thecapitol | here lies the abyss; open;

Entry tags:

here lies the abyss; open;

Who| Cullen and YOU
What| After a truly horrific death in the arena, Cullen wakes up back in the Capitol. Time to regain his bearings and find his allies again!
Where| Around~ (Let me know if you want a specific prompt and I'll write one up!)
When| After his death, probably Wednesday or Thursday
Warnings/Notes| Descriptions of nasty psychological torture probably.

[District 2 suite]

He wakes with a start, ready for battle. That had been the last thing he remembers doing, after all. A monster, or demon, some sort of creature that had taken Adella's likeness and twisted it into something corrupted and horrific had appeared. His rage and grief had overcome him at the sight of the terrible thing, like his worst fear made diseased flesh, and he'd attacked, as unprepared for it as he was.

The thing had ripped into him viciously, and he remembers nothing more until - this.

The room is white and pristine and too, too bright, and he's groping for a sword that isn't there for a few moments until he recalls where he must be. The Capitol. One dies in the arena, and wakes up in the Capitol. Or so he's been told.

That brings him to his senses. He needs to find the others, if they're here as promised. He needs to find Adella. Maker, if she's here, if she's alive, he'll build a shrine to Andraste with his own two hands.

With a determined set to his mouth, his jaw, strides through the district suite, towards the elevator. He does remember how these work, thanks to Ser Sam Wilson's guidance, all those weeks ago.

[Tribute Tower common area]

He very quickly realizes that he has no real idea where to find many of his companions and allies. Many of them arrived in the arena itself, and so he doesn't know which district they are assigned to, and even if he did, the chances of finding them in their respective suites he thinks are low. Eventually, he makes his way to the main common area on the ground floor. It sees a lot of traffic, it's a natural place to congregate and wait for one's companions. He hopes.

And he tries to avoid looking at the brightly flashing screens everywhere. Maker, does he try.

[The roof]

As evening settles over the city, Cullen finds his way to the quiet and (relative) darkness of the rooftop garden. Even this place is utterly alien to him in a lot of ways, but it's slightly easier to stomach than most of the rest of the building or the city beyond. There is so much light from the city that it's almost impossible to get a good look at the stars, something which Cullen finds baffling, but he attempts it anyway, taking deep, calming breaths as he turns his face up.

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Can’t sleep. But he doesn’t think he has, restfully, in the last two years. There’s always something lying in wait when he closes his eyes and it’s the ominous blue of the lake tonight, the mocking glimmers of light between chunks of ice bobbing along the surface and air-hunger squeezing his lungs, so real he wakes up gasping, clawing at the blanket tangled around him.

Five months and it’s still so strange to blink into the darkness and bring the outlines of his room and its needlessly lavish furnishings into focus and know he’s alone and feel it, gnawing deep in his gut. There’s no one to worry about waking up when he sits up and heaves a quiet, shaky sigh, staring dully at the wall. No one to see him when he buries his face in his hands and stays like that for a long time. All he knows is that he has to go. Just away, somewhere.

Somewhere becomes the couch of D2’s suite, where he gets to in time to catch a reunion near the elevators. It’s no one he knows. They talk like doting poets, wrapped up in each other and at the centre of each others’ universes, radiating an intensity of relief and raw, bittersweet joy that makes him feel like an intruder as he sits there, eyes soft with sympathy, and pretends he doesn’t hear a thing. Giving them space, because it’s the respectful thing to do. He just stares at the scars and creases etched into his palms, breathing and breathing until it’s over, because it’s all he can do.

"Darkspawn are so easy to fight. I mean--They're horrible, twisted, disgusting mockeries of life that taint everything in their path, but they're not complicated. You kill them. You keep killing them until they stop existing." Or you make alliances with ancient creatures that were not so different from Corypheus, learning how to unlock darkspawn intelligence so they no longer sought archdemons. But that tidbit was a nugget of information that she kept close to her heart. Not even Alistair knew what deals she had wrought.

She wants to point out to Cullen that his alliances should probably be a little more choosy than from the same world--Not even from the same world, but a similar one, with different people in different places. But was there really a point in that particular negativity? Not really. And maybe he's not misplaced in his optimism.

He does leave her hanging, but she puts her hand down, wiping it on the side of her pants. It was kinda covered in chocolate anyway.

"I want to believe that, Cullen." She replied, staring up into the sky. "It sounds like a nice thing." The truth, the ugly, bitter truth, was that it did matter what the Capitol did. Now that Alistair was in the picture, it absolutely mattered, because she would kill every one of them, personally, if it kept Alistair alive. If it kept him from the Capitol's tortures. She would drown the arena, the Tower, and the Capitol itself in a sea of blood if it saved him.

"So I will believe." She flashed a smile at Cullen, popping some more chocolate in her mouth. "I can do some of the things that I want. We're in this together."

He has Adella. He understands. She thought, offering him the bag again.

"Ah, my pardons, I didn't know anyone was up here."

Worn hands run together to create friction-- the closest thing to pure magic that someone like the young Warden could get-- as the mechanical, chilly air runs over the skin of the man, pursing his lips in frustration. Frustrated at the person who had claimed presence of the roof before him? No-- Maker, no, but instead, the sheer frustration at the fact that this face was recognizable.

"My word, I'm sorry for staring-- you were on the ... "

His voice trails off, hazel eyes scanning the face, the form of the other. Yes, this is true; this man was on the Death toll from the last Arena, but after his conversation with Tabris, he's less shocked about this man's face. "... Death count."

He shakes his head, crossing his arms (albeit, from an angle, it looked like the man was sort of... hugging himself in distaste). "I'm sorry, this is all still very alarming."

Cullen feels similarly. He feels bad about Lavellan, but he'd only spoken to her once, briefly, so she had been essentially a stranger to him. But Josie - she hadn't deserved any of this. He hoped she was in a better place, or at least back home, where she belonged.

"We must focus on those we can help here and now," he said after a moment. "On helping each other, as long as we're all here."

That was what mattered.

It's a long while before they part ways - reluctantly. But Cullen is wary of breaking their assigned sleeping quarters, unsure if such a thing might be punished. He will do whatever necessary to keep his people safe, Adella first and foremost among them. Until he knows for certain, he'll endure the nights alone. It's not as if he's not used to it.

And it's only when she's gone that he realizes they have an unwitting audience. He would've hoped the man was asleep, but he's clearly not, and Cullen can already feel his neck turning red at the thought of someone overhearing his extremely private words with Adella. It was his fault, though, they shouldn't have been speaking like that here in the common room.

"Sorry if I disturbed you," he mutters, ready to escape to his room.

He probably would be a little more choosy in his alliances, if he wasn't convinced the Capitol brought them here in this state for the sole purpose of trying to divide them and create rifts between them. And he has every intention of foiling that plan, at the very least.

Whatever their personal feelings for each other, if this place is as much about outward appearance as it seems, then he intends for them to project an outward appearance of unbreakable unity. Period.

That's all he means. That's all he ever means.

He waves off the candy vaguely - chocolate is alright, but he's never had much of a sweet tooth for anything except his mother's shortbread and lemon cakes.

"We're all in this together, that's the important thing to remember," he agrees.

The first thing that Cullen notices about this man is that he projects very clearly the feeling of newcomer. He acts much the same as Cullen had felt on first arriving in the Capitol.

"Trust me, I understand," he says with a faint curl of his lip. "It's worse when you go through it yourself." Not, perhaps, the actual dying part, but the uncertainty of it, of having to see those you care about die.

He holds out his hand for the other man to shake. "My name is Cullen," he says politely.

"You couldn't disappoint me." She knows what would have been easier, and were their roles reversed, she's not sure she wouldn't linger on the mortality of it all. If he had, she wouldn't have held it against him. But she knows how strong he is, how much he's survived. She thought if there were a chance for him to be free of the Arena, even in the scope that they seemed to allow for here, that he should fight for it.

"You got my message? I didn't want you to worry."

"I got it," he affirms, taking a breath, taking in her presence, her scent. "It helped." And it had, though he'd tried not to let his hopes get up too high. "Did you... watch?" His brows come together in a slight frown as he studies her face. He knows practically every moment gets shown on the screens all over. He's not sure he likes the idea of her sitting here for weeks, watching his hardships.

She draws away a little at the question, her eyes not quite meeting his. It had felt wrong at times, to watch things when she had been removed from the situation, but at the same time, she had worried for her friends. After a long beat her eyes flicked up to his, and she nodded her head, pressing her lips together.

"I did. I didn't see every second, of course, and sometimes I just..." She couldn't keep watching. She sighs, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone. "It wasn't easy to watch."

"I have no doubt," he says quietly. "I never want you to have to see such things, but I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same in your position."

The need to know might easily outweigh the futility of it.

"But it's over now, and we're here," he finishes, tracing her jaw lightly.

Leaning into his touch she sighs, her hand sliding down to rest on his neck as her eyes drift away from his again.

"For what it counts," she's had enough time in the Capitol now that her opinion of it is formed, and overwhelmingly negative. There's some fascinating things, but the people made her sick. They made her miss Orlesians.

"I don't know," he murmurs. "Between us? All of us here? We seem capable of a lot. Perhaps it counts for quite a lot." Mostly he's trying to reassure her as best he can - there's hope and there's hope, after all, and it's good to have some, if you can.

It might have been a minute or ten they’ve been talking for, he can't tell. But the strangers part ways and suddenly someone's hovering in his peripheral vision and he looks up, blinking until he realizes he recognizes the guy as the one by the elevators. It takes him a moment longer for him to process what he's been asked.

"No--" He begins tiredly with a shake of his head. Combs his fingers through his hair. “No, s'fine. Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for.”

He has felt that overwhelming surge of relief and gratitude when reuniting with the people he cared for, some people he might have never met had the world not gone to shit. Felt it while soaking in their presence not knowing if each day that they lived to see would be the last time he’d see their faces and hear their voices and feel the light and warmth their existence brought to his own.

Family is hope. It’s pain and it's worry, it’s lying wide awake in the dark chill of pre-dawn and listening to sound of soft, slow breathing around you and remembering that you’re not alone in the world, even when the cold creeps inside you and grief gnaws on the edges of your mind, eating you away bit by bit. Family is everything. But some days, even that's not enough.

Part of him, in his embarrassment, wants to ask how much this man overheard - most of it was deeply private and Cullen is uncomfortable at the thought of his every move being watched, recorded, even just observed by a passerby.

"How - did you - " He stops, and shakes his head, waving it off. There's no point, besides, for all he knows, this stranger was asleep the whole time.

"Er - is this your assigned district?" he asks after a moment, curious. His time in the Capitol so far has been spent mostly preoccupied with those from his own world - he hasn't paid much heed to the people who come and go from the district suites.

Luke frowns, though not unkindly, for the brief moment the man stumbles over words, getting the gist of where the question was headed. Or at least suspecting as much.

“Yeah.” From Carver’s compound to District 2. One cage to another, one tyrannical regime for another. It’s not so different in ways -- only that he hasn’t a close familiarity with those in power here nor have they come to know him well enough to seek him out and stick him with a knife where his guard was weakest, giving it a cruel little twist. And with any luck it’d stay that way. He has no intentions of attracting their notice.

“You too?” He asks, tonelessly.

"Alistair."

He grips the other's hand firmly, noting the strong, warrior grip the other had; it was something he didn't quite see in this new, futuristic world. It was something that reminded him of home. A twinge of nostalgia ran up the Warden's spine as his lips curled up into a gentle smile, nodding to the man.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. That armor you're wearing... it looks... familiar."

Cullen nods, affirmatively. "I can't say I understand what they mean by it, dividing their lands into such districts and forcing strangers to represent them." Quite apart from everything else.

"I've been, ah, separated from the others from my world."

Obviously.

"Ah, yes, Tabris mentioned you had arrived," Cullen says, recognition dawning on his face. So this is the famous Alistair.

"I'm from Thedas as well - sort of. What has - she explained to you?"

“Yeah. I know the feelin'."

And he doesn’t believe in coincidences now that he has a better sense of what the powers that be are capable of. He wouldn’t put it past them to pluck each of them from their worlds for a reason and keep them divided to better suppress them. But he doesn’t feel comfortable voicing this aloud and to someone he has only just met. One could never be too careful.

“...Well, welcome to Panem," He offers with a barely-there smile made wryer by the presence of sleepless shadows under his eyes. "I'm Luke."

"Cullen," he says politely. Little does he know, he's thinking along much the same lines as Luke, and has been for weeks now. He's all but convinced that that is exactly what's being done - an attempt to create divisions where there wouldn't otherwise be. To pit friends against each other, even lovers.

It's a plan he intends to foil.

"Well, I - won't keep you," he murmurs finally. The man looks tired, something Cullen is intimately familiar with as well. If he can sleep, he should.

Luke nods dimly, his gaze drifting slowly from Cullen's and off to the side, settling in the empty space somewhere between the floor and the wall across him. He wouldn't be keeping Cullen either. Most people are fast asleep at this hour and for good reason. And then there are people like him, his mind wound up too tight like clockwork toy and puttering around in useless circles. Burning a few hours in the training area would clear his head, he decides. Or at least exhaust him enough to blunt the edge of his restlessness and take the struggle out of finding sleep.

Maybe, someday, he'd remember what it's like to feel normal again. "Thanks. Guess I'll see you around, then."

Edited 2015-03-21 02:27 (UTC)

It's enough that Shepard is considering relocating her perennial pillow fort to the Roof. She just... Can't stay inside, anymore. But then she can't stay outside, can't stay anywhere; she wants to keep moving. Shepard begins to hope that the upcoming crowning will lead into another arena as swiftly as the last, if only so that she can do something.

Leave it to the Capitol to ruin the only thing that made it bearable-- she doesn't even feel safe drinking here, anymore. Which is one of the infamous excesses to which this place was meant to be dedicated, goddammit. The speed with which her liver had purged the after-effects was disgusting. Is disgusting. Whatever.

"Hey," She shoots across, when Cullen doesn't break the silence, "So. Had your first arena. Ready for round two?"

She's not naturally cruel, no. It had to be trained into her over the course of a lifetime. But she could be worse.

He frankly didn't even notice her presence until she makes herself known. He's been so caught up in his own thoughts, he hasn't given much attention to other things. Maybe that's not the wisest thing, but Cullen is preoccupied.

If she intends to get a rise out of him, she'll be disappointed. She looks tired, worn down - well, don't they all? She has, by her own admission, been here for a long time. She's done this many times over. It would wear anyone down after a while.

"Technically, this was my second," he points out after a moment. "But I'm not sure anyone can ever be ready for more."

"Right, sorry. Forgot about that one. They start to kinda..." She waved a hand, to indicate the vagueness of her own vision, "They blur together, after a while."

Did she used to be this pathetic? Shepard has fond memories of looking over the burning corpses of entire nations and not feeling a damn thing aside from anger, and determination. She remembers being tougher than this, stronger. Or maybe she's just drinking her own Alliance propaganda kool-aid, who knows?

"I am. At this point, I'm starting to prefer the arenas to the Capitol, sick as that sounds. At least, in there, you know where you stand," A heavy sigh, "Look, don't listen to me, I'm just tired. Can I ask you something?"

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here lies the abyss; open;

[D2 suite stuff] hope this works -- if you need more/something changed, lemme know!

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he thinks we can fix the future. || the roof

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fff, didn't plan on him clamming up like this, sorry :I

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