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

Entry tags:

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

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.

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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."

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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II [grumbling] friggin dwarves man

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