paradisalogs | if you're the one who feels in, i'm the one who lets it go

Entry tags:

cassel sharpe

if you're the one who feels in, i'm the one who lets it go

Who: Cassel Sharpe (

patheticvillain) & open
What: Arriving, being Very Mad, and exploring the castle
When: Wednesday, 2/19
Where: Starting outside room 215 and continuing to basically wherever you want him; he'll stick his nose in everyplace.
Rating: Probs PG-13 for language.

It feels like there's a hole in his head.

This time it's so much clumsier than when Barron did it. When his brother did it, Cassel never even knew.

He takes a few moments to let the sick satisfaction of his brother's superiority sink into his stomach, then brushes that away. Thinking about Barron won't help now. Thinking about how Barron would probably laugh at him won't, and thinking about how he'd inevitably come up with a plan for what to do now won't help at all.

All Cassel wants to do is think about pizza night, and all the stupid talks they had on the Barge, dancing around each other like either of them really knew how to be a good brother at all.

He vigorously scrubs at the corners of his eyes. He is not gonna fucking cry. This isn't the time or the place. He's got - he has shit to do. Like find out where it ends, and when the ship is coming back. Call Chris. Can he call Chris?

I want to go home, he thinks pathetically, and his heart sinks when he realizes that home means the Barge. It sinks a little bit every time. His mom would be so disappointed.

Sighing, he runs his hands through his hair, pushing it into some semblance of order. His gloves have little spots of product on them; he smooths his hair out some more and then wipes his hands on the bedspread, a petty little gesture of dismissal. This place isn't his. He won't own it.

Instead, he stands straight and tall, cracking his back before slouching. A smirk grows on his face like it was planted there.

Ready or not, he thinks: here I come.

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On the days that Cass visits the castle, it's very rare that she bothers to actually look at the nameplates to the rooms as she passes them. What would be the point, when she can't read them anyway? She knows where friends live and if there's someone new, she'll run into them eventually and they can tell her their name then.

Today, though, she just happens to glance and see a name that's very familiar, but also not quite right. It's her name, plus some letters, and that draws her up short.

Cassel. Like if she was from Superboy's planet, and that gets a grin from her. What if she was? What if she floated around in red cape instead of a cowl, with Superman to teach her the ways of the world instead of Batman?

It would be very weird, that's for sure. Just about as weird as Cassel leaving his bedroom to find some girl looking at his nameplate with an amused smile on her face.

Weird...

Gren has only been awake a few days. Maybe it's the result of being unconscious for a few weeks, but he's been avoiding sleep as much as he can. But even in that time he hasn't quite dared to head to town yet. He's not sure he wants to run into Spike just yet. Not until he's got his head wrapped around the problem that landed him in bed in the first place.

He knew he had to be cautious. Vicious hadn't kicked him out, thankfully, but just like most times, he was starting to feel like he was overstaying his welcome.

He waited until it was quiet to crack open the door of Vicious' room, number 213, glancing down both sides of the hallway to be sure Spike wasn't in sight yet, then moved quickly out into the hall and towards his own room in 205. Hopefully he'd be in and out quick enough to gather up some fresh clothes and get out of here before the castle decided to to anything else to him.

Once, he would have recognized her. He would've been happy, ecstatic, to see her. But now she's just another unfamiliar face. So when he almost runs into her on the way out the door, he pulls up short and draws back, uncertainty written large from head to foot.

"What the hell--"

But no, that's not how - he breathes. Shakes his head, frowns harder. His gloved fingers twine together at his waist.

"Can you - just step back, all right? Jesus."

Cassel was halfway down the hall already when he heard footsteps. It was easy enough to be overtaken by paranoia - in a new place, surrounded by new people, he was jumping at every sound. But when he turned on his heel and started abruptly walking backwards to keep an eye on whoever was behind him, he was kind of surprised to see the other guy in the hall moving surreptitiously, like he was trying not to be noticed.

For a second, Cassel considered just walking away. But now he was curious.

So instead, he reversed his step again, forward towards Gren.

Well that's one way to greet someone, Cass supposes. But she does take a step back even as she's frowning at him, because wow what an overreaction.

"Sorry," she says, but her tone is probably enough to make it clear she's not all that impressed with his attitude. "Saw your name. It's... like mine."

She's close enough to still reach the nameplate, so she puts her hand over the last two letters.

"Cass. Didn't expect it, so I... stopped to look."

If she hadn't already been stepping back, he might have pushed her when he heard her voice. As it is, he leans slightly against the doorframe. Shocked but not shocked.

She sounds like Cass. She says her name is Cass. So why doesn't she look like Cass?

(In his head there is a blurry half-image. When he inspects it later, he will realize how imperfect it is. For now, he's too confused, too mad. Too tired.)

"Like yours." He blinks. "Yeah. But with extra letters. Cass and Cassel. Do you . . . know me?"

And now she just feels confused. All of that comes from him with such force he might as well have shoved her, it hits her hard enough to feel like he did. Familiarity felt and rejected so hard, but does she know him? She can't, can she?

"I don't think so." But she doesn't sound convinced. "Do you know me?"

Does he?

He looks at her, then down at his hands, then at the wall opposite them across the hall. He wants to hide.

"I guess I don't know you." He clears his throat. "Somebody else named Cass . . . I knew someone else named Cass. A friend. Kind of like a sister."

He's lying.

Cass can see the lie, but she can't read his mind to know why he's lying. For protection, maybe? To protect himself, if his desire to flee is any indication. But she has no siblings, so she can't be his Cass.

"Can use Cassandra, if it's easier. Cassandra Cain."

This is where a handshake is the typical thing, but she doesn't offer her hand. It seems wrong to do that when his body is practically screaming for more space, but she also doesn't want to just leave. He feels connected to her, as much as he's trying to reject that, and it has her too curious.

It doesn't take him very long to realize he's being followed, but he decides to keep walking until he reaches his own door, his head down as if nothing at all was wrong. The second he reaches it, he turns - his hand poised to reach for his door if need be - and breathes a slight sigh of relief when he sees who it isn't.

"Oh...hey there," he said, the slight question more in his tone than in his words. He hadn't seen the boy before, but that didn't always mean anything.

Effy, on the other hand, doesn't look like she's ready for anything. Dressed in mismatched clothes: baggy sweaters over a summer dress over patterned stockings. Or perfectly matched? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. She seems to shivering from the cold despite how thick her sweater is, arms crossed in front of her with a cigarette resting on one hand.

No one ever told her it's not okay to stare at strangers, keeping her gaze steady even should he turn her away. The only response he will get is a slow-spreading smirk and a cock of her chin like a challenge.

Are you up for this?

Cassel, personally, is always very impressed when people are able to pull off things that otherwise wouldn't make any sense at all in conjunction. Clothes, attitudes, randomized violence. So sure. When she smirks at him, he tosses it right back, half instinct and half utter refusal to be cowed by anyone on day one of whatever the hell this is.

"You got something to say to me?"

"Hey."

He stands quietly, almost awkwardly, for a minute, before shoving his hands in his pockets and tipping his chin up at Gren.

"Who're you running from?"

When all else fails, be blunt and rude.

"No," he says hastily, almost too quickly. It would be too weird to call her Cassandra. Like she was a different person. But this is his Cass, even if she's not really his anymore. "No, I'll use Cass."

With some effort, he meets her eyes squarely and reaches out his hand. To do the normal thing, the standard thing, the human thing. To maybe seem like less of a freak. Hopefully.

It's just automatic to step forward and bring them closer together, to take his hand when he offers it and hold onto it. She feels like she should belong to him, but she has no idea why. Is it the castle playing some trick on her? Did it take her memories of a brother as well as memories of Barbara Gordon?

Cain and Shiva never felt like family, and Bruce and Alfred weren't there yet, she didn't feel quite right about claiming them as hers. Friends, her boss in Bruce's case. But Stephanie and Tim, they had said that Barbara was like her family and this boy, he can say she's not the same Cass all he wants but this boy looks at her and sees a sister.

Maybe her loss isn't just one person. Maybe her loss is anything that felt like family. She shakes his hand absently, but it's not really shaking hands. It's holding on tightly because she feels like she needs to, to hold onto him like a lifeline.

"I feel... like I should know you." She says carefully, because she's aware that doesn't make any sense at all. It's some weird combination of her ability to read his attachment and the castle messing with her memories, it has to be.

To most people, that would have been rude, but Gren makes a habit of being friends with people who didn't sugar coat the truth. Vicious, for one, didn't believe in any other way of speaking. Faye had been abrasive on purpose, but he'd seen through that rather quickly for what it was. In the very least, he respected bluntness. So rather than what might have been an expected frown, Gren smiles.

"Someone on this floor who might not be happy to see me," he answers easily. Just because he respected it, didn't mean he had to answer in the same regard. "And I'm not exactly running."

He casually opened his door, having decided the boy wasn't an immediate threat, revealing desks stacked with sound equipment, a switchboard, and piles of several different types of music player. An obviously handmade sign that read 'Radio Paradisa' was taped beneath his nameplate.

He squeezes her hand, but very deliberately does not go in for a hug. Because he doesn't know her. They're not friends, were never family, and to act like they were, that would be - lying.

He doesn't want to be a liar his first day here.

He wants to go home.

But on the other hand, is this the payment for seeing her again? That she doesn't know him and he can't remember her face, that everyone else is gone and all he has to hang on to is a sister who doesn't understand his existence? Is that how things are fair in this universe?

He sighs and lets his hand fall to his side, looking away.

"You've probably never met me, Cass. Don't worry about it."

"You're pretty much running," Cassel retorted. "Figuratively if not literally. You're - in the spirit of running, is what I mean."

He peered into the room, curiosity getting the better of him again, his gaze lingering on the nameplate. Radio Paradisa, huh.

"So, you need an elaborate cover story to explain your absence?" He leaned against the doorframe casually. "I'm great at elaborate cover stories."

Effy, on the other hand, is quite impressed at anyone who dares to challenge her, when so many tend to shrink away or protect themselves using excuses and platitudes. Ask and you will receive.

"Why? Should I?"

The other half of the room was a castle-standard bedroom that utterly lacked any personalization. It existed because the castle wanted it to exist, but it didn't mean he had to live here in the long run. The bed was a formality.

"You got me there," he answered with a shrug, as he moved towards the wardrobe and started to pull out some clean clothes. The castle was good for that much.

He glanced back at the boy. "Are you now? Why is that? Just a lot of practice?"

He wasn't sure deflecting the earlier question was going to work in the long run, but it was always worth a try.

She takes half a step towards him when he lets go, but then frowns when she does it. Why does this hurt so much, and why does she feel like she needs to be as close as possible to him, like fixing how much he's hurting is her duty?

It's distressing, the way it feels to see someone your heart wants to remember but your brain just can't. She's never seen him before but he still makes her want to cry.

"I've met you now. We're friends, now. That won't change."

He raises his eyebrows at her.

"Well, a hello would be cool to start with. I mean, unless that's not what people say where you're from. Generic cultural greeting."

He waves slowly, an exaggerated gesture.

"Then we introduce ourselves like civilized people. I'm Cassel. You're - some girl."

It won't change? But she doesn't know that. She can't. Doubt's written loud all over him.

He rubs his wrist over the corner of his eye, trying to make the invisible itching that comes before tears go away.

"You promise?" he asks. He feels like a child. She can't promise. She can't make anything happen if she can't even remember him.

"Yep." He grins wide, glancing at the unlived-in state of the room. Weird, but telling. "Cover stories are my specialty. I'm a born-and-bred liar. You won't get better than me. I don't know why I never considered freelance work before now, in fact."

A lie: he has considered it. He's considered working for just about everyone, up to and including himself. A hair of genuine concern is showing, though; something about his posture. He leans a little too close, looks a little too hard.

"Are you okay?"

Instinct makes her reach out for him, a hand on his shoulder to pull him close while the other arm wraps around him. They must make a funny sight, two people who are essentially strangers hugging in the middle of the hallway, but she really doesn't care.

She hugs him, loose in case he can't accept this right now, but she does it because she has to. If she tries hard enough, she'll remember him. That has to be how this works.

"I swear." She says, her own voice strained now. "You know me." He does, she can feel it and see that he does. "I don't break my promises."

Not willingly, at least.

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if you're the one who feels in, i'm the one who lets it go

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whoa i'm so sorry for how late this is!

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YOU'RE FINE i was sick so it works out

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