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[OPEN] a dwarf making bad decisions
WHO: Kit + you?? (starters for the Medicine Seller, Simon, Anders, and Cyril)
WHAT: The best way to deal with your problems is to act like you don't have any, right??
WHEN: The latter half of November.
WHERE: Kirkwall and the surrounding area.
NOTES: None immediately come to mind, will update as needed.
WHAT: The best way to deal with your problems is to act like you don't have any, right??
WHEN: The latter half of November.
WHERE: Kirkwall and the surrounding area.
NOTES: None immediately come to mind, will update as needed.
I. DARKTOWN (THE MEDICINE SELLER)
Killing demons is far from tedious work, but for Kit it’s frankly a nice respite from having to think about the low-key disaster the rest of his life is swiftly en route to becoming.
It also leaves him cagey; magic and magickery in general set his teeth on edge in a way he finds difficult to articulate, even to the peculiar elf (the “Painted Blade,” Melys, really?) who has become his friend. Perhaps especially because they are friends. Possibly this explains why, as they meander back down the poorly lit Darktown streets back to Kit’s house, he’s a little rougher than usual when he drags a couple of Coterie thugs back from hassling a pair of frightened dwarf kids.
The end of the encounter--the street fight, more like--leaves his knuckles bruised and bloody, but he wins, which is all that matters!! A bit roughed up, and keyed up, he’s in the middle of snapping, “--yeah, piss off back to your rat holes--” to the backs of their retreating figures, when he realizes that he’s frightened the children off, too.
That realization seems to take the wind from his sails. He stares at the spot under a bit of rotting lumber where they’d been hiding, rubs a hand along his jaw, then glances uncomfortably towards the Medicine Seller. He spits some blood out into the dirt. “..well.”
II. TRAINING GROUNDS (SIMON + OPEN)
(OOC: The thread with Simon is closed, but other characters should feel free to approach Kit after training/sparring on another day!)
He’s off his game.
It’s not the recruits’ fault that they’re still wet behind the ears and don’t know the difference between a parry and a riposte, and on a good day, their inexperience would trigger his patience, his understanding, the part of him that has always made him good with stubborn kids and loose cannons alike. Today it just makes him cold.
(The bruises on his knuckles and what looks like a split lip probably don’t help much.)
Once they’ve cleared out of the training grounds, Kit directs his attention towards putting up the last of the training weapons, then retreats to the pier to light himself a cigarette, squint at the early morning light coming across the water, and try not to feel anything.
III. NEAR THE DEEP ROADS (ANDERS)
The door sealing off a section of the Deep Roads from the surface isn’t that far below ground; sunlight still reaches the stone floor of the ancient roads from what time has turned into a ravine, far above. The worst that they’ve had to tangle with so far were a couple of ranging deepstalkers who tested their luck against a Legionnaire and a Grey Warden mage one too many times. Kit’s now wiping a bit of viscera off of one of his axes.
A Grey Warden and a Legionnaire down near the dark shouldn’t be unusual, but it is, given the two in question. Did Kit invite Anders on this trek seemingly out of nowhere? Probably. Has he been his normal chatty self for most of the trip? Nope.
“I’ll check the map, but I think we’re close,” he says at length, expression distant and neutral.
IV. THE OTHER POWERS OFFICE (CYRIL + OPEN)
(OOC: The thread with Cyril is closed, but other characters should feel free to pop by the office on another day!)
It’s taken about a month for Kit to wrangle the office into some semblance of control, or to sort out the previous project leader’s archaic filing system (translation, there was no filing system)--but he’s in the perfect mindset to perform mind-numbingly dull labour at present, and so cobbles together order out of chaos with remarkable speed.
This is where he spends his early mornings--and a handful of very late evenings--when he isn’t on the training ground with the recruits… or covertly killing demons in Darktown with the Medicine Seller.
no subject
He clenches and unclenches his jaw, staring at the window, then turns to look back at Myr. Myr, his friend, who hasn't done anything to deserve any of the mess that has landed in his lap--not the blindness, not an emotionally inaccessible cousin, and certainly not a dwarf who's more flake than friend. It's got to be exhausting, he thinks, over-extending himself like that, every sodding day.
"You're right," he says at length, puts out his cigarette, and leans against his desk with his head bowed. He squeezes his eyes shut. More quietly, "You're right. ...Ancestors, I wish it were faster."
He's never had his heart broken before. (Not a fun experience at all, 10/10 Kits do not recommend.)
no subject
It didn't used to be so hard to balance things. The world didn't used to be so cruel. But then, Circle mages are sheltered...
He lets his hand fall back to his side, face still turned toward Kit, expression full of worry and compassion alike. "I'm sorry it's not," he replies, gently. "Sorry that I can't make it any faster," though he knows it'd do no good in the end; that's not what they're made for, "--but you don't have to go through it alone."
no subject
He doesn't finish asking that question. Why did he do it? Why wasn't he good enough? Does he really want to know the answers to those questions? Probably not--not without a lot of alcohol first, but the thought of getting hammered alone just makes him feel shameful and weak.
He forces himself to stand up straight, bouncing on his heels once. "...I'll be all right," he says, hesitates, then takes a few steps over to Myr and places a hand on his shoulder. "But it's good to know you're around, if I need something."
There, Kit. Was that so hard?
no subject
He's got inklings, already. His mind works fast, works relentless, not letting a mystery so awful sit unexplored and unexamined. But to pull together all the pieces of this particular puzzle might require asking questions better not asked, like poking fingers into wounds still fresh--
Maybe better not. He'd only just kept things from disintegrating with Van, and Kit hasn't run yet; prying might shatter both those fragile pieces of good fortune. So instead--he lays his hand over Kit's on his shoulder, brief and fond. "Sure. You're--still like family, you know. Whatever's happened."
It surprises him a little to hear himself say it so openly, so easily, about someone he hasn't known more than a few months-- But it's true, and more importantly, it's right. He gives Kit's hand a pat before taking his own away again. "--So. Come see me when the office is finally wrangled, maybe?" When you're ready.
He's learning, too.