[CLOSED] oh, the sweet sound of survival

[ragweed]

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."

Comments

[ragweed]

He looks down at Vandelin's hand gripping his; the touch grounds him unexpectedly in the here and now in a way that only emotional intimacy can manage. Old instinct makes him want to draw away from it, but he forces himself to be still, to instead feel the warmth of Vandelin's skin against his, and through it, his lover's earnest desire to help. To comfort.

"Then at least they had one person who cared about their suffering. At least they knew that before they died."

(Is Vandelin talking about the casteless dead, or him?)

Kit sets his brandy down, then turns to rest his hand gently against the side of Vandelin's neck and draw him down for a brief kiss. It's short, but the embrace that he pulls Vandelin into next is not.

[misdirection_hex]

This is the only kind of comfort Vandelin knows how to give, even if he hasn't had occasion to do it since he was a child, folding Myr into his arms and silently promising the Maker to be good and pious and obedient if it would somehow bring Uncle Iolan back.

Kit fits differently into his embrace, and there's no comfort to be found anymore in earnest childhood naivete. But Van holds him tight all the same, lips pressed to Kit's temple, one small hand rubbing soft and rhythmic over his back.

"You did everything you could," he murmurs, barely audible. "You always do."

[ragweed]

"You did everything you could. You always do."

Kit doesn't know if he agrees. Still, he chuckles softly, the sound muffled by Vandelin's neck and shoulder, and gives his lover a gentle squeeze around the midsection. "Thanks, salroka," he says, and however little he believes the words that have been shared with him, his gratitude for the vote of confidence is sincere.

Slowly he draws back and takes a steadying breath, ready to regain his composure and put this unsightly episode of vulnerability behind him. "I'm all right, I'm all right," he's quick to assure Vandelin, letting his hand rest fondly against his cheek for a moment, before drawing it back; it's not true, but he needs it to be. Instead, he shifts the focus away from himself, frowning. "I'm damn sorry for dropping what happened at the warehouse on you like that."

[misdirection_hex]

Whether Kit is all right or not, Vandelin would never begrudge him the pretending. It's what he would do, were the tables turned, and he would want Kit to allow him that same coping mechanism. He presses one last kiss to the heel of Kit's palm, a gesture of more fondness than comfort, and lets it go.

He doesn't know what to say, though, when the concern is turned round on him. Momentarily, he flounders. "Do you think I'd rather not have known?" he asks. "I wish to Andraste's pyre I'd been there to do something instead of on that useless expedition, but there's nothing for that. If nothing else, at least I know now. And I'd rather have heard it from you than anyone else."

[ragweed]

"...And I'd rather have heard it from you than anyone else."

He ducks his head, abashed, and smiles wistfully and the tops of his dirty boots. "Well," he says, but nothing else follows, like the words and the feelings just won't come together and form a coherent whole. Instead, after a pause, he just pushes a hand over the top of his bald head and exhales into the dark.

"I'm exhausted." It's dim in here, but for the candle, and he should probably sort out wood for the stove before he even thinks about crashing for the night. Pensively, he looks to Vandelin. "Do you want to stay over tonight?"

[misdirection_hex]

The ripple of relief when Kit asks him that is part and parcel of what Vandelin keeps trying to conceal, what he isn't sure he should be feeling at all, lest it open up avenues of unwanted vulnerability. But it is there nonetheless, and yes, he wants to stay. He would like nothing more than to stay.

"Depends," he says, with a faint quirk of a smile. "How likely am I to trip over Chuck when I get up to make breakfast in the morning?"

[ragweed]

"Well I did install locks," Kit answers him, a shadow of his usual lopsided smile on his face, and chuckles a little. "He's a crafty sod though, might find his way in anyway."

He reaches out again to smooth a hand down Vandelin's arm, comfortably quiet. Then he sighs again and suggests, "I'm just going to get the wood stove set up for the night; you can go on to bed, if you want."