thecapitol | You have neither reason nor rhyme

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You have neither reason nor rhyme

Who| Cassandra Pentaghast and anyone!
What| Cassandra arrives between Arenas. She is unimpressed.
Where| Training Area, District 3 suits, and anywhere in the Capitol
When| Post arena 12
Warnings/Notes| TBD

Training Hall

[The sword had not been still from the moment she took it in hand. Hunger Games. Another stab, another burst of light as...some form of magical practice dummy burst before her, shattering in squares onto the ground around her before vanishing into thin air. It did little to assuage her theory this was yet another trick of spirits, of the Fade. Impossible for a Seeker to be so impacted by demons. Yet possible and im- had so very little to do with reality as of late. It was impossible for the ancient villains of religious text to appear and terrorize the world. This? This was child's play in comparison.

So she had taken to the training hall to think. Block, parry, thrust, kill. A simple dance of death against these magical conjectures, one that hardly took an ounce of her attention. It brought a calm no other activity could, save perhaps prolonged meditation. Kept her rage occupied as her mind contemplated her current state.

But the sound of another entering echoed through the hall, breaking the dance. She pivoted from the illusions, attention locked on to the potential threat. Without thought her sword pointed in the direction of the noise, her gaze locking onto the newcomer.]

District 3 Floor

[The tragedy was that the chambers were, by all measures, an improvement from her quarters in the Inquisition. There were no holes in the walls, none of Leliana's birds sneaking in to nest in her rafters. The exact function of much of her quarters was beyond her, but she hardly had the patience to sit about and figure them out. If it were important, she would come to terms with it in time. For now she would see the other captives of her cell block, and hold no illusions they were otherwise. The kitchens, however...

Cassandra had to scowl at the sheer unfamiliarity of the room. There were no fires, no mouser cat, no...no turnips burning for no apparent reason. Even the simplest of needs, nutrition, was a confusing endeavor in this nightmare. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before turning to return to the (slightly more logical) common area. Chairs, at least, were an unchanged concept.]

Wildcard
[She will be exploring and disapproving of the Capital and common area, feel free to bump into her scowling at things anywhere!]

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[ Sparring. Well, that's certainly one way to do it. He nods, and goes to pick out a semi-decent sword. It's what he's here to do, after all, is train. And Cassandra is nearly unmatched in swordplay. Sparring with her is always, always educational. ]

I've been here only about a week, so I'm not sure how many questions I can answer. [ He admits that as he takes his stance, another nod to indicate he's ready. ]

[ She doesn't waste time in responding to the nod, charging forward with her first opening swing. Maker, but no matter the truth of him it was a relief to had a target which reacted to vent upon. ]

You arrived in this city as well?

[ He knows Cassandra's style - and her weaknesses. She's strong, fast, smart, quick to adapt and assess changing situations. But also impatient, sometimes lets that get the better of her.

He parries her swing, stepping aside quickly, ready to test her patience. ]

I arrived in the arena. It was - unpleasant, if short-lived.

Ah. Our purpose in this obscenity of a world.

[ He is ready to test her patience, and she is ready to test his endurance. Another slash follows after her first, then another after his next deflection. She was determined to drive him down, it was true, to test if some demon would show face once she had placed him in a position of danger. But spending the hate lodged between her shoulders was close to taking precedence to that far more reasonable goal. ]

Describe it.

[ He can almost feel it - that frustration boiling just beneath the surface. He has it, too, a burning need to get out of her, to get back, anger at being here in the first place. It's buried under a lot of other things, too, but it's definitely there.

He is no demon, though, just a man, and he shifts his stance a little to take the offensive the first chance he sees, going for a spot on her left thigh that she occasionally leaves open. ]

Dark. Perpetual night, and a strange sky, no stars that I could recognize. A building made all of metal, the lower levels flooded. Creatures that I assume were demons hunted us, though I've never seen a demon that looked exactly like that. [ He says this between lunges, slashes, and parries, his mind focused on the fight and the memories. No room for anything else - which is what he prefers. ]

[ It was more simple this way. Distance given to events, both past and present, secured behind the the wall of well trained craft. Accept the blow, twist to accommodate the pain, slash back towards his shoulder- and it was a trick of the mind, that it looked smaller. Cullen hadn't worn furs and cloak when they first met, she knew what he looked like. It still felt wrong in some vague, unspeakable way. Both of them out of armor without permission to be so. ]

And then 'death.'

[ It is strange, a little. He feels naked and vulnerable without the armor, though he's perfectly capable of training without it. He's always careful with his appearance at Skyhold, though, careful to show the men and women under his command a very particular face, and attitude. The armor is part of that. He's become accustomed to it.

She works him hard, as he would expect. He'll have a new set of bruises to show after this, but the good sort. The sort you learn from. ]

An explosion. [ He elaborates. ] I clearly didn't die, or I wouldn't be standing here, but there was certainly an explosion.

[She's silent for several moments, letting her anger rise and wash away in the sparring match. She'd be sore and worn when they were done, but that was very much for the best. Cassandra could think in that state, too battered to find some soul in charge to run through. Between the magics and the simple bizarre nature of this world- or this demonic prison- her natural inclination to bash a head in was less than useful.

So. Thank the Maker for obliging commanders.]

I fail to see the point.

[ The point. Yes, that's where he's coming up short, too. What's the point. If they can figure that out, they might be able to figure out who's responsible, what their weakness is, and more.

She gets a good hit in, and he pauses, breathless. ]

I don't know. [ He says it frankly, bluntly. ] A distraction from their true purpose, perhaps.

[ The bluntness was ever an appreciated trait. But she had a secondary cause for this match, not that she held much hope for it at this point. More a small, lingering need to see the plan through than any kind of certainty. But demons would be a welcome familiarity from whatever it is they now seemed to face.

Besides, she was rather sure Cullen, the real one, would simply add this next action to his list of Annoying Things Cassandra Has Done to Me over being actually enraged by it. A demon, on the other hand, rarely took a Seeker taking their lives in hand overly well. Which was why she did not hesitate at his pause, but rather brought the sword up, pointed against his neck.]

Yes. A distraction seems the most reasonable answer to many of my question.

[ She was right, about his reaction at any rate. No demon is he, simply an out-of-breath man staring down the point of a sword with a rather long-suffering look on his face. No evil speech is forthcoming, no transformation into an unholy abomination. He drops his own sword with a clang, otherwise keeping very still. ]

Draw my blood if you must, Seeker. I will simply bleed.

[The sword drops almost too fast, the motion nearly begun before he has gotten half-way done speaking. A sort pause, spent simply watching. Then the seeker gives a soft scoff and turned her back on him for the moment, one hand coming up to rake through her hair in...something. Relief was incapable of overcoming the overwhelming frustration, but it was close enough a word to the emotion to suit.]

You cannot blame me for testing. This would be much simpler were you a demon...Still, I am glad such is not the case.

Edited 2015-01-07 00:53 (UTC)

I don't blame you.

[ He picks up the sword to return it to its place, unconcerned. If she's convinced, then he's satisfied. And won't have to worry about her knifing him in his sleep. Which he's sure she wouldn't hesitate to do, if necessary.

Though, subterfuge was always more Leliana's way. ]

Demons would certainly be simpler. Unfortunately, I think we have to accept the fact that we are, indeed, in another place entirely.

[ She turns the sword in her own had, the familiar weight and twist of the blade grounding as she glances over her shoulder at him. Demons, strange words, uncertainty in what it real, death and magic... no lyrium at all. They have larger concerns, it is true. But for now she steps back from the larger picture, letting that information digest for a moment. The rigid set to her shoulders made it far too clear the topic of this place had not been put aside for good, however.]

How have you been, Cullen?

[ That is a deceptively simple question. Not one that he can answer easily. How has he been? Afraid. Questioning reality - and not for the first time. Questioning everything. Praying, because he can at least remember some of the words of the Chant and that gives him comfort. Thinking of everything and everyone but himself.

He starts methodically cleaning the blade he was just using, mostly for something to do with his hands, something else familiar. The sound of the cloth over metal somewhat soothing. It puts him in mind of a barracks. ]

I have been... as well as can be expected. No worse, I'm sure, than anyone else transplanted here unexpectedly.

I see. Do not believe, Commander, that the mere fact you are momentarily without an army to actually command means anything has changed.

[There are no duties to relieve him of now, but she would honor her word, both because honor demanded it and because she wished to. She would watch him, annoy him, as best she could, as she had since they had first discussed the matter.

But back in the moment moment, she is not done with the sword yet. Cassandra cannot join in him in finding some small peace in maintenance when it's blood she still wants. So she returns to her practice dummy, a scarce few feet away, and resumes her practice.]

[ He watches her for a moment, and it's not resentment or annoyance that fills him - it's relief. Andraste help him, he wouldn't have wished her here, but he's glad she is anyway. He's glad.

Because he's rather adrift here, in a way he never was with the Inquisition. With armies to train and orders to give and reports to write. He has none of that here, and what does he have? The few people who've ended up here with him, the few familiar faces to anchor him. And hers is, frankly, one of the more important ones. ]

I should hope not. [ He finally says that, quietly. He doesn't want it to change. She needs to keep watching him, that he knows. More than ever. He can't falter now. ]

You may regret saying that. And I truly do not wish to hear it what that day comes.

[ It's a grim sort of teasing, but it helps. The sheer familiarity of having the commander there, the one she knew and had reached understanding with, was stabilizing. To an extent she rarely afforded other people influence in her life- but, truly, what other influences did they have left? There was no nation or cause that was their own here, not even the Chant's influence to give common ground between them and their captors. So they would have to be enough, until their way out was found. ]

It hasn't happened yet.

[ On his bad days, sometimes he thinks it. On the days he hurts, on the days he knows he's failed them all, that anyone else could do his job better and doesn't understand why she doesn't see it -

But he trusts her. When they get right down to it, he trusts her. Her judgment, her character, her skills as a fighter - all of it. He doesn't regret their arrangement, doesn't regret her recruiting him for the Inquisition. None of t. ]

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You have neither reason nor rhyme

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lemme know if this doesn't work

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