[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

[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.