Cade looks surprised. Not at Zevran's confession-- it's true, he'd figured that out-- but at the assertion that he's well. He supposes he never saw or felt the transition, but in a way, he can understand where it's coming from. Or at least, he would if he didn't feel so hideously behind and below everyone else. But that's not something one solves overnight. "Well I--..." he begins, and halts as usual, clearly unsure of how to proceed. His face reddens despite how well he composes himself otherwise, and he takes on a vaguely frustrated expression, the sort that appears only when he's fully aware of how impossibly awkward he's being. "...I'm not sure it's. Not." He chews the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to bolt. "I don't know. Never mind."
"Oh?" Unlike before when it'd been idle- droll, almost bored? Zevran actually leans forward. He may not care, but Alistair does. Cade is making strides, small ones. But even small steps can be significant. "Take a sip of your tea, Cade."
It's not the voice in which he gives orders, but it is a suggestion. "I do not judge. You know this. I have to care to judge."
There's something...liberating in admitting that. "Why do you think you might need another round with the lash after all this time?"
Without hesitation, Cade does so. He's still blushing, and his eyes rove nervously over the tavern and its other occupants, approximately zero of whom are paying any attention to them whatsoever. He sets his cup down again and rests both hands on the table, lacing and unlacing his fingers over and over as he muddles through his thought process. "I just..." he says, in a total whisper this time, keeping his eyes averted, "...it feels... I've never gone so long before. Without." He purses his lips and glances anxiously up at Zevran, perhaps looking for judgment in spite of the man's assertion. "And sometimes, um." He looks away again. "I just. ...felt better. After." Maker's breath, Harimann, get more pathetic, it's still possible.
"More settled in your skin. Going without is like an itch, yes?" Ants under the surface, prickling. "Or like...an anxious tension. Something that is relieved after a session."
True to his word- there is no judgement. A little consideration as some juggling would need to be done to find the space and means that satisfied them both- Cade would need to be more forthright with what he required, Zevran more accommodating. More careful. "I understand. Were I not forced to break myself of that particular habit- in a way I will not repeat on anyone- I'd feel much the same on a regular basis. Even then- there are times when...I have that need. It is nothing to be ashamed of."
It didn't seem possible, but Zevran hits the nail on the head. Cade actually seems a little shocked by it, but nods silently; it's easy to forget what he and Zevran have in common, when they're so different otherwise. The lack of fuss, Zevran's directness, and the promised lack of judgment emboldens Cade somewhat. Not to be overt about anything, heavens no, but at least to be able to nod in agreement with a modicum of confidence. It's strange, after all these years, to hear it put so concisely, so inoffensively, into words. Least of all the last person in Thedas he ever thought he'd be talking to about something so personal.
"So long as you are handling it safely and without actually harming yourself- that is why I stepped in at first- there is nothing wrong. Finding someone that can help without doing lasting harm or any harm at all? Is difficult." Tricky in so many ways- another reason he stepped in. He understood. Perhaps he ought to care more- perhaps he ought to be more considerate-
But it is not normally his way. But- Cade is important to Alistair. He will...attempt these tings. "Would you like to arrange something?"
Once again, Cade nods in agreement and relief of Zevran's understanding. Even if he doesn't care. It's not like that's unusual, for the people in Cade's life. At Zevran's prompt, Cade purses his lips for a moment, then reaches into his jacket to withdraw a small piece of parchment. On it is a veritable laundry list of things he can't get off his mind: from stealing the wine bottle on the night of his breakdown to the disaster that was talking to Beleth to feeling resentful of his superiors. Without expounding on it, he rests his chin on his hand with a sigh. Yeah, a little bit.
"...I must applaud you for being so organized." Zevran peers at the list, reading item after item in neat script. "Do you wish me to prescribe a certain number of lashes for each offense?"
He refolds the paper and tucks it into his pocket, the gentle curve of his smile proving that no, he is not mocking him- if that is what Cade needs? He will do so. An offer made in all due seriousness. "I will have to find someone to mind my son- would sooner be better than later?"
After a moment's hesitation, Cade nods, chin still on his hand. Then, at Zevran's second question, he colors slightly before shifting his head so that his hand now covers his mouth as well. He nods again.
"Consider it done. Lucci will be fine where he is for the hour but- if the need is more immediate- I can ask Mia to mind him for a while longer." Long enough for them to do what needs to be done and ease Cade's mind. "If not I am certain I will be able to make time for you within the next day or so."
Another day or so passes, and while on the one hand Cade is actually relieved to be getting back into the ...swing of things, as it were, he also finds that the customary nervousness is beginning to build. It's an ordeal, after all. It might be one he signed up for, but it still takes a lot of his courage, and the anticipation isn't that much fun. But it's worth it, he reminds himself. He just has to... keep remembering that.
As he enters the tower, he looks nice again, though not nice enough that anyone might suspect anything by seeing him cross the grounds. It's more important than ever to him that he make a good impression on Zevran, seeing as how badly he botched it up the last time.
It's more comfortable this time around. Cushioned chairs, brazier in the corner to keep the space warm. A jug of water, apples waiting for afterward since that has become a thing. The tools laid out for Cade to see while Zevran himself is dressed simply. No vest, no cloak, no leathers. A simple cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no visible weapons upon him (Though Cade knows better than to assume he's ever unarmed, the appearance of harmlessness is vital). "Cade-"
And he even smiles. It's- somewhat sincere, in fact. He looks well. Seems to be doing well, asking for what he wants with a fifth of the mortification he'd done so in the past. "How are you feeling today?"
Oh, there's still plenty of mortification, but at the very least Cade has become more comfortable with the ritual of it. Although it's been a while since the last time, so he's inclined toward some initial awkwardness, which Zevran manages to mitigate by smiling.
Cade smiles sheepishly back, his face reddening-- he doesn't know why Zevran is surprised, but he clearly did something right. Or wrong? "Um... I'm all right," he says mildly, "how are you?" Even while Zevran answers, Cade's eyes wander towards the table, which he regards with silent trepidation.
"Quite well. Lucci has finished teething and now sleeps through the night so long as Doghren does not need to be let out." Which means Zevran is getting enough sleep again and everyone that shares his bed (for sleeping) is much happier for it.
The cat o nine, the flogger, the same wide strapped monstrosity that led to the breakdown before just in case Cade wants to revisit that (Zevran doesn't), a riding crop, etc. There's even a slotted spoon for revisiting the abbey days. "I've been thinking- and you are welcome to comment one way or the other- that since it has been some time we start easy."
Despite his nervousness, Cade already has an idea of how he wants the session to go-- but, of course, he cedes control to Zevran for a reason. Still, it's worth asking. "Um... how so?" he murmurs. 'Easy' isn't generally a level he's interested in when it comes to purging guilt.
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Or at least, he would if he didn't feel so hideously behind and below everyone else. But that's not something one solves overnight.
"Well I--..." he begins, and halts as usual, clearly unsure of how to proceed. His face reddens despite how well he composes himself otherwise, and he takes on a vaguely frustrated expression, the sort that appears only when he's fully aware of how impossibly awkward he's being.
"...I'm not sure it's. Not." He chews the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to bolt. "I don't know. Never mind."
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It's not the voice in which he gives orders, but it is a suggestion. "I do not judge. You know this. I have to care to judge."
There's something...liberating in admitting that. "Why do you think you might need another round with the lash after all this time?"
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He sets his cup down again and rests both hands on the table, lacing and unlacing his fingers over and over as he muddles through his thought process.
"I just..." he says, in a total whisper this time, keeping his eyes averted, "...it feels... I've never gone so long before. Without." He purses his lips and glances anxiously up at Zevran, perhaps looking for judgment in spite of the man's assertion.
"And sometimes, um." He looks away again. "I just. ...felt better. After." Maker's breath, Harimann, get more pathetic, it's still possible.
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True to his word- there is no judgement. A little consideration as some juggling would need to be done to find the space and means that satisfied them both- Cade would need to be more forthright with what he required, Zevran more accommodating. More careful. "I understand. Were I not forced to break myself of that particular habit- in a way I will not repeat on anyone- I'd feel much the same on a regular basis. Even then- there are times when...I have that need. It is nothing to be ashamed of."
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The lack of fuss, Zevran's directness, and the promised lack of judgment emboldens Cade somewhat. Not to be overt about anything, heavens no, but at least to be able to nod in agreement with a modicum of confidence.
It's strange, after all these years, to hear it put so concisely, so inoffensively, into words. Least of all the last person in Thedas he ever thought he'd be talking to about something so personal.
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But it is not normally his way. But- Cade is important to Alistair. He will...attempt these tings. "Would you like to arrange something?"
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At Zevran's prompt, Cade purses his lips for a moment, then reaches into his jacket to withdraw a small piece of parchment. On it is a veritable laundry list of things he can't get off his mind: from stealing the wine bottle on the night of his breakdown to the disaster that was talking to Beleth to feeling resentful of his superiors.
Without expounding on it, he rests his chin on his hand with a sigh. Yeah, a little bit.
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He refolds the paper and tucks it into his pocket, the gentle curve of his smile proving that no, he is not mocking him- if that is what Cade needs? He will do so. An offer made in all due seriousness. "I will have to find someone to mind my son- would sooner be better than later?"
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As he enters the tower, he looks nice again, though not nice enough that anyone might suspect anything by seeing him cross the grounds. It's more important than ever to him that he make a good impression on Zevran, seeing as how badly he botched it up the last time.
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And he even smiles. It's- somewhat sincere, in fact. He looks well. Seems to be doing well, asking for what he wants with a fifth of the mortification he'd done so in the past. "How are you feeling today?"
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Cade smiles sheepishly back, his face reddening-- he doesn't know why Zevran is surprised, but he clearly did something right. Or wrong?
"Um... I'm all right," he says mildly, "how are you?"
Even while Zevran answers, Cade's eyes wander towards the table, which he regards with silent trepidation.
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The cat o nine, the flogger, the same wide strapped monstrosity that led to the breakdown before just in case Cade wants to revisit that (Zevran doesn't), a riding crop, etc. There's even a slotted spoon for revisiting the abbey days. "I've been thinking- and you are welcome to comment one way or the other- that since it has been some time we start easy."
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"Um... how so?" he murmurs. 'Easy' isn't generally a level he's interested in when it comes to purging guilt.