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ataraxionlogs2015-05-19 04:07 pm
propheretic) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-05-19 04:07 pm
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.]
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.]
no subject
I hope you're not too disappointed in me, Commander.
no subject
[He moves closer so he can rest an elbow on the bar.]
I'm here too, after all. May I sit with you?
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
It's more than helpful. It's -- magic.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.