Cade is all right, though less so than he'd like to be. All the same, he wanted punishment, and that's what he's getting, so he's not about to complain or regret a thing. His eyes are streaming openly now, his breath hitching with the effort it takes to not just break down and weep again, but he also feels strangely warm, not just along his back, but... more or less everywhere. Hazy, fuzzy, and blessedly devoid of the usual tension and worry, like a waking dream. He wants to chase it, even at the expense of further pain. "More," he feebly suggests.
Ah, there it is. Zevran wasn't certain if Cade knew such a reaction was possible- if that was why he chased the punishment or if he truly desired to be hurt for wrongs he has assumed to have done. He flicks the tails of the Cat back over his shoulder for a moment to consider the expanse of Cade's back, his breathing, how he yet holds himself against the wall. More is quite possible.
More is very doable.
"As you like." There is no need of a firmer hand, here. The current pattern has been working well- Zevran lays into Cade's back to deepen the welts, half a mind on the Cat, half on Cade and his reaction to each strike.
The brief pause gives Cade a moment to come back to himself, but then it begins again, that awful, wonderful warmth creeping into every aspect of his being. He's still flinching and making the small, distressed noises on impact, but they're more routine now, nothing that he's either trying to prevent or enhance. His eyes close and his breathing levels out into a rhythm matched to the strokes, his mind falling more easily into that place he nearly had a moment ago. He doesn't care about anything, and for someone who spends every waking moment caring too much about every tiny thing, it's quite a relief. He idly wonders if this is some form of magic, and then decides it doesn't matter.
Fifteen becomes twenty- twenty becomes twenty five as Zevran continues to work across the skin of Cade's back, watching his breath even out, watching him shift from here to that safe, floating space where nothing and no one may touch him. Until he is given sign that Cade cannot stand this any longer-
Cade gives no such signal, and as it continues, he barely reacts anymore. He does, so slowly it's barely noticeable, lean forward slightly-- his arms have grown tired from holding himself up, and he bends them enough that he can rest his forehead against the wall. The coolness of the stone against his overheated face, playing counterpoint to the fire on his back, evokes a gasp-- of surprise, not pain.
No skin is broken, no sign from Cade that this is no longer wanted as he was well and truly drifting- and Zevran comes slowly to the final four strokes of the cat.
Crossed over the mass of welts and red- Cade would be bruised for a week solid even with the potion. It is a beautiful thing to see. Satisfied with his work, with Cade's drifting Zevran flicks the cat back up over his shoulder, the handle hanging freely as he speaks. "Cade- you need to come sit before you fall over."
True to his word, even if he'd rather simply move him by hand, Zevran does not touch him.
Cade nods absently against the wall, taking his sweet time recognizing what he's been told to do. That part of him isn't turned off, however, so after several long moments he straightens up from the wall and dutifully makes his way back to the chair. He sits on his shirt as if it weren't there, cups his hands over his face, and sighs deeply into them, pushing them through the curls on the top of his head as he lets it drop.
Still floating happily, not so exhausted that giving him something afterward would end in choking. Excellent. Zevran sets the Cat aside and pulls his own chair close- not touching, but close enough that he is a presence in this floating space of Cade's, voice winding in low praise as he drifts. "You took that so well, I am proud of you for asking for more, for standing against it, for taking it beautifully-"
Nonsense, more or less, just a constant sound to help ground him as he drifts gradually back into his skin.
Cade takes a few more deep breaths, then looks up slowly, face still red and sweaty from the exertion. His eyes are red too, the dried tears making them dry and itchy. Nonetheless, he gives a small smile, as though Zevran's words are the only thing he's wanted to hear for his entire life.
As quickly as he acknowledges his happiness, the pain drifts back into his consciousness and registers appropriately as the flaying he just received. "...ow," he observes, as though this concept is entirely novel, pulling a face to match it.
"Ah, there you are. You've been floating for awhile." Quite nicely too. Without missing a beat Zevran offers a skin of water- all that sweat, all those tears? It'd be easy to become dehydrated if left alone. Cade seems well enough to hold the skin on his own. "You see why I said you should take something afterward? Forty lashes, Cade, I have never done that with someone on their first time with that Cat."
Pride and warmth curl in his voice- he is proud of Cade for standing up against that sting, for finding that safe, quiet place within himself and drifting. It's magnificent.
Cade thanks him quietly as he takes the water, and drinks it with more gusto than he would have initially thought necessary. When he lowers it again, he looks briefly into Zevran's eyes, his own expression back to is usual worry-- he's looking for deception, someone boosting him up to get them out of their hair. But he doesn't see any, and doesn't know how to respond to that.
"..really?" he asks, his voice quiet and skeptical.
"Most are drifting well enough by twenty or tap out around twenty five if they have not yet begun to float. To get there or at least the edges of it- to ask for more and mean it?" He shakes his head, pulling an apple from the bag at his side, cutting it in wedges with the flick of a knife he'd had on his person. The first wedge is offered to Cade without comment, but the implication he ought to take it is there.
Cade accepts the apple when offered, pensive while Zevran speaks. He winces as he draws his arm back, the smallest movement causing his back to protest most painfully. "Ahh," he whines, but turns it into the beginning of his next question. "the.. floating is..." He's trying to piece together what he experienced with what Zevran is telling him, and he pops the apple piece into his mouth as he considers. "...what is that?" He's never in his life felt anything like it.
It is one of the better apples he has managed to charm from the kitchen, fresh and sweet and crisp rather than mealy and soft. Zevran cuts himself a wedge to nibble upon while he considers a coherent answer. "It is different than merely enduring pain for pain's sake. Hang me up and torture me when I know I am helpless and they mean to break me? I go somewhere that I cannot be touched. But like this? When I know a word would have me free, when I trust in who holds the lash? I go somewhere else- I drift. Everything in the world falls away. Guilt, Pain, Fear. It all no longer holds me down, I float in my skin."
Cade is silent for a time, taking in what Zevran says and considering it for what may seem like an excessive stretch of silence. He's not used to speaking much; he's used to his commentary being entirely mental, unasked for and therefore unspoken. Finally, he appears to draw a conclusion-- or at least, he finds the thing that's been preventing him from reaching one. "But if you enjoy it..." he says measuredly, clearly struggling with this, "...how is it punishment?"
"For me it is not about punishment, when I am under the lash. It is about finding that space where there are no mistakes to be made, where all I must do is what I am told. I do it well enough when I am not drifting but there is this sense of blissful joy when I float and meet whatever challenge I am given." Another slice of apple offered to Cade, this with a kinder smile.
"People get different things out of this. For you, this was for being unattended when you were told to keep in line of sight of someone, yes? You broke a rule, you have been punished, the matter is shut. There is no question of what more you must do to appease me or your superiors. It is done." But- well. A thought occurs. "If for you it is to only ever be as such- that is well and good and I will be happy to continue to offer this to you. But if you wish to reach that floating place I think, perhaps, we might schedule sessions? Save the Cat for punishments and try something else for the rest. You seemed quite serene when you got there. I think you need that."
This is troubling. Cade purses his lips, but accepts the next slice of apple and chews it thoughtfully as he ruminates. But if he did enjoy it (though with his back screaming like it is now, it's hard to imagine why), does it count? Did he actually manage to mess up being punished? And in a way so... perverse, so closely tied to how the common people satisfy their base desires. He hunches down slightly, seeming to visibly deflate. Compared to the reality he was experiencing only five minutes ago, this one is cold and unforgiving. But it has to be. Because it... does. "I don't know," he says in a soft, faded voice, pressing his fingers over his mouth and unable to look at Zevran again.
"I can hear you tying yourself in knots." It is not near as attractive as Cade might think- if Cade ever spared a thought for such things. And considering he is a 'good chantry boy' made templar? He likely did not. "You took the lash, you will not break that rule again. Well. It will not be a rule any longer for constant supervision causes you distress, I think, but- the matter is shut. Break another rule and we will be here again with the wall and the Cat."
It is not so much a threat as it is a promise. "But if you wish for this to be about more than punishment, we can discuss it. There is little you can imagine, ask for, or consider that I would judge you for Cade. You need not make your mind up now. The only thing you must do before you dress and leave? Is take four sips of this."
This being the healing potion he'd pulled from his bag earlier.
It's true, being attractive is generally the least of Cade's concerns, though he does at least try to present himself well for the most part. He almost protests when Zevran continues, but bites his tongue; the emotions bubbling up inside him are the sort that make him say and do stupid things, and he has no room left for those. He does, however, crack a bit when Zevran implies he might want more out of it than punishment. "I don't," he snaps, but his demeanor is more desperate than angry. Perhaps it's better to call this off now, before it can get out of hand. Before he can be any further corrupted. He regrets thinking this as soon as Zevran offers him the potion-- Zevran, the person who has been helping him-- or has he? Maybe this is just some sick stunt. Maybe he was sent by the Dalish.
Cade accepts the flask, but only long enough to take one sip that might be the duration of two. Then he hands it back, quite forcefully, and gets to his feet with a hiss. Oh right, that. Hastily bailing out will be hindered a bit by the fact that putting his shirt back on will be slow murder.
"Cade." As warm and patient as his voice had been, as kind as he's made himself since Cade started drifting down? Zevran's voice is a sharp authoritarian crack. "Sit down."
There is no room for argument, no real shift in his posture- just his voice and the weight of his eyes, cold and hard against the scrambling man. He expected degrees of this to be true, but he did not expect it to be half so frantic.
Skittish. He'll need to remember that for the future. Skittish and anxious and self loathing- things he remembers well but what worked for him hadn't actually worked and are not things he'd visit upon Cade. Ever.
Even in his frazzled state, Cade can't resist a direct order, least of all one from someone who has at least temporary authority over him. He stops quickly, but is slower to sit back down, looking every bit as sick and weary as he did before they began. He drops his face into his hands, knotting his fingers in his hair, knowing he's ruined it. Whatever 'it' is, whether it's a thing he thought might work or... whatever comes after this. Ruined.
Were it anyone else knotting themselves up so tight, leaving themselves so tense and uncertain- Zevran would reach out and stroke their hair, hold a hand, do something to ground them. But he gave his word and Cade made so few requests that he will abide by them. There is no brush of skin, merely the hard bump of the flask against Cade's fingertips. "Four sips, you said. This or the salve. You have taken one."
That is all. No chiding for the panic, no condemnation for attempting to leave at all- merely for attempting to leave before the agreed upon amount of potion was taken. "Three more."
Too embarrassed-- and still too confused-- to look Zevran in the eye, Cade lifts his head just enough to gingerly take the flask, and takes three distinctive sips. Then, looking at the floor again, he holds it back out to Zevran.
Zevran waits silently until Cade has finished, taking back the flask with a murmur of approval, all the former warmth and pride slipping back into his voice easily. "Very good. I'll want to check your back tomorrow during our first debrief."
Because that? Is still a thing. And so too will be looking over the welts and bruises to see how they've settled.
Another downcast nod follows. Cade finds all he truly wants to do now is go to sleep and pretend none of this happened, but he remembers that there is a Tranquil waiting outside-- who has been waiting outside this entire time-- who will bring him back to his quarters. And probably know everything, and probably report it to Nerva or Alayre in their offputting, monotone way that is somehow still so incriminating. He sits there, head down, hands folded, and waits to be dismissed. He'll have to face it eventually, he always does.
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His eyes are streaming openly now, his breath hitching with the effort it takes to not just break down and weep again, but he also feels strangely warm, not just along his back, but... more or less everywhere. Hazy, fuzzy, and blessedly devoid of the usual tension and worry, like a waking dream. He wants to chase it, even at the expense of further pain.
"More," he feebly suggests.
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More is very doable.
"As you like." There is no need of a firmer hand, here. The current pattern has been working well- Zevran lays into Cade's back to deepen the welts, half a mind on the Cat, half on Cade and his reaction to each strike.
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He's still flinching and making the small, distressed noises on impact, but they're more routine now, nothing that he's either trying to prevent or enhance.
His eyes close and his breathing levels out into a rhythm matched to the strokes, his mind falling more easily into that place he nearly had a moment ago. He doesn't care about anything, and for someone who spends every waking moment caring too much about every tiny thing, it's quite a relief. He idly wonders if this is some form of magic, and then decides it doesn't matter.
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Or he breaks skin-
Or he hits the count of forty-
Zevran shall continue.
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The coolness of the stone against his overheated face, playing counterpoint to the fire on his back, evokes a gasp-- of surprise, not pain.
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Crossed over the mass of welts and red- Cade would be bruised for a week solid even with the potion. It is a beautiful thing to see. Satisfied with his work, with Cade's drifting Zevran flicks the cat back up over his shoulder, the handle hanging freely as he speaks. "Cade- you need to come sit before you fall over."
True to his word, even if he'd rather simply move him by hand, Zevran does not touch him.
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Nonsense, more or less, just a constant sound to help ground him as he drifts gradually back into his skin.
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As quickly as he acknowledges his happiness, the pain drifts back into his consciousness and registers appropriately as the flaying he just received. "...ow," he observes, as though this concept is entirely novel, pulling a face to match it.
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Pride and warmth curl in his voice- he is proud of Cade for standing up against that sting, for finding that safe, quiet place within himself and drifting. It's magnificent.
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"..really?" he asks, his voice quiet and skeptical.
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"So yes, really."
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"Ahh," he whines, but turns it into the beginning of his next question. "the.. floating is..." He's trying to piece together what he experienced with what Zevran is telling him, and he pops the apple piece into his mouth as he considers. "...what is that?" He's never in his life felt anything like it.
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Finally, he appears to draw a conclusion-- or at least, he finds the thing that's been preventing him from reaching one.
"But if you enjoy it..." he says measuredly, clearly struggling with this, "...how is it punishment?"
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"People get different things out of this. For you, this was for being unattended when you were told to keep in line of sight of someone, yes? You broke a rule, you have been punished, the matter is shut. There is no question of what more you must do to appease me or your superiors. It is done." But- well. A thought occurs. "If for you it is to only ever be as such- that is well and good and I will be happy to continue to offer this to you. But if you wish to reach that floating place I think, perhaps, we might schedule sessions? Save the Cat for punishments and try something else for the rest. You seemed quite serene when you got there. I think you need that."
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Cade purses his lips, but accepts the next slice of apple and chews it thoughtfully as he ruminates. But if he did enjoy it (though with his back screaming like it is now, it's hard to imagine why), does it count?
Did he actually manage to mess up being punished? And in a way so... perverse, so closely tied to how the common people satisfy their base desires.
He hunches down slightly, seeming to visibly deflate. Compared to the reality he was experiencing only five minutes ago, this one is cold and unforgiving. But it has to be. Because it... does.
"I don't know," he says in a soft, faded voice, pressing his fingers over his mouth and unable to look at Zevran again.
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It is not so much a threat as it is a promise. "But if you wish for this to be about more than punishment, we can discuss it. There is little you can imagine, ask for, or consider that I would judge you for Cade. You need not make your mind up now. The only thing you must do before you dress and leave? Is take four sips of this."
This being the healing potion he'd pulled from his bag earlier.
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He does, however, crack a bit when Zevran implies he might want more out of it than punishment. "I don't," he snaps, but his demeanor is more desperate than angry. Perhaps it's better to call this off now, before it can get out of hand. Before he can be any further corrupted.
He regrets thinking this as soon as Zevran offers him the potion-- Zevran, the person who has been helping him-- or has he? Maybe this is just some sick stunt. Maybe he was sent by the Dalish.
Cade accepts the flask, but only long enough to take one sip that might be the duration of two. Then he hands it back, quite forcefully, and gets to his feet with a hiss. Oh right, that. Hastily bailing out will be hindered a bit by the fact that putting his shirt back on will be slow murder.
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There is no room for argument, no real shift in his posture- just his voice and the weight of his eyes, cold and hard against the scrambling man. He expected degrees of this to be true, but he did not expect it to be half so frantic.
Skittish. He'll need to remember that for the future. Skittish and anxious and self loathing- things he remembers well but what worked for him hadn't actually worked and are not things he'd visit upon Cade. Ever.
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He stops quickly, but is slower to sit back down, looking every bit as sick and weary as he did before they began. He drops his face into his hands, knotting his fingers in his hair, knowing he's ruined it. Whatever 'it' is, whether it's a thing he thought might work or... whatever comes after this. Ruined.
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That is all. No chiding for the panic, no condemnation for attempting to leave at all- merely for attempting to leave before the agreed upon amount of potion was taken. "Three more."
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Because that? Is still a thing. And so too will be looking over the welts and bruises to see how they've settled.
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He sits there, head down, hands folded, and waits to be dismissed. He'll have to face it eventually, he always does.
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