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bakerstreet2015-02-10 08:35 pm
kinking) wrote in bakerstreet2015-02-10 08:35 pm
Purity & Impurity
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Edited 2015-02-11 06:20 (UTC)
Murphy MacManus// Boondock Saints 1 or 2// Male for female
hallelujah_jaffar
2015-02-11 06:18 am (UTC)(link)
[ ooc; definitely the impure one. ]
(OOC: Interested in something involving lyrium withdrawals, shared Kirkwall guilt, and a situation where friendship crosses a line into a night of bad ideas? If so, I'll gladly write up the starter. Just let me know if you prefer action or prose.)
[OOC hey, yes a very long time. How is things? Wanna do this?]
Her messages usually drove him insane. Always checking on him. Asking questions. There were times it made him sorry he had ever told her what he was doing with the lyrium, or not doing as the case was. However, he knew that was a childish part of him. It was important that someone who understood templars and knew of lyrium's effects on them knew what was going on and could monitor him.
How strange it was that he had come to trust an ex-Seeker almost more than anyone else currently in his life. They were supposed to be dangerous, their appearance in a Circle dreaded. Yet she had pulled him out of a fire. That he was in a worse one in many ways now didn't matter to him. It was a better situation. He would never again be forced blindly to follow or allow himself to be used in that way.
So often she had made the offer to him to come to her if it grew too difficult, became too much to bear. He had never taken her up on it except once, an angry confrontation that ended with him listening to her and holding to the course. Tonight put that day to shame. He found himself fleeing his tower room in nothing but hastily thrown on clothing and a pair of boots without socks. Ridiculous, maybe. The dream had been worse than most, as bad as from his early days out of Kinloch Hold.
There was no chance he'd go anywhere else but to where she roomed, simple quarters. He could only hope that maybe she was having a wakeful night, too, or the pounding on her door would be a rude awakening indeed. He hated the desperation of the thudding of his fist against the wood. It wasn't enough to stop him.
How strange it was that he had come to trust an ex-Seeker almost more than anyone else currently in his life. They were supposed to be dangerous, their appearance in a Circle dreaded. Yet she had pulled him out of a fire. That he was in a worse one in many ways now didn't matter to him. It was a better situation. He would never again be forced blindly to follow or allow himself to be used in that way.
So often she had made the offer to him to come to her if it grew too difficult, became too much to bear. He had never taken her up on it except once, an angry confrontation that ended with him listening to her and holding to the course. Tonight put that day to shame. He found himself fleeing his tower room in nothing but hastily thrown on clothing and a pair of boots without socks. Ridiculous, maybe. The dream had been worse than most, as bad as from his early days out of Kinloch Hold.
There was no chance he'd go anywhere else but to where she roomed, simple quarters. He could only hope that maybe she was having a wakeful night, too, or the pounding on her door would be a rude awakening indeed. He hated the desperation of the thudding of his fist against the wood. It wasn't enough to stop him.
Cassandra often has sleepless nights after having retrieved the Seekers Tomb. That was the simple way of things now, pouring over the pages laid in front of her and attempting-- trying to decipher the oldest script and with that task done, attempting to process what happened in the Seeker order, the secrets they kept from Thedas. So Cullen is in luck when he comes to her door, knocking with an intensity that has Cassandra immediately abandoning the tomb in front of her and going to the door of her quarters.
She has removed much of her armour as well, planning on cleaning much of the metal and leathers before trying to close her eyes for at least a few minutes. Seems that plan has been disturbed but in all honesty, it was a doomed plan.
Opening the door to reveal Cullen in such disarray leaves Cassandra to arch a brow while a scowl crosses her features. There's only a handful of reasons for Cullen to come rushing to her door this late and given his own lack of armaments those reasons are cut down to a sliver of possibilities. She could hassle him at her door as to why he has disturbed her so late, but Cassandra gets the feeling that perhaps this is a conversation to be made in private. Stepping aside, she nods for him to enter.
"Commander."
She has removed much of her armour as well, planning on cleaning much of the metal and leathers before trying to close her eyes for at least a few minutes. Seems that plan has been disturbed but in all honesty, it was a doomed plan.
Opening the door to reveal Cullen in such disarray leaves Cassandra to arch a brow while a scowl crosses her features. There's only a handful of reasons for Cullen to come rushing to her door this late and given his own lack of armaments those reasons are cut down to a sliver of possibilities. She could hassle him at her door as to why he has disturbed her so late, but Cassandra gets the feeling that perhaps this is a conversation to be made in private. Stepping aside, she nods for him to enter.
"Commander."
"Thank you." He crosses the threshold. Just the sight of her scowling at him oddly enough has something of a calming effect. It's familiar. He desperately needs familiar right now. Something present and absorbing, not steeped in past shadows and past failures. Already the nightmare images are losing their hold and receding to the deeper recesses of his psyche.
He turns to face her, feeling foolish and more than a little selfish for being here. Just because she's awake at the moment doesn't mean she intended to be for much longer. He opens his mouth and shuts it again. How to even start?
"You told me to come to you if... When. Things were too bad." He draws in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. His hand comes up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.
"I was over halfway dressed before I realized I wasn't at the Tower. It never lasts that long. It's usually just flashes. And before that it was the statue dream again." Meredith with red accusation and rage and he unable to do a thing but listen and burn.
"I'm sorry. I needed something more solid than candle light. If you need me to leave, say so."
He turns to face her, feeling foolish and more than a little selfish for being here. Just because she's awake at the moment doesn't mean she intended to be for much longer. He opens his mouth and shuts it again. How to even start?
"You told me to come to you if... When. Things were too bad." He draws in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. His hand comes up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.
"I was over halfway dressed before I realized I wasn't at the Tower. It never lasts that long. It's usually just flashes. And before that it was the statue dream again." Meredith with red accusation and rage and he unable to do a thing but listen and burn.
"I'm sorry. I needed something more solid than candle light. If you need me to leave, say so."
"You are welcome to stay." Cassandra's voice is clipped but it is not unkind. She closes the door after he rushed in and stood to face him of course, watching how his shoulders stiffen as if carrying a great burden. She supposes he is. Cassandra understands the need to find something solid, something entirely real. She had never thought about her initiation into the Seekers, but reading this Book of Secrets... her own past has been dredged up with their own alarming flashbacks as well.
Cullen's dreams often take the same repetition. Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall, Kinloch Hold, red lyrium, red lyrium, red lyrium. Red lyrium is one of the few topics Cassandra actually agrees with Varric-- it's 'bad news' and for Cullen to have been exposed to Meredith, exposed to that blighted idol for so long... Cassandra simply nods to one of the chairs at her table, approaching the surface quickly as well, closing the tomb still laid there before Cullen could be distracted by it.
"So tell me what you need from me, Cullen. You have my attention."
Cullen's dreams often take the same repetition. Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall, Kinloch Hold, red lyrium, red lyrium, red lyrium. Red lyrium is one of the few topics Cassandra actually agrees with Varric-- it's 'bad news' and for Cullen to have been exposed to Meredith, exposed to that blighted idol for so long... Cassandra simply nods to one of the chairs at her table, approaching the surface quickly as well, closing the tomb still laid there before Cullen could be distracted by it.
"So tell me what you need from me, Cullen. You have my attention."
Edited (1am tagging yas) 2015-02-11 09:18 (UTC)
It's a relief not to be turned away. He had no expectations one way or the other, either to be allowed to stay or forced to leave. He had hoped for the former, of course, and now that he's here and apparently staying, he can release one small worry. His shoulders sag slightly. He's so exhausted, but that's nothing new.
He's slower to approach the table and doesn't sit right away. He's too keyed up for that as of yet. He rests his hands on it. It's almost strange to touch anything bare handed. His habit of wearing gloves comes from all his years of gauntlets. Being bare anywhere except from the neck up feels almost intolerably vulnerable.
So does confiding. He shoots her an apologetic glance. He's not being intentionally difficult when his answers are slow. Words have never been his purview. He's a man of action and instinct. Thought as well, but not so much expression unless it involves rallying troops to action.
"Company. I don't care if we talk or not. If you have things to do or not. Do them and pretend I'm not here if you must. I had to leave my room and my office. It was..." His brow furrows. It's difficult to explain at the best of times, even when he's not so soon on the heels of a flashback.
"When the dreams are that strong, I... If I stay in the place it happens, I can lose myself again, and I don't dare to linger on the ramparts then." Once in the Gallows he had flung himself entirely unintentionally down a flight of stone stairs from seeing things that weren't there and believing himself to be somewhere else. In Skyhold such a slip could mean a fall of over a hundred feet depending on where it happened.
"Having someone around makes it less likely."
He's slower to approach the table and doesn't sit right away. He's too keyed up for that as of yet. He rests his hands on it. It's almost strange to touch anything bare handed. His habit of wearing gloves comes from all his years of gauntlets. Being bare anywhere except from the neck up feels almost intolerably vulnerable.
So does confiding. He shoots her an apologetic glance. He's not being intentionally difficult when his answers are slow. Words have never been his purview. He's a man of action and instinct. Thought as well, but not so much expression unless it involves rallying troops to action.
"Company. I don't care if we talk or not. If you have things to do or not. Do them and pretend I'm not here if you must. I had to leave my room and my office. It was..." His brow furrows. It's difficult to explain at the best of times, even when he's not so soon on the heels of a flashback.
"When the dreams are that strong, I... If I stay in the place it happens, I can lose myself again, and I don't dare to linger on the ramparts then." Once in the Gallows he had flung himself entirely unintentionally down a flight of stone stairs from seeing things that weren't there and believing himself to be somewhere else. In Skyhold such a slip could mean a fall of over a hundred feet depending on where it happened.
"Having someone around makes it less likely."
Cassandra sits even if Cullen will not, a single hand laid upon her treasure and another reaching out to touch Cullen's, the tips of her fingers touching the side of his thumbs. She's much like he is, unversed in these soft displays and opening up when it is so easier to be brash, to fight until things are right. Cullen's set of obstacle require more finesse and that is something they both, occasionally, lack. "I will not ignore you like you are some sullen sulking child who has done something wrong." Of that Cassandra is sure. He came to her in private for some sort of companionship. She won't pretend like he hadn't.
"If you would tell me, I would like to hear about your dreams." They're curious to her. After being turned tranquil during her initiation, Cassandra had lost the ability to dream. Being touched by the Spirit of Faith did little to reverse the effects and while it renders her immune to possession, it is a loss nonetheless. A price she was willing to pay. If Cullen rebukes her question Cassandra wouldn't push, but to understand him and what he is going through, Cassandra feels she must know.
"If you would tell me, I would like to hear about your dreams." They're curious to her. After being turned tranquil during her initiation, Cassandra had lost the ability to dream. Being touched by the Spirit of Faith did little to reverse the effects and while it renders her immune to possession, it is a loss nonetheless. A price she was willing to pay. If Cullen rebukes her question Cassandra wouldn't push, but to understand him and what he is going through, Cassandra feels she must know.
(Technically, he is a demon, but he's also definitely pure.)
(She won't think of herself as impure, but whatever. Gen's totally welcome, otherwise she leans f/m. Maybe f/f with the right history?)
(He's about as impure as it gets.)
That he doesn't pull his hand away says much of his state of mind. He appreciates the gesture. He has come to understand that Cassandra is capable of great warmth and understanding. Her expression of it is subtle and usually underneath a prickly demeanor but no less genuine for her brusqueness. "Thank you." He'd have tolerated being ignored if he was inconveniencing her. Asking for things like this isn't something he's used to at all. In Kirkwall, it would have gotten him eaten alive.
He's quiet beyond her request. It takes time to gather those thoughts. What to say and how. So much of those dreams consist of impressions and feelings, physical sensations that are difficult to translate to anything rational or with narrative form. "The Tower one..." he begins hesitantly, "always starts with a noise." Just as his experience of the incident there. The distant sound of something slamming against a door, followed by shouts and then screams. Maker, the screams...
He draws up and away from the table to pace. "A door slamming, or something hitting it. It...it's nearly a blow by blow of what happened, except it's jerkier?" He hopes that makes sense. "It skips. I'm always running. First trying to hunt things down." He swallows, his mouth dry. "Then trying to escape. Of course I don't."
That's when the smell comes into the dream, so foul there have been times he has awakened sick from it. His gaze flicks to the side. He can't talk about that. "I usually awaken from the pain of a headache. Intense pressure. I sometimes wonder if the demons that tormented me aren't just still doing it in the Fade when I dream."
He runs a hand down his face. "I don't like to go back to sleep. I have to these days if I plan to function. So it will either be more of the same or Meredith instead. Tonight it was Meredith." Lyrium had kept her relatively quiet in his psyche. She had awakened with a vengeance when he stopped his dosage.
He's quiet beyond her request. It takes time to gather those thoughts. What to say and how. So much of those dreams consist of impressions and feelings, physical sensations that are difficult to translate to anything rational or with narrative form. "The Tower one..." he begins hesitantly, "always starts with a noise." Just as his experience of the incident there. The distant sound of something slamming against a door, followed by shouts and then screams. Maker, the screams...
He draws up and away from the table to pace. "A door slamming, or something hitting it. It...it's nearly a blow by blow of what happened, except it's jerkier?" He hopes that makes sense. "It skips. I'm always running. First trying to hunt things down." He swallows, his mouth dry. "Then trying to escape. Of course I don't."
That's when the smell comes into the dream, so foul there have been times he has awakened sick from it. His gaze flicks to the side. He can't talk about that. "I usually awaken from the pain of a headache. Intense pressure. I sometimes wonder if the demons that tormented me aren't just still doing it in the Fade when I dream."
He runs a hand down his face. "I don't like to go back to sleep. I have to these days if I plan to function. So it will either be more of the same or Meredith instead. Tonight it was Meredith." Lyrium had kept her relatively quiet in his psyche. She had awakened with a vengeance when he stopped his dosage.
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