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morework) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-12-26 04:13 pm
morework) wrote in entrancelogs2016-12-26 04:13 pm
Entry tags:
[ closed ] I'm so ashamed of defeat
Who: Cullen Rutherford & Garrett Hawke
Where: Cullen's room
When: 12/27, after the event
Rating: PG-13 to R (drug withdrawals, references to violence/blood/gore)
Summary: The pain comes and goes, but after several near sleepless days it refuses to go, not quickly, nor quietly. Unwillingly Cullen finally provides Hawke with a demonstration on just what it means for him to leave the templar order.
The Story:
At times he feels the worst days coming, now. He knows when the strain of his duties (self-imposed or otherwise) becomes too great, he knows how to push himself less to soften the blow. He knows, and he even acts accordingly. At times. It has gotten him through Thedas, so far. But Wonderland is a different chapter entirely.
When the illusions start at night he wishes for a clearer mind to distinguish them from the truth. A clearer mind, he thinks bitterly, as if he did not know exactly what it was he wanted in truth. A phial first, shamefully, and only second to have Cassandra at his side, to remind him that he must endure instead. Cassandra, Cadash, Dorian. Any voice other than his own, to remind him why he chose this. He knows, Maker, of course he does, but he loathes the days when his reasons look so small, compared to the thirst.
Days pass, and Cullen goes thirsty still. Adjusting to what he must deny himself under the circumstances becomes easier. The prize for his refusal does not.
Towards the end his eyelids are heavy, and behind them a headache burns. Softly at first, then nourished by every restless night, until it sears through his body whole. The event ends, and he knows it immediately. The event ends, and he knows, because he drifts off tiredly, and no longer dreams white. Instead he drowns in echoes of pained cries and cold laughter. A flash of light and magic wraps around him, and presses down on his chest like a vice. He wakes next to his bed, standing, gasping desperately for breath.
For a moment he does not recognise the room. For a moment he cannot think where he is, and when. For the moments that follow he tries to remember, and every effort makes the fire flare in his head. He is covered in sweat, he thinks. A frozen core, wrapped in some spell of fever, or- the other way around. Hot and cold and too much of both, that he knows, and that his hand shakes too badly to feel his forehead. Wonderland, like an afterthought, and he remembers where he can get a cup of water.
He takes the first step, and nearly falters. He makes an effort to straighten his back before the second. It goes poorly. He grabs for his desk to steady himself, but his grip misses the edge. He is only half aware that his head hits the floor.
Where: Cullen's room
When: 12/27, after the event
Rating: PG-13 to R (drug withdrawals, references to violence/blood/gore)
Summary: The pain comes and goes, but after several near sleepless days it refuses to go, not quickly, nor quietly. Unwillingly Cullen finally provides Hawke with a demonstration on just what it means for him to leave the templar order.
The Story:
At times he feels the worst days coming, now. He knows when the strain of his duties (self-imposed or otherwise) becomes too great, he knows how to push himself less to soften the blow. He knows, and he even acts accordingly. At times. It has gotten him through Thedas, so far. But Wonderland is a different chapter entirely.
When the illusions start at night he wishes for a clearer mind to distinguish them from the truth. A clearer mind, he thinks bitterly, as if he did not know exactly what it was he wanted in truth. A phial first, shamefully, and only second to have Cassandra at his side, to remind him that he must endure instead. Cassandra, Cadash, Dorian. Any voice other than his own, to remind him why he chose this. He knows, Maker, of course he does, but he loathes the days when his reasons look so small, compared to the thirst.
Days pass, and Cullen goes thirsty still. Adjusting to what he must deny himself under the circumstances becomes easier. The prize for his refusal does not.
Towards the end his eyelids are heavy, and behind them a headache burns. Softly at first, then nourished by every restless night, until it sears through his body whole. The event ends, and he knows it immediately. The event ends, and he knows, because he drifts off tiredly, and no longer dreams white. Instead he drowns in echoes of pained cries and cold laughter. A flash of light and magic wraps around him, and presses down on his chest like a vice. He wakes next to his bed, standing, gasping desperately for breath.
For a moment he does not recognise the room. For a moment he cannot think where he is, and when. For the moments that follow he tries to remember, and every effort makes the fire flare in his head. He is covered in sweat, he thinks. A frozen core, wrapped in some spell of fever, or- the other way around. Hot and cold and too much of both, that he knows, and that his hand shakes too badly to feel his forehead. Wonderland, like an afterthought, and he remembers where he can get a cup of water.
He takes the first step, and nearly falters. He makes an effort to straighten his back before the second. It goes poorly. He grabs for his desk to steady himself, but his grip misses the edge. He is only half aware that his head hits the floor.
no subject
(The temptation to decline is strong, a shower would do, wouldn't it, he does not need to-- It stings to admit the lie. He does. He does need to rest, Maker's breath, he does not remember the last time he has felt so bone tired.)
He nods slowly, and sinks back down onto the bed.
"Perhaps just- for an hour or two, I would like that."
no subject
"Take as long as you need, babe. I'm all yours."
He proves the point by gentle manhandling Cullen until his head is resting on Hawke's chest, one arm relaxed around him to give him support and gently playing with his hair. He's still thinking about what he can do to help, but it's in the background of his thoughts. All that matters now is letting Cullen get some rest.
"Thank you for telling me."