ataraxionlogs | my body drifts from state to state

Entry tags:

my body drifts from state to state

CHARACTERS: The Inquisitor; perhaps you
LOCATION: Gardens; one of the lounges
WARNINGS: blood n such
SUMMARY: delicate flower nerd adventures

lounge;

[Dasha stares into the bright blue swirl of the cocktail in front of him, squinting, drumming his fingers on the counter. The thing isn't going to attack him, he knows, but he keeps having flashbacks to certain nights in Skyhold's inn, nights that started with a challenge from Iron Bull or Sera or even, once, very innocently, Cole himself. This wine is sweet, he said. This wine will let you sleep, and you won't have nightmares.

That wine had also made his stomach churn and his throat seize up. Never mind the hellish concoctions Sera dared him to drink, most of which tasted like magma mixed with rotten eggs and left his stomach scorched to ashes.

Dasha picks up the glass. Like so many others, he's been having a rough time of it lately. Strange visions while he slept--more than nightmares, more like intrusions, images and feelings bled from a foreign subconscious--and aches and pains beyond reason. Beyond his usual aches and pains, even, which were no slouches to begin with.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, shuts his eyes, and drinks.

An unattractive sputter follows.]

gardens;

[If he just focuses, he can get past everything else. The situation on this ship, the politics he doesn't understand, the angry sting of his scars. The exhaustion. He digs his fingers into the soil, makes space enough for the last few seeds he brought from Thedas. He's already cultivated a couple of elfroot plants here, but he wanted to wait and see if they grew properly. The gardens are temperate and lovely, and seem able to accommodate a wide range of things, but he didn't want to take the chance. The saplings poke up now from the dirt, though, bright green, healthy, smelling faintly of mint.

Dasha tips the last seeds into the hole he's dug, then carefully packs the earth over them. His dark hands are bare and smeared with streaks of soil, but he pays it no mind. He likes the feeling of it, in fact, the density and the heat--however artificial.

An abrupt spike of pain shoots through his temples as he leans back, sharp enough that he gasps aloud. Something wet and warm trickles down the shell of his ear, and as he lifts a hand to his temple, he realizes that it's blood.]

Not this again.

[He mutters, his vision swimming. Ugh.]

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[Mira is in the gardens herself because this place at least has trees and ground and other things not totally foreign to Thedas. She sticks to the shadows for the most bit though. At least she does until she notices the other elf bleeding. Time to go ~~probably get sent on a fetch quest~~ investigate.]

Are you alright?

[He glances from Mira to his blood-and-soil stained fingers; frowns.]

I've been better.

Getting terrible headaches as well?

[She'll sit down next to him.]

Absolutely wretched.

[He shifts uncomfortably where he's seated, and turns away from her, inclining his head to one side. There are a few streams running through this place; not so many as one would expect, in a natural forest, but better than nothing. Difficult to focus with the blood pounding in and escaping out of his ears, though.]

I don't suppose you saw any water on your way in?

No. I can find you some though.

[He holds up his (filthy, trembling) hands.]

I'd be grateful.

[She nods. Getting up.]

Stay put then. I'll get you something for your ear as well.

[He obeys, not moving except to let his hands sink back into the soil. The heat and density is a comfort; it does nothing to assuage the actual pain, but it's a pleasant, competing sensation, nevertheless.

Blood trickles from the corners of his eyes, falling down his cheeks like teardrops. He sucks in a gasping breath.

He waits.]

[She'll come back after raiding the med bay for anything that looks well... like things that would help, as well as a glass of water.]

Here.

[She'll hand him the cloth for the blood first.]

[He wipes the blood and dirt carefully from his hands, but it's a slow process--he's trembling. When he takes the glass, he finds he can barely hold it.]

Th ... thank you.

[He clears his throat, looks--fuzzy-eyed--from the glass to her face.]

Are you--not experiencing this?

I haven't started bleeding....yet.

But I feel like something is trying to claw its way out of my head....so I'm not optimistic for my future.

[ the gardens are complicated. some days they're a reminder of the glade. some days they're just a welcome relief from the relentless press of the ship around them. thomas spends time there, walking when he's having a good time, sometimes sitting against the trees when he's having a bad one.

though this jump, it's all headaches and blood. there's stains of it down the front of thomas' shirt that he's given up on for the time being. and he's not the only one, apparently. ]

It'll stop.

[ thomas offers, awkward and a little hesitant. his legs are aching and he needs to sit down, but he still hovers at the edge of the plot, watching. ]

You should try not to get it on the plants, I think.

[ newt would know, but newt isn't really here to advise. ]

[Dasha looks up at the stranger, his eyes flicking from Thomas's face to the stains on his shirt. He purses his lips; lifts a blood-and-dirt smeared hand.]

Depends on the plant. Some of them like it.

[He makes a gesture--'come on, sit'.]

I'm more worried about the blood, in and of itself.

[He winces again.]

Well. More the horrific, pounding ache. The blood seems like an unsettling side effect.

Plants like blood?

[ thomas sounds extremely dubious. but he doesn't know much about plants, hadn't had time to learn about them in the glade. he takes the invitation anyway, coming to sit where directed, legs curling in. they're hurting him. he'd had have to sit down soon anyway. thomas is getting good at figuring out how much he can take before he has to have a break. ]

People are saying it's nothing to worry about. That it'll...go away, I guess.

[ if thomas sounds dubious, it's because he is. he doesn't doubt that this particular mess will stop, but he assumes something worse will probably follow. ]

More specifically, the soil likes it. It can burn, though. Bit risky if you don't know the seeds.

[His words are halting; he can feel more blood pooling in the shell of his ear. He groans, digs his fingers deep into the warm earth, as if that will somehow make a difference.]

... this is really becoming inconvenient.

[ it's more blood than thomas has seen since leaving the glade. he doesn't want to think about that now though, about alby, about chuck, about the bloodbath of their escape. he watches dasha's hands for a moment, then puts his own hand down in the dirt, almost touching, but not quite. ]

I don't know how to stop it.

[ apologetic, because thomas always seems to think that he should be the one to set everything right no matter what the situation. ]

But it helps if you--if there's touching. That's what people say.

[He's about to say, 'It's not your fault,' but he stops when Thomas goes on. Touching, huh. He looks from the boy to his own hands, which are at this point completely filthy.

The headache throbs so badly, though; it's nearly as painful as the Anchor was when he first woke up with it. Dasha grits his teeth. He mumbles, awkwardly.]

If that's the case, would you mind if I asked you for a firm handshake?

Yeah. [ it's still a little awkward, thomas feeling embarrassed even though he knows he doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about. ] Here. I don't mind the dirt.

[ or the blood, but that's too much to say. thomas reaches out to take the closest hand, wind their fingers together securely. this is what he can do for people, help out in this small way. he's not good for much else. not yet, anyway. ]

[The pain recedes, almost instantly. Its punishing fog fades, and his mind feels like the sky after a storm. Dasha exhales with deep gratitude.]

Oh, thank you. Thank you--

[And he stops, because he's unsure of this boy's name. Even if he'd said it previously, pain obliterates reason, destroys retention.]

It's okay.

[ to fill the silence, somewhat unaware of what dasha's thinking. thomas' social skills are a little iffy. unsurprisingly, a hoard of teenage boys didn't really band together to form a well mannered and polite social contract. ]

It'll probably keep me from bleeding everywhere too.

[Dasha feels more clear-eyed by the second. He exhales slowly.]

Good. I'm glad I can help you, too.

[He smiles at Thomas, weakly.]

I don't suppose I could get your name?

Thomas.

[ softer, squeezing dasha's hand instinctively. he still remembers the thrill of remembering that name, even if he knows by now it's not his own. ]

My name is Thomas.

[ it's almost to himself, but he looks up at dasha again, eyebrows raising. ]

Who are you?

[Cullen hesitates when he steps into the lounge and sees the Inquisitor there. It's not that he hasn't indulged in a drink or two before, or even that he's worried about seeming- what, like he's not devoted enough to his task? Everyone needs time off, Dasha himself has said that to Cullen once or twice in the past.

Plus, they haven't really spoken much since the expedition to free the scientists. Cullen spends so much time with SEC that he barely interacts with some of the others from home, and Dasha is regrettably one of those he hasn't talked with as much in light of his other duties.]

...I must admit, I expected to see Dorian here, not you.

[It's pleasant enough, and Cullen offers Dasha a thin smile as he approaches the bar.]

[Dasha smiles up at Cullen, just as he's lifting his cup to take another, cautious sip.]

I hope you're not too disappointed in me, Commander.

Of course not.

[He moves closer so he can rest an elbow on the bar.]

I'm here too, after all. May I sit with you?

Please.

[He makes a welcoming gesture with his hand, though it's cut short by a bit of a wince. These headaches are no joke.]

I was, uh, wondering how you've been feeling. Especially with everything ... everything, lately.

[He takes a big, unwise gulp of his drink, hoping the burn will obliterate the growing throb between his eyes. Violent coughing ensues.]

Everything?

[It's a gentle prodding, even as Dasha drinks and- well, that's a little too humorous to pass up without at least a small chuckle, and he moves to pat the elf on the back.]

-ah, careful. I should ask you how you've been, but I think the answer is obvious.

[He waves his hand (a little frantically, because his throat burns); shakes his head.]

With the corridors, and the corpses, and so on. Not that I'm a stranger to hallways full of mutilated bodies by now, but ...

[He taps his glass, not ready to take another sip.]

... I'm still not fond.

I'd be unsettled if you were.

[Cullen pours himself a small drink, easing onto the chair next to him.]

To tell the truth, the pauses in between these skirmishes are just as uneasy. There's something familiar about the battles, even if they are terrible things. I don't enjoy the fighting, but... the dread, the not knowing- I think that's worse, in some ways.

[It's perhaps a little too honest, but he's fighting a budding headache and Dasha is his unquestioned leader. If he didn't share these parts of himself, then he wouldn't be a very good soldier, now would he? It's about trust, more than anything.]

[Pauses between skirmishes ...]

So--what you're saying is, this kind of thing happens a lot, here.

[His head throbs, too. He braves another drink--small, careful. Not enough. Dasha rubs his temples.]

-ah, that's right. You haven't been here as long.

[Cullen takes a small sip of his drink, noting the signs of pain from the Inquisitor. It gives him pause, not sure if he should react or address it. There's been plenty of talk on the network about the others getting sick recently, and about what heals it. He doesn't know if it's in his place to offer, but he doesn't like seeing Dasha in pain, either.]

Not often, but it seems like every once in awhile... when I was new here, Dorian and Cole and I fought things that showed our deepest fears. It was an experience I'm not likely to forget.

[There's a pause and Cullen slowly moves his hands together to tug off his glove, letting it rest on the bar near his drink.]

Here. [It's gentle, giving Dasha plenty of time to refuse the contact, but he reaches his hand over just in case, intent on touching his fingers against the back of the Inquisitor's wrist.]

Creators, I can only imagine--

[He stops at the press of Cullen's fingers on his wrist. Like magic, the headache starts to ebb--slow, but definite. He's distracted on two counts: first, because Cullen's ordeal sounds horrific, and second, because these are the first pain-free moments he's experienced in days.

Well, as far as the headache goes, anyway.

He clears his throat.]

Well. That's interesting.

I heard some of the others talking about it.

[He shrugs, a little gruff, but doesn't pull away. In truth, the touch helps him a little as well- it takes away the sharpness of the headache, eases it back into the familiar lyrium throb. He hadn't expected it to be quite as effective, but he's pleased that it seems to be working for both of them.

Cullen doesn't pull his hand away, but doesn't make a move to shift the contact so it's more concrete, either.]

It's helpful?

[Dasha opens his palm so that he can more effectively lace his fingers through Cullen's. He feels greedy for touch now, solely because of its ameliorative effects. The pain that's been throbbing between his eyes has fallen away like a curtain, and he feels a rational process suddenly restored.]

It's more than helpful. It's -- magic.

Ah-

[He bristles a little when their fingers fall together, more because the movement was unexpected than out of any sort of discomfort. Cullen watches where their hands are intertwined for a moment before he drops his gaze, a little embarrassed.]

If it is, then it's coming from you.

[Dasha takes note of all that and immediately pulls back, wincing.]

Ah--sorry. I've just had this headache for days, and the relief was so sudden, and I--

[He clears his throat.]

Anyway. Thank you, Commander.

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my body drifts from state to state

Gardens

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gardens!!

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lounge

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