[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

[ragweed]

"Anyway. Why do you spend so much time down here? Is it similar to how you grew up?"

Kit snorts and gives his head a bewildered little shake. "Shit, I don't even know," he replies, takes another drag off his cigarette, and blows the smoke off to the side so it won't end up in Beleth's face. "Sure does remind me of Dust Town, but that's probably why I should be giving the place a berth wide enough for one of those big Qunari ships." He considers that for a minute, gives Beleth a speculative look, then adds, "You ever end up drawn back to a place full of nothing but bad memories?"

[arlathvhen]

Beleth respects Kit's question enough to not answer it immediately--she leans gingerly against the creaky railing, staring off into the distance as she ponders over it. A place with bad memories? No. Places had never been very permanent for her, and those with bad memories were easily avoided. However, it seemed clear to her that this was something plaguing Kit, and replying in the negative would only serve to put distance between them.

"Yes. But not with places. I do it with people." She gives a dry laugh, head turned down. "Probably far stupider than returning to a place." Places, after all, are far less likely to slam you on the ground and run you through with a sword.

But she's not eager to elaborate on her own issues--especially when Kit seems to need to talk about his own. So she turns back to him, curious. "Is Dust Town that bad? I've only read about Orzammar, and most of the focus was on the more...affluent areas."

[ragweed]

"Doesn't sound stupid," Kit responds with a shake of his head, and gives her a look that he hopes communicates understanding rather than judgment. "I think we've all had folks like that come into our lives, one way or another."

It's not so much that he really wants to talk about it--or anything about himself, frankly--it's that he probably needs to deal with this shit at some stage, and talking with a colleague about it rather than someone who needs him (e.g., Myr or Vandelin, or maybe even Yngvi) is somehow easier.

"Is Dust Town that bad? I've only read about Orzammar, and most of the focus was on the more... affluent areas."

He barks out a short laugh that doesn't have a trace of happiness in it. Bitter resentment, maybe. "...yeah," he says a few seconds later, takes a drag off his cigarette, and exhales the smoke. He reaches up a hand to point to his tattoos--but not to the ones given to him by the Legion. Underneath those, there's a ragged-looking brand, its edges faded by time. "If you're born there, if your parents are born there, you get this. It means you're not a person. You're nothing. Your kids are nothing." A pause. "..so, yeah. It's bad."

[arlathvhen]

A look of concern flashes across her face at the laugh--she recognizes that bitterness, has felt it herself. Maybe pointed in a different direction than his, but the sharp resentment of the oppressed is far too familiar.

She does lean in to study the tattoo--brand--that he gestures to, curiosity mingling with a distaste for what she's learning. Under ground or under the sky, there are always people eager to degrade others, deny them personhood for arbitrary reasons.

"For the Dalish, our tattoos are a reminder of our heritage, our religion, our culture." She takes a step back, her fingers tracing the green vines that twist around her face. "We get them when we become an adult, and they are a sign of our beliefs, which can never be taken away." A frown flits across her face, and she shakes her head. "That is what a tattoo should be. It shouldn't be used to devalue someone--not when that person's only crime was to be born."

There's a pause as Beleth listens to herself, and a sigh follows as she raises a hand to rest against her cheek, expression apologetic.

"...But you already know that. I doubt you need me to lecture you on that. I'm sorry--And I'm sorry that happened to you. You deserve better. I know that we have only recently met, but you've done nothing but impress me thus far. I think you're incredibly valuable, and nothing about the circumstances of your birth would change that."

Pause. Then another sigh.

"But you probably already know that, too. Sorry."

[ragweed]

This time when Kit smiles at her, there's something real in it. He shakes his head, taps the ash off his cigarette, and says, "Don't apologize. That might be the nicest thing someone's said to me in a while."

He gives her elbow a light nudge with his own. "You're all right, salroka."

[arlathvhen]

Beleth ducks her head slightly, smile somewhat bashful. "Truly? I find that hard to believe. I'm just speaking the truth." There's a pause, and she glances at him from the corner of her eye, a sudden solemnity in her expression. "And if anyone tries to tell you it is otherwise, please let me know. I will talk to them."

What kind of division head would she be if she wasn't willing to throw down for her people?

But the soft smile returns when he gently elbows her. "Salroka? I hope that means something complimentary." The words are teasing--Beleth is pretty sure that Kit wasn't about to follow that up by calling her a jerk, or something worse.

[ragweed]

He chuckles and gives his head a shake, waving off her worry with one hand. "Nah, nothing like that. It means 'friend.'"

Kit straightens up again and finishes off his cigarette, tossing it over the railing, to let it fall into the murky, already unclean water of the harbour down below. "Might head back to the Gallows," he says, then glances Beleth's way again. "You heading back, or you going to stay?"

[arlathvhen]

"'Friend'. I like that, thank you." Kit's given a warm smile at that. She's pretty sure Leliana had some kind of advice or something about not befriending the people working under you, but. She was expecting them to do what she says, risk their life on her command, and if they died, trust that she had sent them to their deaths for a good reason.

The least she can do is be nice to them.

"I'll be heading back, my business here is finished." Thank the Creators. "I'll tag along with you, unless you mind."