasn't decided. She'll wait a little longer before she withdraws back to safety. She'll change sides and curl up her legs so he can rest without fear of touching her. Move to a chair, to the floor. Leave the folded blanket she'd ferried across for him and go back to her room to tuck a winter cloak around herself in its staid if that's what safety meant. After all, it was a fool that forced a knot and called it solved.

For now, the invitation remains.

Edited (tenses (and plurals) are for jerks ) 2018-04-08 14:42 (UTC)

Rising slightly on his knees, Cade takes the chance, but with the slow wariness of a wild animal entering a place where a human stands silent. He doesn't know what he's expecting; she's smaller than him, he could overpower her easily if necessary, and-- why is he thinking about that at all? Why does he see monsters everywhere, just waiting to pounce? This is why Beleth--

He stops and rests back down on his knees, squeezing his eyes closed with the onslaught of that memory, that total inescapable disaster. Perhaps he's not worried about being trapped, but of trapping her, hurting her. Growing up gave him that power.
Too drained to get fully emotional about it, Cade just folds his arms on the couch and lays his head on them defeatedly, paralyzed by the fear of having to explain any of these thoughts or act against them. He's so tired and still emotional, it's too much.

Oh, no. This is not whatever it was she’d hoped to provide. She’d seen his face before it disappeared into his arms, the mix of apprehension and conflict and weariness, and she lets her own head drop onto her outstretched arm with a wince, pulling her knees up.

"You're okay," she says quietly, looking at the faded pattern of the upholstery beneath her and picking at its threads a bit before rolling her head back up to watch him. "You don't have to, there's plenty of room." Or there was now that Nari had curled herself up. She'd been ready for this. Had known she was taking a chance, but each time she'd pulled her fingers through his hair she'd fed a scrap of tinder to that foolish little spark of whatever it was in her that wanted so badly to hold the people she cared for, and it always hurt a little more to close her fist around a larger flame.

It's a thing she does to herself.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs despite the reassurance, lifting his head wearily and watching Nari move. He hesitates before accepting the spot she's left for him, but looks ashamed while he does it, and he even adds another "sorry," as he moves into place and curls his legs in front of him.

Nari furrows her brow at the apology. He hadn't done anything. If anyone, she should be apologizing.

And so she asks; "Why?"

It takes Cade a moment to realize what she's asking. He looks at her over his shoulder, eyebrows knit in worry. He isn't sure. Because... he's... so awkward? And bad at everything, especially when it involves interacting with other people? Because he's Like This?

"...I'm..." he murmurs, searching, "...difficult." He's not wrong.

Having just been thinking of him as a particularly complex crafter's puzzle, his assertion actually makes the corner of Nari's mouth lift in a gentle half-smile.

"Perhaps," she replies slowly, "but that's not--" she pauses, frowns slightly in thought, turns it over in her mind. It's not as if she'd been separating the difficult bits to one side; deciding she wanted to keep only this look, or that small smile, or only the hours of his reading to her or those of their effortless silence and then saying somehow that all the rest was something that needed to be shuffled away and apologized for.

"What if... I don't think that what you are is something that needs to be forgiven?" she asks finally.

[open] peel the scars from off my back

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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