And then he has to go be weird again

[killedwithlove]

Who: Cole + Anyone willing to come find him on the Pathstone
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Cole's bunk on the Pathstone
When: Now ish?

[Usually, Cole manages a fairly good impression of amicably odd. And, normally, he's a fairly stable person, at the least he's out and about and piloting and generally sticking his nose into people's hurts to help them.

But he's retreated into his heretofore unused bunk for the last day or so. He talks to himself a lot in a whisper and worse, he seems to have wrangled up paint from somewhere, because on the floor outside his bunk, there's painted writing.]

A gold sonnet

[The handwriting is sharp and rushed and unpracticed.]

Comments

[killedwithlove]

Oh. No. I don't remember a lot. Compassion doesn't need to remember. I remember others. Spirits. Dreamers.

[He dips his fingers in and starts to lay down paint on the wall.]

He didn't really know her. He was raised by the Chantry. She was distant, standing high, wonderful witch, miserable mother. Wynne.

[dawnwillcome]

[The human name means little to her, but she hadn't expected to recognize it anyway. More important is Cole, and then Rhys. She moves to take a seat on Cole's bed, watching his progress with his painting closely.

It takes her a long moment to think of what to say, but then she chooses to say nothing, to let Cole speak and hopefully lead her in his way to what's bothering him.]

[killedwithlove]

[Cole paints for a while. It's not an easy process, like it was for Solas. Cole isn't relaxed, isn't enjoying smooth movements, he's trying to lay down something which just can't be expressed with paint.

The shape starts the take form, though. Not in the paint, which is angry and fearful, tight, jagged spirals and little negative spaces that just might be round eyes, watching.

The fear and darkness takes shape around a white space. A long limbed, elegant humanoid. Like the spirit which had called itself Justinia in the Fade. White and larger than life and so very bright compared to the black around it.

But this one, this Faith carries a sword and shield.]

[dawnwillcome]

[Once it's done, it's next to impossible to not make the connection to Justinia. It's hard to forget the woman who saved you from death, who led you down a path you never wanted to walk. Jove stares at what Cole's painted, tries to find what it means and finds herself as unable to do that as she was unable to find definitive meanings behind the murals Solas had left on the walls of her room and the rest of the ship.

And there's something fitting about that, isn't there?]

It's lovely, Cole.

[She means it, wholeheartedly. It might not look like Solas' paintings, it might be harsh and terrifying to anyone else, but it's something Cole has done to express himself and the only thing she can feel for the piece of artwork is pride.]

[killedwithlove]

Faith can reshape reality.

[He comes and sits on the edge of the bed, looking at the painting and then at the mass off in a corner, of jagged, angry, defiant shapes. There's little gaps in the paint that might be an eye, then another below it and a third below that. Maybe a glint of teeth below that, in a long snouted face.]

Compassion can't do that. Mages call us the weakest. Solas called me rare and precious.

[dawnwillcome]

[She reaches out, leaves her hand resting on the bed palm up so he can hold it if he chooses to.]

Solas was rarely wrong, so I'd take him at his word if I were you. I certainly agree with him in this case.

[killedwithlove]

[He misses the subtle social clue. That's no real surprise.]

Ill, lean runt echoed.

[He reaches up to tug on his hair, leaving black streaks in it.]

I warned you. I warned you it couldn't last. You all told me it would be okay, but it isn't. Not for either of you, empty, echoing, everything muted and too loud in the absence.

[dawnwillcome]

You did warn me. I knew it would hurt to see him go, but I was happy while he was here. I'd rather have those memories of him than nothing at all.

[It's not always a position she'd held, truth be told. Once she had felt the exact opposite, steadfastly keeping herself from making romantic connections with anyone just in case their fight took a turn that wouldn't see her living through the end of everything.]

Elize is young, it's harder for her, but she's strong. We'll both be alright. So will you, Cole. It just takes time.

[killedwithlove]

[Cole shakes his head.]

No, it's not like that. Cullen going doesn't cut into me. Cullen didn't like me, he tolerated me because he cared about you and Elize, but he could never quite forget that I could be one of them, one of the creatures from the spire, wearing his friends' faces, whispering wickedness.

It hurts me, because it hurts you. I wanted Cullen to like me, but he didn't, and that's okay.

But it still isn't okay. You said it would be and Elize can't stop crying and her pain screams and echoes and rattles in my chest and I can't help her. I can't help her.