Just when I think I find the trick

[keenly]

WHO: Colin + you
WHAT: Recent events catch up to him. In the worst way.
WHEN: Present, early morning.
WHERE: The apothecary in the Gallows.
NOTES: Warning: PTSD. Like, a lot of it. No holds barred. Specific triggers will include claustrophobia, agoraphobia, sleeping panic attacks, emotional flashbacks, mostly battle- and Uldred-related but may include mentions of past sexual abuse because ultimately it isn't divided into little boxes. Since it's a public space, it's not closed to existing CR or anything, but strangers may find this a lot to take on.

Of all his dreams, none are worse than the ones where he is found.

He snaps awake in the morning, shaking, sheets cold and drenched in sweat. His eyes look up and shadows shape into shades, folds of cloth into demons.

Not again not again not again not again--

He can't do this here. Audra isn't in the room at the moment but she can be, she can come back at any time and he can't be seen, he can't be found again even by someone who never hurt him, can't can't can't can't cant.

Colin races down the hallway like a flash, barefoot and unkempt, the world overexposed around him. The only things he can really focus on are things he needs to run away from. The apothecary door slams open--the store is not open yet, it is too early, but despite being a technically public place it is unlikely to be populated and there is a closet that locks and he needs dark and quiet and private. The closet door hits the wall as he flings it open and slips inside, slamming it behind him and locking it before collapsing on the floor and wailing into his hands.

He hates it, hates how loud and impossible this is, hates that it seizes on him and possesses like a demon, hates that he isn't strong enough to lock it in his body and needs a closet to contain it. With the muffled cries, he strikes his face repeatedly with one hand, stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

But at least in this small, dark space, he is safe. He is hidden. He can't be reached by the shapes that warp around him in the light. But he is also trapped. The walls are too close, the darkness is closer, and if he opens the door, he leaves himself exposed. There is nowhere left to go. If that lock opens, he will die.

Comments

[keenly]

Colin hesitates. His expression wavers between smiling and staring in horror. Him, living in Hightown? Near the best markets? Away from this horrorscape of a Circle? In a nicer bed than he has ever seen? Surrounded by judgy nobles and their judgy looks and...

You know, he can live with judgy people. He might, might, have more in common with them than he thinks. He knows how to foil cutpurses. And this isn't Orlais, or even Ferelden. It's possible to rise above one's station here, though maybe not for a mage. But if it's possible for a common person to rise up to, say, Champion of Kirkwall, it must be possible for him to live peacefully in Hightown with a good friend, far from the Great Doors of the Gallows.

His gaze, which ticked away at the suggestion, goes back to her, and his face decides to smile.

"I'd really like that."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie doesn't make a habit of being worried she's overstepped, but the feeling visits her briefly as Colin looks away, his face going through a rapidly shifting spectrum of emotion in reaction to her invitation.

But he smiles, and she smiles, and he agrees, and she claps her hands together lightly.

"Très bien! I shall inform you with alacrity once the space becomes available and we," by which of course she means her household staff, "shall move you in directly."