#baselines

Well. This is his canon alignment. So accurate. A lot of Caelric's moral decisions are based around convenience, impact, and long term benefit with a few lines he won't cross.

Tagged by: @vahalia-cress (Thanks!)

Tagging: @vazaymir/ @noble-and-damned, @glowinggunmetal, @dumb-hat, @kestrelvylbrand, @luck-and-larceny , @argentrenard , @the-sycophant, @shadesofblades

It generally took a very brave person, or a very familiar one to approach a man like him and ask anything personal beyond a clarification. The natural avoidance from others came with the territory of tattoos and mean, brooding looks. 

So when someone was keen enough for answers despite his natural presence of ‘fuck off’ when he was alone, the Coyote typically did the unexpected and provided open book answers. The problem came when the questions became too personal. 

In therapy, the questions were always personal. “...” he stared a long time at the doctor, like maybe he was deciding what a body looked like folded in half before he exhaled a bitter breath and let his jaw flex tightly a few moments. 

“I don’t remember. You kind of just get used to everything sucking after a while. A few years. Maybe longer.” His broad shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug, and he lets his gaze drift anywhere but ahead. 

@sundered-souls: Thanks for the asks, fam!

The second question was an easier one to answer than the first, and the answer that immediately came to mind is what he gave. "I can't stand hypocrisy. It's irritating, and more often than not restrictive. 'It's fine if I do it, but not if you do'. 'This is a problem for everyone else but me'. So on, so forth. It gets old."

Caelric rarely looked in the mirror when he could help it. The habit had started at a relatively young age around the time his father, considered such only by the biological contributions provided in his conception, had taught him to see only weakness in himself. In his adult years, Caelric had never really gotten over it. Similar reasons were behind his evasive gaze and why he rarely made eye contact with others. He feared that they would see the same things he saw in himself.

But what did he really see when looking at his reflection?

He caught sight of himself after washing his face and could not help but wonder. This time he looked. He really looked. What always struck him first was the bitterness present in his eyes, giving his visage a harsher look alongside the hard set of his jaw. There was something animal in his expression, distrusting even when looking upon himself. It was mixed with a wash of shame. A deep sense of guilt and trepidation that persisted with a haunting intensity behind his eyes for all the things he'd done and for all the things that had been done to him. It made him look a little older. Sterner.

It presented the primary reason behind his grins and smirks and the main reason why he rarely smiled. A smile was too much, and too comfortable which admittedly wasn't a common experience either. He could fake a lot with ease, but his genuine state of being was ultimately distrust towards others coupled with a deep unhappiness and longing for things he'd never quite had. He could not help but assess and deduct at those around him and it was obvious even in how he analyzed his own visage. Like the man in the mirror might not be real.

He knew that most that saw him did not look beyond the surface of tattooed flesh and lethal musculature. They saw a man that looked like he could handle himself, because that's what he wanted people to see. They did not see what was always present: Fear. Worry. Concern. For himself, for others, for the things he held dear. He never felt powerful, or strong even if he looked it. More often, he felt like he was barely able to hold on to what he cared about. When he couldn't, that was his deepest shame and inadequacy and he had experienced far too much of that.

Deep beneath it all though, he saw something else. The spark beyond the darkness that always kept him going. A word he hated and loved in equal measure: Hope. It festered somewhere deep inside, rebellious as his spirit and unwilling to be beaten down. The reason he always pushed forward beyond the pain and suffering. Hope that he might actually find peace. That he would be worthy of the unerring love so few had given him, and that he could measure up to whatever people like Vaza or Lucien saw in him. He was never entirely sure that he did, but he had been more willing to exist within that belief more often than not.

He stood a little taller after that, not quite sure what he'd made of himself after such introspection. With all his impressive insight that he could make of others, he rarely turned that talent inward. The wounds left behind by others were too deep and too long standing to fully heal, but he felt a little more...comfortable. Like he wore his skin a little better than he'd ever had before. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could begin to see himself as others did. Proud. Strong. Dependable. He supposed he was those things as well. His most daring steps forward were only just beginning, but he figured this might be a good start.

For a second, he stood uncertainly in front of the mirror and watched himself before very slowly, attempting the smallest of smiles. It was a meek kind of expression, something that seemed unfamiliar and he realized belatedly that he'd probably never seen himself smile as rarely as it occurred. There was a bit of youthfulness that returned when he did so, a boyish and almost unbothered expression that surfaced. It was odd to see, but not unwelcome, and he saw why Vaza enjoyed seeing the expression surface. He felt a little better after that and left the bathroom, all the while his reflection watching him depart.

There was a thoughtful silence before the former Imperial spoke his mind. It wasn't that he didn't have an answer, so much as he was debating on how to discuss it. Eventually, he grunted and leaned back in his seat, fingers meshed together and laced over his belly.

"....You know. It's the shit you can't remember that sometimes haunts you the fucking most." He started, tipping his head back and forth so that the joints popped audibly while a sigh was slowly forced through his lungs. As casual as he tried to sound, there was still a weight present within his words. Were he to reach for his drink, his hands might have shook so he kept them locked tight to his gut.

"You get flashes that come back whenever you're nice and defenseless. Comes without warning, in sleep, in thought, in whatever form it decides to manifest. It hasn't been great dealing with it, let alone recognizing it was all real to begin with. Have you ever lost the ability to trust your own head? Your memories and experiences. What if you had to question those? That's what makes those memories worse. I have never lacked the confidence of my own thoughts until recently and now I have to question is all."

He shrugged his broad shoulders, bringing his hands up and behind his head with casual ease. "The time I clipped my dick with a zipper serves as a pretty bad memory, too. Zero out of Ten. Would not recommend."

PROMPT: Send 🎵 plus a muse and I will share a song from their playlist & some lyrics that stand out [♠]

I'm up off my knees, girl I'm face to face with myself And I know who I am. (Hello, my name is human...) I stole the power from the sun I'm more than just a man(No longer disillusioned)

I'm not asking questions 'cause questions have answers (And I don't want answers) I came down from the stars so I'll take my chancesAnd what are the chances that I could advance On my own circumstances? (Said "what are the chances?") Hello, my name is human (And what are the chances?) I don't want your answers. I'm not asking questions So you keep your answers And I know who I am (So you keep your answers) I'm not asking questions. I'm taking my chances...

My Name is Human - Highly Suspect