Open RP Post

[ombranera]

I am good for: OUs AUs Gen Smut WHATEVER GIMME

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[onlyhymns]

It takes Cade a little while to come down from his panic. Perhaps it's just being allowed to sit there, untouched but with someone nearby, even if that someone was just threatening him a moment ago. But eventually, he does wind down, from exhaustion if nothing else, and he slowly, abashedly lifts his head to look at Zevran. He glances away immediately, of course; there's no such thing as eye contact in these moments, rare enough as it is from him in the first place.
As the reality of what's happening sinks in, Cade's frantic terror begins to give way to his standard, much calmer and more manageable self-loathing, brought on now by the fact that he just sat on the floor and cried like a child while someone tried to ask him questions. The shame never ends.

He diverts his gaze to the floor, hoping resignedly that Zevran will give up and go away. Or kill him, that would be fine too.

[ombranera]

"...Are you going to talk or are you going to sulk? Because I literally have all night." Zevran has never been a bastion of patience- but this? This is important. And interesting. And...he gets the feeling that no one has ever sat and made the man address this- whatever it is- before. No one ever tried to address it with Zevran but he'd had crying jags and fear and most of his self loathing beaten out of him.

Cade is no Crow, but there are...signs.

Concerning ones.

"Do you often lose time?"

[onlyhymns]

The initial question pushes him down deeper, the typical unkindness he's come to expect only confirming what he already knows. Although at times crying makes a person feel better, at the moment Cade was only feeling a terrible dullness, the wound reaching too deeply to ever find relief, even after it was purged of some of its surface malignance.

Slowly, exhaustedly, he nods to Zevran. Another question he has been asked many times. "When I fight," he rasps, his voice hoarse from the strain, "...but I don't fight anymore." So, problem solved, everyone can go home.

[ombranera]

"And how old were you when they touched you?" Vague language for a vicious problem- he doesn't expect much of an answer and offers his own instead, voice careful- not light, not easy for this is not a thing that is easily recalled or said. But. It is said with care. "I was eight. In a room much like this, though the walls were clay rather than stone, hot from the sun."

Little details that are impossible to forget.

[onlyhymns]

Cade gives a start. He's jarred right out of his slow descent, and shoots a nervous look at Zevran, as if he's not sure he heard him right. But then the elf keeps talking, and Cade feels the panic welling up again-- no, he can't talk about it-- but lesser this time. Not enough energy to have another full breakdown, not this soon.
"....I.." he stammers, glancing furtively back and forth between Zevran and the wall, "..um..." He swallows hard. Nobody can know.
He promised, before the Maker and Andraste. He promised, and a Templar's word is his honor. Not that he has much of that anymore.
Tears spring to his eyes again, but he wipes them away before any can fall. He glances again at Zevran, apologetically this time. Surely it was no small feat for him, either.

[ombranera]

"They tell you not to tell, make you swear on whatever it is that is worth swearing on, yes? Even among the Crows such a thing was not truly considered acceptable. Tampering with the goods before they could make anything of them might break us or something like that." He settles back on his heels- sits properly, voice somewhat detached from what happened. It cut, he bled, he lived, it scarred over and faded in time.

Save for when things reminded him of it but- he had his closure.

"You know, I always found it a little funny that I lived in a brothel until I was sold to the Crows and not once was I ever in any danger of such a thing there. But three weeks into my training with the new master?" He waves a hand. "I killed him later, of course. I think I was...sixteen? Seventeen? That helped."

[onlyhymns]

Cade keeps his head low and he just listens, silent and considerably calmer, despite the subject matter. It is unexpectedly comforting to hear Zevran talk about it like this, as a thing that happened and that is now over. Better yet, that he was able to find relief from it, in the form of closure.
Still red-eyed, but with curiosity and empathy having overtaken his fear, Cade shyly directs his gaze to Zevran. "I'm sorry," he whispers, as though even talking about it to someone is a shameful secret, "...that that... happened to you."

[ombranera]

"My condolences to you as well." There are worse things. Zevran knows this, has seen them, has lived a few of them- but saying as such has yet to help anyone that knows of this particular misfortune of his childhood. Those that know of the brothel make that assumption there- he corrects them. It happened, to be certain.

It simply didn't happen in the brothel. Technically, not a lie.

"You feel helpless and become angry, yes?" He has seen that, lived that, moved through it for having no other option save failure. And among the Crows? Failure was death. Not the best way to get around it, not the kindest- but he is not a terribly kind man.

[onlyhymns]

Cade offers a solemn nod, looking down once again. He doesn't have the words for it, it happened too long ago, but more than anything the situation made him afraid. Of people, of things of which the Chantry disapproved, the Chantry itself. Of himself. A dog that knows only fear is more likely to bite.
"It was my fault," he murmurs, haltingly, forcing himself to say something. "I was... different. ...am different." Inherently sinful, corrupted on a base and inextricable level. Everything that's gone wrong, he's brought on himself.

[ombranera]

"Bullshit." Immediate and firm. "You were a child."

As was he at the time and you cannot hold a child responsible for the actions of a perverse adult. "The fault lies with him."

[onlyhymns]

The harshness of the word makes Cade flinch, even if it's not meant to insult him. "No, I..." he begins, but he trails off. Deep down, he that Zevran is right; in a way he has always known, and never wanted to admit it, never had anyone there to tell him he was mistreated and not just... special. Singled out, chosen to be the private student of Brother Flavius, elevated above his classmates and, in the process, isolated from them. It was a great opportunity, one that delighted his parents back in the Free Marches.

"...he was a good teacher," Cade says feebly, "and I was... I was lucky to be chosen by him." He's said as much to himself for many years, but it never quite works.

[ombranera]

"Is that his excuse, or yours?" A wonderful thing to be raised up, to be favored. It is not so large a thing in the Crows when a master takes interest- Rufio had been one to teach lockpicking and pickpocketing and of course he paid Zevran mind. Of course he had been impressed, wished to teach him. Of course none of that really mattered at the end of the day. Zevran, at least, never truly bought into such things.

He had spent enough time in the brothel to know what men like that might want. Even if he had no way of knowing what it actually was beyond the abstract, nor what it might do to him after.

[onlyhymns]

The lessons weren't so bad. They did happen. It was afterward that the door would be latched and he would be told it was time for their other exercises, a mandatory ritual before he was allowed to return to the other children and his other lessons. It was confusing at first, but he became used to it. It was part of his penance, one of many ways to express his devotion to the Maker. He was a dutiful and pious boy, and Brother Flavius was charismatic, well-liked among the students and the other brothers and sisters of the Chantry.


"...mine," he decides, in the same low voice, but his look is uncertain. He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, eyes going distant. "I was a good student," he continues, another thing he's told himself for years-- that had to have been the reason he was chosen, didn't it?
"...I stood out. I was his favorite." It was the only time he'd ever been someone's favorite.

[ombranera]

"I do not doubt that you were a good student. I do not doubt that you were bright or that you were skilled. But I will never sit here and listen to someone that has endured what we have endured and listen to them take the blame. He was a man grown. He knew better, held this perversion above his duty as an instructor, and used you." An ugly thing- and not at all what he thought he'd be discussing. Keeping his voice level is-

Not so difficult a thing. He is removed from the memories of grasping hands and curt orders. Do as you are told or be punished.

Never had it seemed like an award for good behavior.

Never was it kind.

[onlyhymns]

Here Zevran has him cornered, and there's no way Cade can argue with it. A man grown, like he is now; afraid to be in the same room as a child, becoming anxious by simply seeing one, because what if...?
What if the perversion transferred through contact? Is he helplessly destined to derail a child's life and destroy his self-respect, as he himself was derailed and destroyed?

The mere thought is like a dagger in his heart. He purses his lips, a tear or two beginning to stream from his eyes. And he nods, because he has no way to talk around it.
Not that he hasn't already made a fool of himself, but he ducks his head to press his eyes against the blanket on his knees so the elf won't see him cry again.

[ombranera]

Apparently when wrapped in the trappings of religion and faith, such a thing can cut all the more deep. Or, perhaps, and far more likely- Cade has never had to face this thing in a way that bore much thought or discussion. Zevran frowns and inches closer, one hand raised gently.

"May I?" No sudden movements, no contact without permission. The lack of that is what ruined them both, after all.

[onlyhymns]

At the sound of Zevran's voice, Cade lifts his gaze again, and sees what he's doing. It actually takes him a moment to deliberate on whether or not Zevran may; and then he gives another small nod in the affirmative.
All the same, he steels himself for it. He doesn't like to be touched, doesn't like to have anyone in his personal space at all.

[ombranera]

It's a careful thing, the brushing back of Cade's hair. A sexless, harmless gesture. Something kind and grounding that Rinna did for him after those sessions. That she did for him every day he came back a little more broken until he broke the man back.

"If you want me to stop, say so and I shall."

[onlyhymns]

Cade can't resist a flinch when Zevran's hand first meets him, but he makes an effort to allow it. He nods to Zevran, indicating that he understands, and continues to sit quiet and still, brow furrowed pensively as the man strokes his hair.
It's not so bad. He kind of likes it, actually. He can't remember the last time he was touched so.. kindly. Perhaps he hasn't since he was a young child.
In truth, the whole situation is more kindness and understanding than he's been shown.. possibly ever, and it's coming from someone who was in the process of threatening him. He doesn't know what to make of it.

[ombranera]

Slow and easy. Little by little he inches closer, much as Rinna had for him years ago, until he is able to settle an arm across Cade's shoulders. Small things. Grounding things. Innocent things without intent. "Is this acceptable?"

The limits of this thing are Cade's to draw.

[onlyhymns]

Cade's shoulders are impossibly tense. He has actually begun to shiver lightly as Zevran moves closer, but he doesn't stop him. He's determined to manage this. He just met this man personally for the first time, but already he's afraid of disappointing him, pushing him away by being odd and unpredictable, the way he does with everyone else.

He nods.

[ombranera]

"Alright." It is not the most comfortable position, but it need not be. It is more about settling Cade than it is his own issues, even while he turns the puzzle that is this man around in his head. Take the weapon from the man, it does not solve everything. Anger and stress making him lose time? He has seen it.

At the end of that road is death, madness, and a mess. The Templars would look poorly, the Inquisition would take a hit. Better to find a way to manage this- but how is he to speak to his superiors of such a thing? Likely they do not know.

No, this. This falls to him. For some reason.

While he thinks his hand continues to card through Cade's hair, slow and soothing. Either he will reach his limit and tell him to stop- or he will relax. Who knows which will come first?

[onlyhymns]

Speaking to Cade's superiors would likely yield a similar answer: they don't know. Nobody knows what to do with him. If he were a dog, he would have been put down years ago. They can't keep him locked in a cell for the rest of his life, just in case he does something again. If they send him away, cut off his lyrium supply, he'll go mad and die alone. It is merciful of them to keep him around, but he is a useless weight that drags on the Order and he knows it.
Remaining out of sight and out of mind is the best compromise, as far as he's concerned. Nobody has had a problem with it so far.

It's only when receiving this gentleness that Cade realizes how desperately, achingly lonely he is. He manages to relax slightly, with a subtle sigh, when Zevran's fingers brush the top of his neck; nobody has even spoken to him for days, let alone given him positive attention. Despite how uncomfortable this is, he finds himself wanting it to continue, if only to maintain the illusion that he is cared about.

Eventually, his doubt gets the best of him. "...why are you doing this?"

[ombranera]

"Because if left alone you are a danger to others and to yourself. If you have another outburst, if you lose time like that again? You might kill someone or be killed and that will cause trouble and discord the Inquisition cannot afford." There is no reason to lie, here. This is done less out of the goodness of his heart and more a desire to not have the Inquisition fall down around his ears.

He has made a home here and would rather not have that taken from him because of infighting.

"Tell me what you need, so this thing will not happen again." He will do what he can to see it done.

[onlyhymns]

And just like that, the residual shame returns. If he knew the answer to this, he would have set to work on it already-- there is nothing he wants more than to stop being... this.
"...I don't know," he softly admits, speaking to the ground, "I don't... ever know. What to do." A strained smile appears, and might look charmingly self-effacing if he weren't so miserable.
He hesitates for several moments, then continues. "When I'm not..." he stammers, "...when I'm not with other Templars, I get... lost." And afraid, always afraid.
The smile seems to grow into more of a grimace as he shakes his head, looking away from Zevran, focusing on the nearest wall. "...and I make mistakes. That ruin everything. ...and then the Commanders are unhappy, and... the other Templars, and... everyone. And it's my fault."