my body drifts from state to state

[propheretic]

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.]

Comments

Gardens

[storiesandknives]

[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?

gardens!!

[wiped]

[ 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. ]

lounge

[troops]

[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.]