[OPEN] You've got your reasons / And me, I've got mine

[ragweed]

WHO: Kit + OPEN
WHAT: Back from the Korcari Wilds, Kit kicks about town finding trouble.
WHEN: Towards the end of August.
WHERE: The Gallows, Lowtown, Darktown.
NOTES: Will update as they become relevant.

The Korcari Wilds were strange, and the experiences had within them even stranger. Kit still can't completely shake the feeling of persistent dread that has hounded him since that night spent around the Chasind campfire listening to the words spun for him and the rest of his companions by the shaman. Since his return to Kirkwall, it has been easier for him to eschew the company of the friends he's made since arriving, though he knows it's beyond unreasonable to avoid them forever.



I. THE GALLOWS - TRAINING GROUNDS

About a week after his return from the Wilds, Kit rouses himself early enough to get to the training grounds before the sun has decided whether it's ready to drag itself above the horizon or not. There are a handful of dutiful Templars and other Inquisition soldiers at work there already, either engaging in sparring or in warm up exercises. Kit stands out like the sorest of thumbs among all the humans, but he's used to that.

He heads over to a rack of training war axes and examines them, picking them up to test the heft, then hanging them back up again. Truthfully, he's not even sure what he's doing here without an Inquisition scout trainee in need of remedial lessons to attend to; sleep just wouldn't stay with him.

It's a pity he isn't human; he can't even blame nightmares for keeping him awake.



II. KIRKWALL - THE HANGED MAN

It's easier to lose his money than it is for him to keep it, and he's doing a great job of proving that to himself again tonight. Card shark or not, there's always bound to be a night where even your best poker face isn't good enough, and this is one of those nights.

He's seated at a table near the back of the taproom floor surrounded by a number of other dwarves who, judging by the clean cut of their clothes and their absurdly coiffed beards, are likely representatives of the Merchants' Guild. It's not exactly clear when the stakes of this game got quite so high as to include Kit betting his tiny, exquisite carving of Paragon Hrildan, but that's where he's at now.

He sits very still in his chair, examining the hand of cards he holds in one hand while the other keeps a lit cigarette within easy reach of his lips.



III. DARKTOWN

He ends up in Darktown like it's ten years ago and he's in need of a spell of quiet. The darkness, the stink, the distance people give each other in lieu of making trouble, reminds him with a pang of bitter homesickness of Dust Town, and he almost can't conscience how much he misses it for one shitty moment.

There's a single rickety railing that exists to prevent the idle wanderer from tripping over their own feet and careening down into the depths of the channel leading into the city, and that is where Kit stands, smoking a cigarette and watching the small, distant shapes of the barges as they move through the gates.

Comments

I

[misdirection_hex]

The training grounds are not a place where Van is accustomed to spending any length of time. He looks, in his way, every bit as out-of-place as Kit, winding his way gingerly around the weapons and trying not to snag his robes on any of the equipment, but he maintains an air of being completely in his element. If this is where Kit's going to spend his time instead of sparing even a minute to come talk to him or see him, then damn it, this is where Van will come find him.

"A soldier's work is never done, huh?" he says, leaning against a stand of pikes that tower taller than he is. "That's some damn impressive discipline. Too busy to talk, but never too busy to train."

[ragweed]

Well this was inevitable, wasn't it?

"Yeah, well," Kit begins absently, doing a damned good job of avoiding eye contact with the elf who leans with such pointed, hostile grace against the stand of pikes. "You ever hear the saying, best way to avoid digging yourself a hole is to not pick up the shovel? This is me, not picking up the shovel."

He grimaces as soon as he's said the words, and still can't make himself meet Vandelin's eyes. Ancestors, he's made a mess of things. That didn't take long at all. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

[misdirection_hex]

Vandelin is accustomed to using eye contact as a kind of weapon, and it throws him off-balance already that Kit is so determinedly avoiding it. This is not a conversation Van trusts himself to have with the kind of cool detachment he would prefer. That hurts already--the distance in Kit's voice, as if this is all of very little consequence, and the confirmation of the worst-case scenario that's been creeping around the back of Van's mind.

He ignores the apology altogether. "Wow. That's a beautiful way to characterize a friendship, truly. I don't know why more poetry doesn't compare things to unwanted holes. I couldn't be more deeply moved."

[ragweed]

It isn't too little consequence that's the trouble--it's too much.

"Guess that's why Orzammar's not renowned for it. All we've got to write about is holes in the dirt." Kit closes his eyes and lets his head thump against the rack of axes. He's an idiot, that's not up for debate. But where the idiocy begin--with letting Vandelin so close so quickly, or with pushing him away now?

He makes himself pretend at courage and turns back around, makes himself meet Vandelin's eyes like a man who isn't on the cusp of cowardice. The look he receives is deserved, and he forces himself not to look aside from it, but whatever words he knows he should offer up in the face of Vandelin's justifiable anger, he can't find them.

III

[doneisdone]

Teren isn't in Darktown often, but she does make the occasional appearance on her, ah... shopping rounds, fitting right in with the shady populace in her dark, scuffed leathers and perpetual scowl. It lightens just a touch when she catches sight of a familiar face, and strolls over to Kit, looking him over. "Ah, you lived then," she observes, without any apparent pleasure or dismay. This is the first time she's seen the dwarf since they first picked him up outside the Deep Roads, and it's a genuine surprise to see that he hasn't died horribly in the meantime.

[ragweed]

"Looks like it." He taps the excess ash off the cigarette and glances back at Teren, cracking a barebones smile at her.

He gestures around them. "You come down here for the fresh air or what?"

[doneisdone]

She snorts, the corner of her lip twitching upward in a wry smirk. "Sentimentality," she decides, "closest thing to the Deep Roads in this shithole." Protip, she also hates the Deep Roads.

[ragweed]

"You know, I had the same thought. Smells worse, though." He takes one last drag off his cigarette, then flicks it over the railing. What a litter bug.

"I'd forgotten what a shit-hole this place is."

I

[judgemewhole]

"Good morning, serah."

Comes the voice of one of the Templars behind him, standing in his full-plate, sweat plastered on his forehead and his sword in hand but his shield slung back up on his back. The only changes are that instead of the traditional colors of the Templars, he is wearing green and gold - Inquisition colors.

Green eyes assess, from a narrow, hawk-like face for a moment, before he adds politely.
"Are you here for the demon defense training? We are about to begin."

[ragweed]

It takes him a moment to realize that the Templar is addressing him and not someone else, and so his response comes a fraction later than expected. Then he clears his throat and turns back to him, putting on his best easy-going grin.

"I was just out for the fresh air," he says, injecting levity into his voice, "but some extra training surely can't go amiss." Jokingly, he adds, "I don't owe you a fee or anything to participate, do I?" Kit himself is clearly not a Templar.

[judgemewhole]

"Well, it's a good day to have fresh air, I suppose." Norrington stated simply, before he let his mouth twist at the corner with wry amusement. "Althought training would be far superior. And ... no. Absolutely not. This is offered to every member of the Inquisition."

[ragweed]

It might be good to give his hands something to do for the next hour or so; physical activity has always helped him to take his mind of his inner demons. Norrington receives a small smile in return for his offer.

"All right," he says, "sign me up." He reaches back to collect two of the one-handed war axes; a dual wielder, through and through.

III

[circleprodigy]

The only reason Inessa enters Darktown is to volunteer at Anders' clinic, so her sights are limited to the route there and back. Despite the fact that some recognize her and her work, Inessa always takes care to come armed and accompanied by her faithful mabari. Darktown has a reputation, and she doesn't want to give the impression that she's an easy target.

It helps to see a familiar face, though. Keeping an eye out for signs of trouble, the elven woman brightens a little upon spotting the dwarf she met at the library earlier. Garahel seems to remember him, too, perking up and barking happily. As she angles her approach so as to stand upwind from the cigarette smoke, she nods politely his way. "Hello again, Kit. I'm glad to see you're still around."

She hasn't seen him since he'd left for that Korcari Wilds trip, and her erratic library schedule of late hasn't made it as easy to find her as usual.

[ragweed]

It's the bark that grabs his attention. Kit turns, spots Garahel before he spots Inessa, then smiles crookedly and holds out a hand towards the dog, encouraging him to trot over for some affectionate head scratches. It's hard to stay melancholy with a dog around for company.

"I'm glad to see you're still around."

He lifts his shoulders in the smallest of shrugs. "Still around," he agrees, and while he doesn't lose his smile, it's clear he's not in the best headspace. He takes another drag from his cigarette, then makes to put it out, clearing having noticed Inessa's distaste for it.

Small talk doesn't suit him, but he doesn't have the heart to push aside genial company right now. So, "You doing all right?" he asks her.

[circleprodigy]

Yesss, head scratches at the best. Garahel grunts happily, his tail enthusiastically wagging in response to the attention. As long as Kit doesn't seem to mind the bottomless affection sponge that is her mabari, Inessa will refrain from calling him to her side.

"As well as ever, I suppose. The clinic is never overflowing with resources or volunteers. I do what I can, when time permits." At the bark, she smiles. "Well, 'we'. Garahel can be quite the morale boost."

His distracted demeanor doesn't go unnoticed, though knowing him a little as she does, there's no telling the source of it and Inessa doesn't want to overstep her bounds. Still, she doesn't seem offended. If he's not in a space to talk, she'll urge Garahel onward before long. No harm done. "And yourself? The Inquisition must be keeping you busy as well, no doubt."

[ragweed]

She's quite a sage, old soul for someone who looks so young to Kit's eye--but then again, the Wardens must have the same way of prematurely aging you as the Legion. Kit focuses his attention on lavishing Garahel with as many pets as he wants, chuckling a bit over the dog's enthusiasm.

"Oh, yeah," he says, answering her question, "not too much time for downtime, though I prefer it that way. Thanks for directing me to the Scouting division."

II [grumbling] friggin dwarves man

[faithlikeaseed]

After Kit hung up on him, Myr'd been of a mind to hunt his friend down right then and there. For once, practicality had checked him: Sounds of surf and seagulls didn't a definitive location make anywhere in Kirkwall.

Better to try ambush tactics. The Hanged Man's the usual Inquisition haunt and it's not so hard for him to find a group headed to it of an evening--or several evenings in a row--and each time linger there with them asking after any card-playing dwarves that might be on the premises.

One of those times, he finally gets lucky.

He isn't about to interrupt the game, of course. But he is going to lurk like a mage-robed haunt and wait for Kit to notice him.

[ragweed]

He doesn't notice Myr--probably because Myr is lurking off to his right, and it's been well over the requisite one week that the Dragon determined to be the outer limit of his hearing aid remaining functional. The little brass earring remains in his ear, but it's functionally useless at present.

Maybe he'll bet that damn thing, too.

He narrowly avoids losing the tiny figurine, but his money--all of it, every last scrap of earning he's managed to acquire over the past several years--now lines the pockets of men who surely don't need any of it. He watches them pack up to leave, and remains seated at the table with his face braced against the heel of the hand holding his cigarette. The other holds tight to the small figurine--though Myr can't know it, or how precious it is to him.

[faithlikeaseed]

While Myr can't see the players, he can follow the game well enough by ear--bets called and raised, lacunae of silence where someone must've pushed something into the pot without comment, little spurts of triumph or outrage when the Angel of Death's revealed and money's won and lost. He can't tell exactly how Kit fared by the end of it, but he suspects it isn't well.

Accordingly, he waits for the merchants to be well-departed before he approaches the table, feels out a chair, and takes a seat near his friend.

Still doesn't say anything, though, in part because he's got no idea what to say.

III

[wardeneructate]

Oghren hadn't been paying attention to anyone around when he'd stopped to take a piss after a good night of drinking. Yet when he was done he sure noticed the other dwarf. Couldn't say he remembered if he'd seen his face or not but eh he figured he didn't have anything better to do. So he just sort of sidled over and noticed the tattoos on his face. Legion ones. Sure there was some casteless hidden under there but it was the Legion ones that meant something now.

So, he asked the first thing that came to mine. "What's a Legion dwarf doing all the way out here? Someone sweet talk you into dying for the Inquisition instead of underground?"

He'd seen it before so he was just assuming.

[ragweed]

Kit hears the approaching footsteps behind him and glances over his shoulder to spot the other dwarf. He sizes the guy up in a glance, but when Oghren speaks, some of the tension goes out of him. Not looking for a fight, then.

He taps the ash off his cigarette and chuckles; involuntarily, he thinks of Vandelin. Someone sweet indeed. "You might could say that, salroka," he replies, then shifts his eyes back to Oghren, considering him. The guy's got Orzammar in his stride and no brand on his face. They might both be on the surface now, but Kit's going to keep his distance until he's sure this guy isn't planning to put him in his place for being casteless.

He exhales a thin plume of smoke and juts his chin at Oghren. "What about you? What brings you up here?"

[wardeneructate]

"Been on the surface for a good while now. I'm a Warden these days."

Pulling out a flask, he had himself a drink from it before he plopped his ass down. Handing the thing over, he offered him a drink from it too. "Tastes like fiery piss but it's got something of a sweet kick to it after."

He chuckled a bit after that before looking out at the water. "Been awhile since I last saw an Orzammar dwarf. Been awhile since I got called friend by one too. Were you casteless before the Legion? Can see some of those markings still. I used to be a warrior myself. Even spent some time as a noble."

Surprisingly there actually wasn't any judgement there for that one. Oghren had spent enough time away that he just sort of chalked all of the caste system of Orzammar as a sodding mess and had washed his hands of it.

"Stuffed up bunch of tufts all of them are these days."

Okay maybe there was some judgement but not towards this dwarf.

III

[arlathvhen]

Beleth rarely traverses the vile streets of Darktown, and when she does, she stands out like a sore thumb--Dalish armor (because of course you wear armor in Darktown), Dalish face, even the way she held herself was incredibly Dalish. Carefully winding her way through the path (for you couldn't call it a street), carefully stepping over the litter, her expression made it clear that she was well aware of how she stands out, and that the feeling is mutual.

The expression is exchanged for a bright smile when she sees Kit, however, and she quickly weaves her way over to him, taking a moment to brush off the front of her armor.

"Fancy meeting you here," Her smile is warm, even if her tone is a bit wry. "Getting acquainted with the sights of the city?"

[ragweed]

Seeing your boss outside of work is kind of like seeing a fish walking on its fins, at least for a couple of seconds. Kit startles at the sight of Beleth, but her warm smile and relaxed demeanour win him over promptly. He chuckles, taps the ash off his cigarette, and nods out across the railing, eyes wandering towards the barges in the water down below.

"I always end up back down here on my off hours," he tells her, sounding a little perplexed about it even as he says it. He shrugs one shoulder, grinning a little, though there's something kind of melancholic about the expression. "Maybe it's a dwarf thing--who knows.

"What brings you down here? Looking for trouble?" This last part is ostensibly a joke, but he waggles an eyebrow anyway.

[arlathvhen]

"A dwarf thing?" She echoes, glancing around thoughtfully. Well, all the dwarves she knew did seem to know a thing or two about seedy undercities. Except Varric, possibly, but Varric was an entity unto himself.

Aside from musings on all four dwarves she's ever met, Kit doesn't seem particularly happy about talking about the dwarf thing. Or maybe it was the Darktown thing. There isn't really much down here to be happy about, after all. But then why would he keep showing up here?

"Dealing with some trouble that already found me, rather." Her voice gets a bit of an edge--but there's a bit of amusement there, too. "It's work related. Which means I could have sent someone else--someone who fits in better. But sometimes things need a personal touch." She pauses for a moment, then moves on.

"I don't make a habit of coming down here, really. It's...very unlike the environment I grew up in." Not one particular place, but common in the wide spaces, fresh air, nature--the opposite of Darktown.