#berszer

[cascae]

23 & 33

23.   what does your character dislike in other people?

weakness... which is a very general concept,  but one she holds firm to nonetheless.  and i think it can come in any form,  as in like weakness physically or emotionally  ––  a lack of dedication to something makes her angry as well,  which is actually somewhat of a projection because she herself is so wholly dedicated to griffith and him alone that like .... it’s hard to determine what she’d be without him,  if she were to stand on her own.  all in all it’s all projection because she hates feeling useless and she hates the idea of being aimless.

but i think one thing too is casca can be really jealous,  and often she tries not to act on it,  but it makes her dislike people without firm reasoning.  the best example of this is guts,  who i think she also initially dislikes because she perceives him at first as reckless and selfish,  but most crucially he’s the object of griffith’s affection / admiration.  she can tell quite soon i think that griff thinks of guts higher than anyone she’d seen him interact with,  herself included.

33.   in the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

she’d stubbornly deny it,  unless it were griffith giving it  ––  honestly anyone giving her criticism would receive her scorn and likely she’d either continue in an old way out of spite,  or very quietly take the suggestion,  but she’d never act thankful.  the exception to this i think,  in my own headcanon,  is that casca was probably more shy and willing to learn from the members of the band of the hawk when she first joined.  she likely took a lot of criticism and put up with shit from people like corkus lol and as she grew up in the band she learned how to harden herself in a way that made criticism unnecessary,  in that regard.  and she learned how to approach it in a way that tailored the way she was perceived –– so she carved out a persona as a strong, capable warrior.

[cascae]

@berszer​​   asked,      ❝ whatever you want me to do, i will do. ❞

           the laughter which escapes her in a huff rings bitterly,  not in a cruel or biting way,  but something softly disapproving.  perhaps towards herself,  ultimately.    ❝ if i knew  –––   you’d be the first to hear about it. ❞     [  i want something;   maybe i don’t like the something it is,  everytime i think about it,  my temples ache  ]   to tell what it is     —     she kicks at the dirt by her feet, cautious not to disturb scattered wildflowers amidst the grass.   there’s never been so stagnant an air of awkwardness between them;     even in the past they shared,   riddled with tension and rivalry,   this is,   undoubtedly,   the strangest they’ve acted towards one another.  or at least she believes so.

            want is a word which feels foreign;     she knows it well, having said it a thousand times before, again and again, but this has been the very first time she found herself fully reconciling the meaning.  comprehending that it goes further than something so simple as i want a sword,  i want to fight,  i want to keep going.  a heavy thing:   desire born in and of yourself,   not another,   one that is wholly your own and independent of what’s told to you.    inspired purely by gut & instinct.      what can you do, which i want?     her stomach begins to turn over on itself when she attempts to pinpoint it   (  there is one rational answer which she now tries to avoid;   every chance she gets to think it,  loudly and clearly,  a pain jets through the very core of her,  and nausea overtakes most of her senses so that she can barely think anything before shutting her eyes to it all   ––    anytime she lands on the desire to see guts.    she avoids the name itself,  sometimes,  as well  ).

              ❝  i,  um . . .     no,   i don’t know.   i want to stop being looked at.   but i don’t think that’s something you could do anything about. ❞    she smiles to herself at that,  eyes glancing upwards in the direction of where she knew farnese to be off studying something to do with magic and oddities.  she still wasn’t entirely sure of all the witch business.    ❝  other than that,   guess i’d just like to finish waking up.    i think.     –––    whatever that means. ❞      BUT THERE’S NOTHING FOR HIM;   nothing to tell him,  to dictate    –––   pick up your sword and slice across my eyes so that i can function again.  take the part of my brain or my heart or whatever it is that is still so latched onto memory and cut it off.  she’s unfortunately aware that such a precise task could never be assigned to the sword he wields.  so it leaves her empty handed,   no olive branch to offer.   nothing,  again.  nothing of use.

[cascae]

         gaze holds a veil over it like a coastal fog,  thick and looming with the threat of the 𝔲𝔫𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔫.  it is a strange feeling,  to take note of the weight of her hand,  to feel it lift and set in her lap.  she’s been doing this for the last hour as she watched the man she’d joined an  [  oddly  familiar  ]  pilgrimage with,  sleep across from her.    up and down,  nearly meditating on the sensation,  paying close attention to the way the rope would scratch at her wrists.  it wasn’t too tight;   it was never too tight.  but the feeling would become grating regardless,  from time to time . . .   it would grow irritating,  and she’d feel the boiling of rage around the pit of her stomach,  a flame flitting its way up her throat so that she might just say  –––   something  –––

         her foot springs out and kicks the dead leaves on the ground between them,  nudging,  in the process,  guts’ own foot.  it’s an act in lieu of words  ––  one she barely recognizes she ought not to try.    he looks tired.    she can see that.  but rationality fails to surpass impulse.  with a stubborn stare,  she bears her glare towards him.     ❝   . . .    ❞              /       [ +  @berszer​. ]