faderift | [CLOSED] oh, the sweet sound of survival

WHO: Kit Gandir, Vandelin Elris, Myrobalan Shivana, Melys, Anders, the Medicine Seller
WHAT: Kit coping badly w/ shit.
WHEN: The week after Kit gets back from Orzammar.
WHERE: All around Kirkwall.
NOTES: Probable discussion of child abuse, murder, mercy killings, death more broadly. Will update as needed.

I. THE HANGED MAN (VANDELIN)

Kit loses a game of Wicked Grace. (It's not a common occurrence, but it's been known to happen.)

The direct aftermath of the game sees Kit shelling out the last of his coin to the Antivan deckhand with a poker face like a slab of granite; with that miserable task taken care of, Kit finds a quiet corner of the Hanged Man's taproom, slouches into an empty chair, and swallows his pride.

Out comes the sending crystal; fiddling with it, he calls Vandelin.

"Hey, um." Grimacing his eyes shut, he rubs at his eyebrows. "I need a favour, salroka."

II. DARKTOWN (THE MEDICINE SELLER)

For a mind already predisposed towards dark melancholy, boredom is dangerous. Thankfully, Darktown provides plenty of opportunities to alleviate that--as well as unexpected familiar faces.

He recognizes the Medicine Seller easily; the strange elf would stand out even in Hightown, and in Darktown, his strange attire and mannerisms are a beacon for stares and trouble.

Taking a drag off the cigarette he carries, Kit threads his way through the dingy road towards him. "You turn up in the weirdest places, salroka," he says by way of greeting.

III. KIT'S HOVEL (MELYS)

The hole in his wall where the desiccated corpse had been residing for only ancestors' know how long was an eyesore when it had a body inside of it. It's still an eyesore now, but at least letting it air out has gotten rid of some of the mouldering corpse stink.

(Hopefully Vandelin has a cast iron stomach.)

The first level of his home now looks a bit like a stone mason's shop, with mortar and stone and building tools strewn about while Kit goes about making the necessary repairs to his dwelling after the ash wraith debacle. It's been over a month; time to deal with it.

The front door has been left open.

IV. THE GALLOWS (MYR)

Shortly after his call with the rest of the Other Powers project members ends, Kit can't stand the confines of his office anymore. He heads outdoors for a smoke, stares across the water back towards Kirkwall, then detours towards the training grounds. When in doubt, when you can't keep your demons at bay, best to try punching them instead.

Barring that, swinging an axe at a training dummy can't hurt.

V. DARKTOWN (ANDERS)

His appearance outside Anders' clinic isn't entirely by happenstance; recalling his last chance encounter with the (rather unpopular) Warden mage, he's taken to strolling around the area in the evenings, maybe just to discourage anyone else from trying to take a second stab at the guy living on his own.

This time when Kit shows up, it's in the middle of the day, and he's rubbing at his arm like he's injured it. "Hey, salroka," he greets Anders with what he hopes is a casual smile, "hope I don't need an appointment or anything."

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He accepts the salve as it's offered out and gives his friend a grateful look. "Thanks," he says, and hopes it's clear that he means it.

"What brings you into Darktown? Clearly not a spirit healer."

Kit pockets the salve, rather than applying it to his sore muscle directly; it'll keep for a while yet. "Well I'm just up the road from you, actually," he says and thumbs back over his shoulder in the direction of his hovel. "Figured I'd drop by, see what's shapin'."

Easier not to talk about his aversion to magic; aversion to magic clearly doesn't translate to an aversion to mages, at least in Kit's eyes.

He takes a breath and balances his mood out. Kit is not one of the people fighting to keep mages locked up, and it's not like anyone who had any authority or power there would listen to a member of the Legion of the Dead. Anders is stressed and upset, but it's not Kit's fault.

After a moment, he looks in the indicated direction and nods. "I'd heard there was... a ruckus in that direction. Anything related to you? Or should we ignore that and I can tell you that I'm about to run an errand through the tunnels and invite you along if you'd like? They're basic salves and potions."

Because he wants to keep the man a friend, because he likes the guy, Anders doesn't push the topic of magic. He is magic. But most non-mages don't understand, and it's likely even harder for a Dwarf to grasp.

A ruckus. "Yeah, that's one word for it," Kit answers wryly, but doesn't supply anymore details than that; either Anders has already heard the details about some Lowtown dwarf and a weird, brightly dressed elf subduing an ash wraith in the streets, or he hasn't, and regardless of which one it is, Kit prefers not to devote too much time to thinking about it.

"Where are these salves and potions headed?" he asks instead, sounding keen on making himself useful in some way. His arm injury will keep a little longer; it's not too severe.

He stops so he can look Kit in the eye. There can be no dissembling or vagueness here; Kit needs to know who he's helping.

"To my network of mages. We've normally got enough supplies going around but a group of rogue Templars hit the cell dedicated to those and I'm sending what I can from my own pockets. If you've any other questions about them I'll answer except names and location."

This revelation seems to startle Kit into inaction for a moment, and he blinks back at Anders as though not quite sure he's understood. He gives his friend a pensive look, weighing his response for a moment. "Any reason why they haven't joined up with the Inquisition's mages?" he asks; it's not a subject he and Vandelin have delved into much together, but his understanding is that Vandelin was once a rebel mage, and choice voluntarily to join the Inquisition.

"Because the Inquisition has Chantry roots. If we hand over everything and, after Corypheus is defeated, they back a Divine who intends to recreate the Circles, what are we left with? They'll assist as they can on missions to defeat Corypheus and his forces, and we certainly need mages with the Inquisition as well, but we also need this to still be in place. We cannot go back to abuse and cages."

He leans against his desk, patient and watchful. While he'd love support from non-mages, he knows not to expect it. And not to expect them to see a need on their own now that the Circles are broken, too. The problem hasn't been solved yet, though, and there's work to be done.

It's not that Kit doesn't see the need, precisely, because he does--it's just that, for the first time in his life, he's got to consider the sodding political implications of throwing his support behind such a thing. A month or two ago, and he'd have leapt at the chance to follow Anders on that quest, simply because it was the right thing to do. And if he were to stumble upon Anders' network of mages in a crisis now, he'd do exactly that, without hesitation. But protecting them from immediate harm with his axes is not the same thing as sneaking resources to them, behind the Inquisition's back.

Ancestors, this is a shit predicament to land himself in.

"I can't," he says, choosing not to beat around the bush on the subject. He grimaces. "It's bad timing for me, Anders. I'm doing what I can to get that Tevinter apprentice out of a prison cell, and if word were to get back to Madame de Cedoux or Scoutmaster Ashara that I'm doing something like this without their sanction--" His hands spread to either side, somewhat helplessly. "He's just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I'm the only ally he's got right now. I can't jeopardize that."

He nods at the 'can't.' It's not entirely a surprise; making this run is not the most politically adept move. Anders is invested, though, and so he's going to do it. The explanation makes even more sense, and Anders gives Kit a tiny smile.

"Perhaps not his only ally. But the only ally that's well-placed, I'll grant you that." Anders turns back to assembling the package, hiding the small bit of disappointment he feels. Kit had proven a very effective ally in Darktown before. It would have been nice to go in with the Dwarf at his back but the reasoning is more than understandable.

"It would be..." He trails off, trying to find how to say what he wants to say without it coming out as a guilt trip. "I suppose the only time life becomes uncomplicated is when you're about to die or are dying." Things had been very simple on that crate as the ash of the Chantry started to rain down.

"I suppose the only time life becomes uncomplicated is when you're about to die or are dying."

Death is a strange concept to an Orzammar dwarf--especially one born without a caste, who forfeit his life and identity (what little he had of one) to the Legion of the Dead at such a young age. Kit smiles a little crookedly at those words; they sift through layer after layer of dwarven, sedimentary memory and experience, but he gets their meaning. After all, even a dead Legionnaire meets his true death in the Deep Roads, sooner or later.

"Some things get simpler, I'd say. The rest?" He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know, salroka. I wish I had the answers, but I don't."

He looks back over his shoulder, reminded of Sigrun's rule and extending that thought to Kit.

"Sorry. I meant actual death. I... There was a time when my end was very certain. Matters were clear, and it was surprisingly relaxing. Possibly the most relaxing I've ever found something. I don't want to go back to a moment like that, but I knew I was going to die, it was deserved, and there was no doing anything about it."

Anders shrugs, turning back around now that the wrapping is finished. "The rest of life seems to be entirely lacking in answers. Or at least easy ones."

He grimaces after a beat. "I apologize. I'd say you'd caught me in a melancholy mood, but I think it's fairly standard of late."

[CLOSED] oh, the sweet sound of survival

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