Cade's Inbox

[onlyhymns]

[For personal threads, memos, things left in his quarters for him to stumble on, confessions of love, injunctions, jars of bees, and so forth.]

Comments

[the docks; sometime towards the end of November]

[ragweed]

It's a dull, cold evening sometime after dusk, when there's still enough light to see the world around you, but no vibrancy. That suits Kit just fine, frankly; given the state he's in, he's not sure he wants to know what bright light on his bruised, bloody face would really look like.

He's sitting on a crate near the ferryman's pier, blotting gingerly at his split eyebrow and lip while thinking about his life and his choices. (Things have not been great recently, and while he's done an admirable job of keeping the midden heap of his private life separate from his work, things are invariably going to start bleeding over soon. (He can't afford to lose his superiors' good opinion of his work--not after what that Vint kid just went through.) He's got a lit cigarette in the hand not pressing the stained cloth to his face.

[onlyhymns]

Myr hasn't been around to do any scribing for-- Cade would have gone with him on the mission, but everyone agreed it would be better if he stayed home and didn't become further traumatized. In the interim, he's been helping out at the docks, enjoying the mindless, anonymous work that makes him too tired to pay his usual racing thoughts much mind.
He doesn't normally stop for people, or even look at them, but as Cade makes his way home, a nearby silhouette strikes him as familiar. Taking a few tentative steps forward, he's able to ascertain who it is and be appropriately alarmed.

"Kit!" he breathes, taking in the state of his face.

[ragweed]

Well... shit.

Kit takes a slow drag off his cigarette, breathes out the smoke, and turns his tired, numb-looking eyes towards Cade. (Numb in a 'I seen some shit' kind of way, not numb from neurological damage.) "Hey, Cade," he wearily replies, clearly expecting the beginning of a bout of twenty questions and knowing there's no putting it off. He worries the split in the flesh of his lip and lowers the rag from his bruised and bloodied eye, then grimaces up at Cade.

"Be honest. How bad is it?"

(It's pretty bad.)

[onlyhymns]

Given the opportunity to get a closer look, Cade does so, and grimaces. "Maker," he whispers, "it's bad." He's not socially adept enough to mince words.
"What happened? Should we call the guard...?"

[ragweed]

Frankly, Kit appreciates his merciless honesty.

"What happened? Should we call the guard...?"

"Ancestors, don't, that would just make this shit worse." Kit leans over the edge of the dock and spits out a bit of old blood into the water, pulling a face as he does so. There's a loose tooth somewhere in the back of his mouth that will have to come out, he expects, but he'd rather not mess with it now. "Last thing the Inquisition needs is a paper trail leading to a project leader tangling with some Coterie thugs."

He watches the last of the boats coming in after a night of fishing. He closes his eyes. "...I'm a mess."

[onlyhymns]

Cade has been in his share of fights, and it's seldom that he gets to see them from the outside in like this. Is this how he had looked when Ser Coupe came to rescue him from the drunk tank?

"It's all right," he finds himself saying, having no real reason to reassure Kit, but nonetheless wanting to. "I've got... I can help patch you up." Out of everyone in the Inquisition, Cade is likely the one who most understands the need for secrecy, for not outing oneself as a disaster when one's position is on the line.
"Can you walk?"

[ragweed]

Kit glances up at Cade again, the surprise evident on his bruised face. Then, smirking a little, he nods. "Yeah, I can walk," he says, and pushes himself up to his feet with a grimace. The worst of the damage seems to centre around his face and torso, but all things considered-- "For the record, you should see the other guy. ...Guys."

[onlyhymns]

Cade gives the trace of a smile, but it's not terribly amused. "I've been the other guy," he murmurs to his feet, seeming to be hunching slightly as he walks, as though he's uncomfortable being the tallest person present.
"Why'd they...?"

[ragweed]

Kit falls into step along side Cade as they walk together away from the docks and the ferry terminal; he's a little slow going at first, his muscles stiff from bruises, but if he notices Cade hunching and trying to appear smaller than he is, he doesn't let on.

"Payback, probably," he replies absently, like it doesn't bother him much. He wipes a bit more blood off his lip, makes a face at it, and then rubs his hand on the side of his pants. (Good enough.) "Caught some of their boys trying to rough up some dwarf kids in Darktown couple weeks back and gave them a thrashing for their trouble." It doesn't sound like he regrets his choice one bit.

[onlyhymns]

Knitting his brow in concern, Cade doesn't comment immediately, but his dislike of the idea shows. After several moments of silence, he muses, "that's good of you." Adults roughing up kids. Sounds bad.
They pass a dangerous-looking man sharpening a knife while sitting on a barrel, and Cade automatically steps a little farther away to avoid him, eyes on the ground. He doesn't belong in a place like this, and that's all too easily noticed by the wrong people.

[ragweed]

Whereas Cade steps away from the man on the barrel, Kit moves without comment to put himself between his friend and the lurking faces around them. He has no such compunction about making eye contact, and while it's clear that he's been roughed up, one gets the impression that he's still ready to finish any fight they may start.

Maybe it's the skull and bones tattoos on his face. Maybe it's some particular darkness in his eyes. For whatever reason, the men in the shadows leave them alone as they pass through.

"You live around here?" Kit asks Cade, a little dubiously.

[onlyhymns]

"Mm," Cade grunts in the affirmative, only glancing up again when they're past the danger. "In the barracks." He doesn't have his own room anymore, which means he has to take greater pains for the kind of privacy he requires, but... well, nothing's perfect anymore. It's never been perfect. It's never even been good.

They approach the building that houses the Inquisition's Lowtown soldiers and laborers, a clean and sturdy building near the docks that thrums with people coming and going at all hours. Right as he's about to open the door, a large man steps out of it and walks past as though no one's there at all; rather than get in the way, Cade steps back and lets him pass, looking at the ground. Only then does he slip inside, holding the door for Kit as they enter the dimly-lit room.
It's crowded, and smells like sweat, but the inhabitants seem happy: playing cards and dice, having an ale before they turn in, practicing basic upkeep. None of them seem to notice Cade, and he doesn't mind that at all.

[ragweed]

Finishing a fight with some Darktown toughs is different from starting a fight with the Inquisition's own personnel. Kit gives the back of the guy's departing head a sour look, but at Cade's gesture steps inside the barracks. The interior of the place is pleasantly familiar, at least in its vibe; smelling of sweat is certainly better than the reek of darkspawn ichor, so Kit has no complaints.

At least, none about the smell. He grimaces and reaches up a hand to touch his bruised face. "I really should get cleaned up," he mumbles.

[onlyhymns]

It is, if nothing else, a place where people live. Cade doesn't love it, but beggars can't be choosers.
"There's a washbasin there," he says, motioning to a table that holds a low bowl of water though he then walks to his bed and stoops to take something out from under it.
Withdrawing a small wooden box, Cade opens it to reveal a jar of salve and clean cloth bandages. Though it's difficult to bandage a face without wrapping them all the way around someone's head, he does extend the salve, a little sheepishly.

[ragweed]

He makes use of the wash basin to get the worst of the blood off of his skin; some of it needs to scab over, and could probably benefit from Anders' ministrations, but it's doubtful Kit will go see him, at least for this. (He's stitched his own injuries once before, he can do it again.)

"Thanks," he says once he's come back to Cade and, having mopped his face dry with the end of his shirt, takes the salve. He leans against the foot of the bed and applies it to his injuries with only the most sparing of grimaces.

[onlyhymns]

Well, should Kit decide to see Anders, Cade certainly won't be the one to take him there. He stands awkwardly by while the dwarf administers to his wounds, periodically shooting him an anxious glance, his lips pursed with self-consciousness.
A few people have begun to look at them, but in the casually disinterested way of those sharing a space. Maybe the quiet guy brought someone home for a good time, but the time doesn't look that good.

[ragweed]

Kit notices the handful of glances that they receive, and distantly wonders whether word if this is going to make its way back to the Gallows proper, and to Beleth. Briefly he grimaces, finishes applying the salve to his injuries, then closes the canister and hands it back over.

"Not a lot of space to yourself here," he notes thoughtfully. It's an observation rather than a judgment, though there's something in his voice that seems to ask, 'you okay?' Even when he's the one in need of an intervention, it's still so much easier to turn his concern to others, rather than tolerate it for long directed at himself.

[onlyhymns]

Though never one to shirk from silence, Cade seems glad of the comment. His laugh is awkward nonetheless.
"No, ah..." he stammers, "...well, I had more. Before." But things are different now. A little worse.