[OPEN] but the one who sings in the dead of night

[ragweed]

WHO: Kit's CR, and anyone else who feels like wandering by
WHAT: Kit's dead, everything is crappy, time to get sad.
WHEN: Throughout March.
WHERE: Darktown
NOTES: I won't be tagging into this obviously unless there's some clarification needed about Kit's death, his body, etc. Additional starter to be added once I square away exactly where Kit's remains are. (this has been added!!) Giant CW for probable discussion of Kit's dead body, how he died grief, etc. Additionally, if you don't feel like tagging into the thread, just consider this post as a status update.

It would be nice if death meant that the messy work of dealing with a life lived also went with it, but that's not the case. Kit's dead, but there remains plenty to deal with now that he's gone. Like what to do with the remains of a casteless former Legionnaire.

He'd apologize to those left behind who are stuck dealing with his mess... but he's not in a position to say much at all these days.



I. DARKTOWN - Kit's hovel


Visitors to Kit's house halfway between Lowtown and Darktown will notice one thing right away:  the smears of angry red paint that have been graffiti'd across the outside walls and doors of the hovel. If the Coterie as an organization haven't chosen to claim responsibility for doing away with the troublesome Dead Skull, then at least one dumb fuck with a can of paint and too much free time on his hands has chosen to do it. It's tried in place, though it's clear that some denizens of the neighbourhood have tried to chip away at it; it's been there for a few days.

The inside of the house has been blessedly spared attempts at further vandalizing or looting thanks in no small part to a grouchy, unwashed-looking vagrant who sits hunkered down near the front door. (Chuck doesn't say much, but he does carry a big stick.) Inquisition personnel, as well as people he recognizes (such as Vandelin, the Medicine Seller, etc.), won't be hassled much if they attempt to enter the house; he's certainly chased off a few opportunistic thieves keen on an easy mark, though.

Kit's belongings are still where he last left them; an old coat slung across the back of a chair; a plant gifted to him by Vandelin still struggling to stay alive but now wilting after a few days without being watered; an ash tray with an old cigarette still resting in it. All the evidence of the man himself, even though he will never cross the threshold again.



II. WILDCARD (OPEN)


(Use this as a way to thread discussion of grief, of what to do with Kit's remains, or literally anything else tbh.)



III. A MAKESHIFT MORGUE (OPEN)


What do you do with the remains of a dead dwarf who can't be immediately returned to the Stone?

That's a really good question. And currently, it doesn't appear that anyone else knows exactly what to do with him, either. But leaving him in the back of Anders' clinic in Darktown isn't an option, and so he is transferred... here. To an out-of-the-way room in the Gallows where no one will accidentally stumble across his remains, which are covered by a shroud to conceal the grisly evidence of his death from view.

Here he lies, still and undisturbed for the most part, unless someone chooses to pay him a visit.

Comments

1. Kit's Place

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse arrives soon after, his dark eyes solemn and a large bag hanging by his side. He nods at Chuck - everyone knows Chuck after all - and takes out a can of white and brown paint. Within a moment, there's a white circle with a brown nug inside of it. Sloppy of course, but visible. It's his thief's mark, and it states equivocally that anyone who comes here will have to deal with Adasse directly.

He puts the paint inside his bag, and breaths out, looking at the facade before stepping inside. Going to respectfully cover Kit's belongings, as well as bring a shroud for his friend from the alienage.

II

[altusimperius]

Perhaps it's panic, perhaps it's purely grief, but Benedict definitely seems to regress for about a week, refusing to leave his room or take meals. Anyone who tries to enter is shouted down, crystal correspondence is aborted regardless of content, and the young man himself is more irascible than ever.
At least he asks for nothing; the one thing he wants cannot be given, and that's not a feeling Benedict is used to.

As his extended tantrum begins to wind down, he can be found curled up in his chair by the window, sulkily playing some kind of card game with himself, silent and distant and miserable.

[misdirection_hex]

Vandelin is not among those who attempt to contact him, when otherwise he might. There are no offers of lessons, no surprise pop quizzes about entropy, certainly no conspiratorial smiles across the library, when neither of them is there.

It takes roughly a week as well for it to occur to him to reach out on his own to anyone but his cousin. Kit had been dearly and widely beloved; he'd always known that much, and for good reason, but Vandelin has never wanted much company in his grief before--not until he can bring himself to be the comforter instead of the comforted.

He wonders if anyone has thought of Benedict yet, deprived of his steadiest companion. He goes to see about it in person, knocking softly on the door.

"It's Enchanter Vandelin," he says, without waiting for a response he knows might well not come. "You don't need to talk if you'd rather not. I just came to see if you might."

[altusimperius]

It's been enough time now that Benedict is beginning to feel small pangs of loneliness, worn out from his malcontent and at least somewhat amenable to the sound of a familiar voice.
"What," he grunts, still not about to let it go too easily, flipping a card and arranging it in the spread, otherwise not moving from where he sits.

[misdirection_hex]

That counts as talking, and he'll accept it as an invitation for further. He opens the door without quite letting himself in yet.

It's not a question he has an answer prepared for, having sized up and discarded all his ideas as too openly emotional. But cards are something. Cards, he has some practice with, and for precisely the same reason that Bene does.

"Solitaire wears thin after a while," he says, nodding at the deck. "Interested in some Diamondback?"

[altusimperius]

Bene's gaze wanders to Vandelin, and he regards him sullenly, but not without emotion. He pretends otherwise, however, and gives a one-shouldered shrug as he begins to effortlessly deal out a spread for Diamondback, brow furrowed with concentration or dismay.

[misdirection_hex]

Whichever it is, Vandelin isn't sure whether he ought to disturb it. Were their positions reversed, he supposes he might prefer to play in silence--but then, he's not the one living in solitary confinement, self-imposed or not. Perhaps Benedict's had enough of silence.

"I warn you," he says, "I won't give you an easy time. I learned from the best." It's the closest thing he can muster to a joke, painful as it is. Neither of them has an edge on the other here, and he knows it.

[altusimperius]

"So did I," Benedict dully replies, and, the spread completed, begins the game. He plays in silence for the most part, but interrupts it briefly by beginning to roll a cigarette on the table.

III

[justice_is_blond]

Anders sits here in the quiet, helping with the ice so that rot doesn't set in, watching the shrouded form. There's been a lot of death in his life. There's even been a lot of murder in his life, committed against people he cared about. Most of the time the lost have become another piece on the scales against something and he's sought vengeance, but... it doesn't feel right, this time.

"You never did get around to telling me what was bothering you," he says into the stillness. "And I've no idea what Dwarves do. Sigrun said it was already done for her, you know. I figure it was already done for you too. But it's just as much for the living as the dead."