faderift | [closed] you suck so passionately

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[closed] you suck so passionately

WHO: Beleth, Cade (Alistair later)((AND NERVA))
WHAT: THROW DOWN
WHEN: the last day or so in Emprise de Lion
WHERE: Sahrnia Camp
NOTES: There will be a thread for reactions if you'd like your character to be present/see it from the side, but please don't intervene!

Cade has been a bit off since the red lyrium incident. The initial bout of overt aggression passed a while ago, but he has remained sensitive to how much still hangs around the camps; this compounded with how little sleep he's getting, how cold it is here, and the general desolation of being in a place where so many of his former brethren have been fouled by evil, has put him in a black mood colored by the lingering paranoia and heightened aggression he's felt ever since coming in contact with the accursed stuff.

He is on-duty as a camp guard, having been held back from returning to the field as a result of what happened the last time. He has worn a ditch in the snow from his ceaseless pacing, and his bearing is twitchy, over-reactive, and suspicious.

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Antiva had been awful, perhaps because she hadn't gotten to actually enjoy it. Just, you know, infiltrated a Crow stronghold and killed everyone and nearly died in the process. But one thing she had gotten to enjoy was the warmth. Going from there to Emprise du Lion is the worst kind of change. She'd even given into wearing boots.

But the trip to Antiva had her return with more than just trouble adjusting to the cold. Her nerves were on edge, anxiety eating away at her. She was restless and tired all at the same time, and every time she closed her eyes, Crow corpses mobbed her, clawing at her skin and pulling her down, while the flesh golem laughed with all its mouths, taunting her.

She is, all in all, in a terrible mood, and when her eyes turn to Cade, she remembers how amusing it'd been to pick at him last time. He's looking even worse than last time. So she puts on her sweet, innocent elven maiden face, and wanders over to him, an expression of concern plastered on.

"Ser--? Ser, it's been some time, but...have you seen the healer, yet? Because, um. You're--you're still not, um. Well, you're still looking a little feverish."

That voice is in his ear yet again, and Cade turns to look at Beleth, his expression strained and tired and aggravated. "I'm fine," he insists, and turns back the way he had been. "Go away," he grumbles in addition, anxiously pushing one hand through his hair.

She should listen to him. He's clearly out of sorts himself, and while it's amusing to nettle, the wisest course of action would be to stop this now. Just walk away. But she doesn't. "You don't look fine," She replies, instead, stepping closer. In his personal space. Despite the smile on her lips, her eyes are intent, staring up at him. Watching his reactions.

"You look like you're about to keel over. Or, I don't know. Fall asleep on watch." She says, her voice innocent. Not that anything like that would ever happen.

Cade is quiet, and he's not the most socially apt, but he's not an idiot. He has patiently endured the mockery of those around him since he was a child, whether overt or subtle, and he knows when someone is having a go at him. Normally he is of a disposition to let it slide; the less he reacts, the less notice anyone will take of him, and the less exposed he'll be to any further torment. But right now, he's tired, half-witless from fatigue and nerves, and a small elf that he doesn't recall ever meeting before Emprise is stepping into his personal space.

"Leave me alone," he mutters darkly, lowering his head. There's an ominous glint in his eye as he stares down at her, his shoulders twitching and his jaw tensing, visible evidence of his fuse rapidly burning out.

Beleth is, however, socially apt. Whether or not she's an idiot is questionable, because if she were truly smart, she would have left a bit ago, and if she had any brains at all, she would at least leave when she saw that look in his eye. But she just felt spurred on. Empowered, maybe. She can poke and prod and make him dance by pressing the right buttons.

And she wanted to. She wanted to push him.

So she gets even closer, an unsettling look in her eyes as she smiles at him, titling her head. "Or what." And as if perhaps she were actually trying to push a physical button on Cade, she reaches out, giving him a short shove, right on the chest. "What're you going to do to me? Drop one of those red monsters on me?"

The small shove is all it takes. Quick as a snake, the back of Cade's gauntleted hand snaps across Beleth's face. Normally, under less dire emotional circumstances, he would leave it at that, but his long-smoldering fury is bubbling out faster than he can control it. As he steps toward the elf, who he presumably sent sprawling, his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. The other reaches to knot in Beleth's hair and slam her full-forced into the snow.

Later on, when Beleth reflected on this, she wouldn't be sure what she was expecting, really. Maybe she thought that he'd just shove her in the snow and yell. Or maybe she knew that Cade was cracked right down the middle and maybe she wanted to provoke him into this rage and maybe this was just her attempt to self-destruct while using a convenient and unwell man as a scapegoat. She will wonder if it's healthy that she has no answer for this.

But in that moment, metal violently colliding with flesh, all she can think about is that she really fucked up.

She is, surely enough, sent sprawling into the snow with a shriek of alarm. The fighting lessons Merrick had taught her flitter feebly about her head, but then her hair is forcibly grabbed in that metallic hand, and blind panic shoves everything else aside. Instinct carries through, though. And Beleth's instincts for this situation are, for better or worse, screaming and crying.

The screaming is muffled when she's slammed into the snow, but by no means abates, and anyone close enough can hear that panic that's taken hold. In the back of her mind, under that encompassing panic, there's the cold comfort that at least when she's dead, she'll look like a perfectly innocent victim.

It doesn't really help.

Edited 2016-02-18 07:48 (UTC)

There's something familiar about the screaming, enough so that when Alistair rounds the row of tents and wooden barricade in search of the source and sees a flash of red-brown hair, he knows who the source is—and that's good. Because the cause is Cade. And if it were a stranger or someone not-Beleth on the ground, Alistair might give him the benefit of the doubt long enough to cause hesitation.

He doesn't hesitate, now—swordless, shieldless, but he's still in his armor, at least, and a significantly bigger man than Cade, so slamming into him with one shoulder at a run before he can fully unsheathe his sword isn't the worst plan.

Cade has gotten his foot onto Beleth, pinning her down and unsheathing his sword, when Alistair slams into him. He stumbles back in surprise, but whirls on Alistair, his sword now brandished fully, his eyes wild and vacant, his arms trembling with tension. He doesn't even seem to recognize who he's looking at-- he stands in preparation for Alistair to rush him again, his position and the set of his mouth indicating that he will kill him if he tries.

With Cade's foot pressing her into the ground, she can still hear that familiar noise of a sword being unsheathed. When what it is registers with her, she suddenly stops screaming. Beleth goes silent and still--she's still crying, shaking in both pain and in tears, but she can manage to gather enough of herself to refuse to die like a shrieking fawn. She closes her eyes (which makes her feel better but is really unnecessary, as her face is currently being ground in the snow), and waits.

Then there's the deafening clang of metal slamming against metal, and Cade's weight is gone.

She has enough sense to open her eyes and turn to see Alistair and Cade facing off, but that's her limit. She knows that she ought to do something, and later on, she'll kick herself for not doing anything actually useful. Not being brave, being scared but doing the hard things anyway. But with inevitable death taken off the table, the fear and burning pain rise up to cloud any thoughts.

The option that she goes with, in the end, is curling up into a ball, hands over her head, and resuming sobbing. Her only pauses are to either hyperventilate and struggle to catch her breath, or to cough out the snow and dirt that had gotten lodged in her mouth when she'd decided to scream while having her head shoved into the ground. Sorry, Alistair.

It's okay, Beleth.

Or: not okay, but Alistair steps between her and Cade, hands up in front of him both defensively and to show he isn't armed, and he doesn't rush him. That has nothing to do with self-preservation, though. He thinks he could take the sword if he tried. After a decade of darkspawn the half-sapient wildness of Cade's gaze is familiar enough. But they used to be friends, sort of. He flattens one of his hands in the air. Hold.

"Cade," he says, which is as far as he's planned. After a beat he offers, hopefully, "Breathe?"

Cade is given pause, but his guard is still up. He continues to shake with fury, his eyes darting back and forth between Alistair and the crying Beleth. He still isn't quite coming down, but at least he's not advancing either.

"Cade." The word snaps through the frost bitten air as if shot from a bow, slamming through the scene far before the owner of the voice appears, stalking out towards him through the tents. She had only caught the tail end - heard the screams and immediately started over - finding Cade in a stand off with a Warden, and an elf on the ground.

Her eyes blaze.

"Stand down," She snaps again, stomping through the snow towards them - at an angle. "Now."

Oh, look, a sword.

With another Templar attached, but that's fine, whatever. Alistair's hands stay up, but his shoulders sag, and he takes a step back to put a little more distance between himself and Cade—enough that his boot nudges against Beleth's arm where she's sobbing in the snow. Maybe that's comforting, or something.

"It's all right," he says—to Cade, not to Beleth, and it's more of an aspirational statement than an assurance. He doesn't want Nerva to kill him.

Nerva's voice pierces right through the angry fog, and Cade's posture slackens as he turns to observe her approach in dumb surprise. He lowers his sword and takes a step back, casting a glance at the nervous Alistair and the prone Beleth, his brow knitting as though confused by their presence.

Alistair's nudge is enough to get her attention, at least. She starts at the contact, peeking up at the boot to ascertain if this one is going to be stomping all over her, too. Luckily, the only stomping seems to be from Nerva, her voice cutting through to even Beleth's mind. But Nerva is no ally, not like Alistair, and she can't puzzle out if she's here to help her, or lend her sword to Cade.

It's enough to pull her out of hysterics, though it can't stop the crying itself. Beleth curls up tighter, watching the other woman with fearful eyes. Alistair's boot is given a nudge back, maybe to comfort him, or let him know she hasn't permanently transformed into a banshee, or maybe to warn him that Nerva is a big meanie face.

"D-Don't let them kill me," is helpfully added in a hoarse whisper, because it's not like that has been what Alistair has been trying to do, or that he needed to be asked. If he could even hear her--she's not trying very hard to speak up. "Please. I-I'm sorry."

Lowering his sword was a good start, but it wasn't enough - and without any thought to whether or not he would try to stab her - (because he would regret it, if he did) - she stomps right up to him and grabs the wrist of his sword arm, wrestling the blade free.

"What are you doing?" She hissed at him, tossing the sword into the snow, but not letting go of his wrist.

Alistar echoes the question with his face: a puzzled, disappointed frown and brow furrow, looking Cade from head to toe in case he's—something. Possessed. That wouldn't actually be better. Finding nothing, and reasonably certain that Nerva isn't going to murder all three of them, he shakes his head a little as if to dislodge a thought and turns his back on both Templars to crouch facing Beleth.

"No one's killing anyone," he says, an elbow on his bent knee and his hand opened toward her in case she wants to get up out of the snow. He wouldn't particularly blame her if not.

Cade's first instinct, of course, is to fight Nerva, but for once his better judgment outweighs his instinct. He does resist lightly, but then his sword is gone and his wrist is gripped and she's staring him down like a bolt of lightning, and Cade finds he has no idea what to say. He looks once more back at Alistair and Beleth, and clarity dawns.
"I ... I didn't," he stammers, and tries to tug himself away from Nerva.

"He tr-tried." Her voice is a little louder now, resentful, but between the hoarseness and the pathetic little sniffles, it lacks any bite. She glances to Alistair, then at the two templars, and does not look particularly convinced of Alistair's reassurance. Neither is the hand accepted because she is, as a matter of fact, perfectly content to not get up. Maybe ever. Maybe she'll just live here in the snow from now on.

After a few shaky breaths, she pulls herself up a little. Enough to take Alistair's hand. Rather than get up, she tries to pull him closer to her so she can clutch onto him. It's not as much a hug as it is desperately clinging to a source of security. "I'm sorry," She repeats, then keeps repeating. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"He tried what," She hissed, having heard Beleth. But she wasn't speaking to her. Her eyes had not left Cade's, her grip on his wrist had not slackened. If anything, it was even stronger now.

"What are you trying, Cade? Because to me it looks like you were trying to attack our allies, and I seem to recall that was not something you were going to do."

Alistair accepts the pulling and clutching, falling from his crouch into a kneel to keep from tipping over in the process, and makes a few quiet, instinctive attempts as shushing Beleth while Cade and Nerva go on behind him. It's Nerva's tone that makes him twist around to look, pulling Beleth partially along. He doesn't want anybody to kill Cade, either.

"Something is wrong," he says. "He didn't look like himself."

Himself, the way Alistair remembers it, is over a decade younger in addition to not shaking with murderous rage at an unarmed elf. So he's not really qualified to comment. Just worried.

Cade has gone from fight mode to flight, and Nerva holding onto him is wracking up his nerves. "I'm sorry," he whimpers, unable to form a further explanation because he doesn't even know where to start. On some level he understands he's in the wrong, and therefore saying anything beyond an apology would be a waste of everyone's time.
"...I don't know, I'm sorry," he continues desperately, and he tugs again at Nerva's grip. He hasn't been held onto like this in recent memory, and it's unsettling. He has to get out of here, he's ruined everything. He resolves, in his panic, to leave the camp, to go where no one can find him or will ever have to see or talk to him again. He just... needs Nerva to let go first.

Holding onto Alistair, who is solid and safe and probably won't let anyone kill her, is enough to start Beleth on the path to slowly gathering herself. She adjusts as she's pulled with Alistair, sniffling and occasionally hiccuping, tears still spotting at her eyes. But at Nerva's words, she manages to murmur under her breath, voice resentful. "He didn't try to attack me."

But with blood trickling out of a nose that is now leaning a little to the left, more blood dripping from the miscellaneous little cuts across her face, and a large red spot on the side of her face that will grow up one day to become an ugly bruise, maybe she's justified.

But even so, it's...hard to feel angry at Cade. He looks like she feels, like a fennec gripped by a wolf. Wanting to run and run and keep running until safety is finally found. He even sounds like her, with the babbling apologies. Guilt was already bubbling in her mind, because guilt is a constant in Beleth's life, if something bad happens, it's probably her fault. And it whispers to her that sure enough, this entire mess is her fault. She provoked him. She baited him and he fell for it. She considers confessing this to the group, but Nerva is there, and she is sharp and angry and the idea of having that piercing glare turned to her makes her throat start to close again.

She doesn't want Alistair to be angry with her either, for that matter. But he just saved her and if anyone deserves to know, he does. "I made him mad." She whispers it to Alistair, keeping her eyes warily on Nerva and Cade. "It's my fault. He told me to go away and I didn't so he hit me." She pauses, then adds. "Don't tell her. She's already grabbed me once and she told me if I did it again she'll drag me to the dungeons." Any pity she felt for Cade was outweighed by just how damned scary Nerva was.

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[closed] you suck so passionately

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