dasharathi lavellan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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 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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
Good. I'm glad I can help you, too.
[He smiles at Thomas, weakly.]
I don't suppose I could get your name?
no subject
[ 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?