ioduanlogs | [OPEN] bleeding, I'm bleeding

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[OPEN] bleeding, I'm bleeding

Characters: Kit + you??
Date: Throughout early February
Location: Throughout Aifaran
Situation: After a frustrating encounter with a Sentry, Kit makes a concerted effort to find a place to chill and figure out why the hell he's still alive.
Warnings/Rating: probable discussion of how Kit died in Thedas, which was a rather grisly prospect.

i. a case of mistaken identity

It's just like being back in Dust Town all over again, with the brand on his face doing more to convince the Proving guards of his guilt than anything he might say in defence of his own innocence. That is, possibly, why he nearly comes to blows with the Sentry before the fellow accusing him of the crime--what crime, who even knows--decides to back off.

"No," the fellow decides, "no I don't think it was him after all--the other fellow was--" and he mimes the universal sign for 'taller.' Much taller. And without the chirruping bibiru still riding side-saddle in Kit's backpack.

"Yeah, you're damn right it wasn't me." Defensive and in no mood for pleasantries, Kit splits off from the unpleasant encounter as soon as he's certain the Sentry has lost interest, and stalks off down the road, lit cigarette stuck between his lips. He knows that there are eyes following his progress, but sod it, let them stare. Let them. He didn't do a damn thing.

The bibiru, agitated, chirps into his ear, and on instinct Kit reaches back to give the furry thing's ears an affectionate pet. "Sorry about that, salroka," he murmurs.

In Kirkwall, he'd have gone to the Hanged Man, lost himself in a round too many of Wicked Grace with the usual rotten suspects (and maybe lost his share of the rent money, too). Here in Aifaran, he doesn't know where to go to lie low. With a bit of his monthly stipend, he purchases a ticket for the skyrail and boards it; he doesn't have a destination in mind, but that doesn't stop him from slumping into one of the seats by the window.

Numb--and yet not numb, for his hand regularly wanders to the place in his gut where the Coterie thug's dagger had ripped into him, killing him--he stares out the window at the Seaglass City as it unfolds beneath him.

Maybe you're on the train with him. Maybe you're not--he's got his yimo with him, after all.

ii. peace at last

There's a beach somewhere in or around Aifaran, and that's where Kit ends up. He sits on the sand, smokes his cigarette, and watches the waves come in across the dark sand. Somewhere nearby, his bibiru hops about and forages in the nearby grasses. Kit keeps an eye on it--him? Her? He hasn't bothered to check.

After some time, reasonably convinced he's alone, he pulls off his shirt and chucks it aside, then turns his gaze nervously to the supernaturally healed laceration that raggedly cuts across his stomach. He tenderly explores it with fingers, and lets out a shuddering breath. He'd died. He knows this wound had killed him, had left him dead in the Medicine Seller's arms in some shit hole corner of Darktown.

So why is he here now? Why is any of this happening?

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Kei is still figuring out which of his powers remain. So much has happened in the past week, so much lost. So much that he might never regain, no matter the doctor's reassurances and the promises that of course he could go home. Not that it would matter. He wouldn't be alive to enjoy any of it. Might not anyway.

One thing that still works perfectly fine is teleportation. Which is how Kei suddenly appears off to the side of Kit. He'd aimed for an uninhabited locale, and the unexpected company comes as a surprise, though it doesn't show much beyond a widening of the eyes.

"Ah, hello there."

"Ah, hello there."

"Shit--" is Kit's eloquent response. Kei must've materialized to his left (he's deaf in that ear), and so the dwarf lurches to one side in the sand and spends the next few seconds haphazardly scrambling to catch his cigarette before he can light himself on fire. In the brush, the bibiru lets out a startled chirrup and bounds out of sight, only to peek back at the surroundings from the safety of a scrub bush.

Awkwardly getting to his feet and dusting sand off of himself, Kit gives the newcomer the beginnings of a stinkeye, before it becomes clear that, well, he didn't do it on purpose. "...hey," he says a little gruffly, looks at his sodden cigarette, and tiredly chucks it down into the dirt. Damn. What a waste.

"So I guess that's your thing, huh?" A gesture, vaguely, at the whole teleportation thing. "The, uh, talent you got, when you got here."

His sudden appearance must have come as quite a surprise, though of course that would for anyone unaccustomed to it. As for that question... how to answer? He hadn't yet discovered his talent, and there was the chance of being caught in a lie if he agreed.

"Not precisely." Perhaps the best response was an evasive one. It'd give him time to come up with an acceptable answer. Time to figure out how much of the truth to tell.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to surprise you. I hadn't realized anyone would be out here."

"My apologies. I didn't mean to surprise you. I hadn't realized anyone would be out here."

"Nah," Kit assures him, the last vestiges of his bad mood being discarded without too much trouble, "you're all right. Tell you the truth, I didn't know I'd be out here either. We--" and here he includes the little bibiru starting to creep cautiously back out of the brush, "--just hopped on the train and got dumped off at the last stop. Which, I guess, ends near here."

He looks around them, taking in the scenery. (He should probably take in his half-unclothed state at some point, and do something about that, too.) "It's nice out here."

Kei's eyes drift slightly, and he can't help but notice the ragged scar across the other's stomach. He doesn't let his eyes linger on it for more than a second - rudeness aside, it's too much of a reminder of how he doesn't have a similar scar.

Kei turns his head to look at the ocean. He's seen many beaches, many oceans, on many planets. None of them are quite the same, and it's truthful when he says, "It's beautiful." It's almost beautiful enough to fill a tiny shard of the growing emptiness.

When Kei's eyes linger on the scar, Kit coughs once and starts to pull his shirt back on. (A remarkable bit of dexterity to accomplish it without singing the shirt with his cigarette--but maybe he's had practice.)

"I'm Kit." He figures, as far as introductions go, that a pretty straight forward one might be the best approach with someone who seems as introspective and quiet as Kei is... at least, upon their first meeting.

"Kei." He turns back to Kit as he says it. There's a moment of internal debate - there are those here who know already, and having seen that scar, it might defuse any future awkwardness.

"I ought to be dead as well. Strange how Aifaran undoes that."

"You too, huh?" This being slightly familiar territory for Kit, he warms to Kei a little bit without realizing it, cracking him another grin. "I figure if it could bring me back to life, why not fix my bad ear, too?" He gestures to his left ear with one hand.

"I won't ask what happened," he adds; anyone's death is bound to be a sensitive subject, his own being no different. He turns instead to look back across the water, smiling a bit. "On the bright side, at least we get this view, huh?"

"It's odd how it doesn't fix everything, isn't it?" Kei nods understandingly. The doctors here were still trying to figure out a permanent solution for his own missing parts. No wonder, with him seemingly being the only one of his kind to have come here.

It's soothing somehow, seeing that grin. Hearing those words. Even with the distance he's managed to keep the past 19 years from every other person on Earth save his editor. Then again, he's lonelier here than he ever was then.

"Yes. It's very peaceful here. I can't say I'm used to it."

Kit's grin must have medicinal properties; wielding it the way he does has earned him many fast friends in the past, though he subsequently did what he could to keep them at arm's length afterwards. It made sense, in Thedas. Some part of him still clings to that way of thinking even now.

But so much has changed--so much is different--it's difficult not to want to reach out, to make a friend, one he hopes will stick around.

(Well. There's always the Medicine Seller. But he's a different complication all on his own, isn't he.)

"You want to sit down?" he invites, nodding to the bit of sand and grass near-ish by. "I wouldn't mind the company, tell you the truth. No offence to the little guy there," he adds, nodding to the bibiru who has at last gone back to his grass nibbling, "but he's not much of a conversationalist."

Devin has never really spent much time at the beach. He's the only daywalker of his race, as far as he knows, and sunbathing isn't really a thing that vampires do. Now that he's basically living on a semi-tropical island, however, there's a lot more beach to consider. It's more isolated than being in the city proper, and it might be a decent place for a walk.

Kit is correct that he's alone at first, but it's not long before Devin is trundling up the beach, barefoot with his shoes in his hand so he can wander through the surf. He spots Kit from quite a distance and carries on until he's within earshot. "Getting some R&R after all that searching?" Devin calls, gesturing to the sand around them.

At least this time, Kit spots his approach. He smiles crookedly, tiredly, and blows out a whorl of smoke before tapping off the excess ash from his cigarette.

"Yeah, maybe," he replies, watches the strange man's approach, then turns to look back out across what he can see of the bay. The horizon is anything but uninterrupted; they're living on an archipelago after all. The bibiru nearby seems to take its comfort cues from the dwarf who rescued it, and since Kit isn't up in arms about the newcomer, it continues its grazing and nibbling uninterrupted.

"What about you?" Kit asks Devin, watching him with a look on his tattooed face that's hard to read. The guy's been about as personable as a slightly abrasive and complete stranger can possibly be, but he read Kit like an open book when they'd crossed paths in the aftermath of the festival. That makes him someone to keep an eye on. (Especially since, as he discovered recently, his left ear isn't good for shit anymore.)

Studying people is what kept Devin alive in his world, and being naturally stealthy doesn't hurt. Kit's intriguing, thus far, and not currently considered a threat of any kind. There are aspects of what he's seen from the dwarf that remind him of his own habits.

The vampire shrugs as he gets closer, coming to a halt a few paces away. "Just walking." He glances at the scar across Kit's torso; his own arms feature marks of multiple old wounds, and for now he doesn't comment. "I've never had the time for beaches before. I suppose I'm trying to figure out the appeal."

Kit's scar looks like evidence of the kind of wound that probably should have killed him. Maybe it did.

He notices Devin's glance, looks down, then grimaces and reaches for the shirt he'd discarded. "What's not to like?" he says instead, clearly latching onto discussion of the appeal of beaches and shorelines and such, rather than fielding any personal inquiries about where in the sodding Void he found the time to acquire an injury like that. He would just--prefer not to.

"Plenty of sunshine, water's calm enough for swimming--the waves sound nice." He makes a vague gesture with one hand, takes another drag from his cigarette, and blows out the smoke. Then he gives Devin a shrewd look. "Who are you anyway?"

Devin can readily admit he hasn't seen scars like that on normal people, seeing as those sorts of injuries were rarely survivable. Some of the ones the vampire bore were similarly significant, so he understands the impulse to hide them even if he no longer feels the need. People ask questions; it's uncomfortable. He hasn't decided if he's going to make Kit uncomfortable on purpose yet.

"Devin," he says simply. "Those things are all fine; I'm just not seeing why people make such a big deal out of laying on the sand all day." There's some irony in the fact that he's the only vampire in his world who could. He nods to the bibiru that the dwarf had been carrying the other night. "Your latest stray?"

"Your latest stray?"

It's funny, that's a question that wouldn't have been all that out of place in Kirkwall, either. He did have a habit of collecting things--and people--the rest of the world would rather let slip through the cracks.

"Yeah," he says, and can't decide whether to take offence at Devin's tone or not. Not yet, maybe. He reaches out a hand and clicks his tongue at the small creature which, with perked ears, hops over clearly anticipating food. It looks moderately annoyed to have been tricked, but settles in with a noise of contentment when it receives pets instead. (like all right, this will do, too.) "I figure if someone else wanted it, it wouldn't've ended up under a wagon wheel. Guess that makes us buddies now." This, given his tone, clearly added to the bibiru tucking itself against his leg.

He pulls his shirt on, skillfully managing not to singe the fabric from his cigarette, then looks Devin's way again. "I'm Kit." No 'nice to meet you,' or 'nice to see you again.' He's not sure what to make of these encounters yet... though, to his credit, Devin had seemed concerned about the missing Kin'nal girl. A bit.

Kit had talked about the missing girl like he'd had experience with it. Perhaps his endearment towards children and misfits also applies to small, furry animals who have a way of wrapping higher-order mammals around their tiny, inscrutable paws.

Judging by the slightly uncertain way in which Devin eyes the winged rabbit's interaction with the dwarf, he is not immune to their ploys and has no idea what to do about that fact. This isn't the first bibiru he's bumped into, and the vampire is still less equipped to deal with this than with hiding several bodies.

"Terse, aren't we?" A smirk replaces anything less assured. "Here's hoping that means you have a working sense of suspicion - you'll last longer." A beat, as he thinks about that terrible scar. "Around here, anyway. Time seems to be up, wherever you come from."

That earns him a chillier look from the dwarf.

"If you've got a problem with me, salroka, best you just come right out and say it." Kit takes a long drag off his cigarette, tips his chin up, and blows the smoke out, giving himself a nice, lengthy pause before he adds anything else. Then he shrugs. "Or maybe you're just this charming with everyone."

Ah, yes. This is how it goes, how it should go; there's familiarity in finding nerves to strike, and some part of Devin is oddly relieved to return to this. His time in Keeliai and the past five months at home have dulled that impulse some, but he needs his shields back.

"Oh, don't worry, you're nothing special," the vampire returns airily, letting years of training make up the difference between how he actually feels and how he behaves. "If I had a particular problem with you, you'd know it. I don't typically see the point in being anything but blunt about such things."

Apparently, he's decided to make Kit uncomfortable after all. "So, how'd you die?"

Great, so he's like this with everyone. Not much different from the stuffed up deep lords of the Diamond Quarter in that respect. Kit can roll with that.

"So, how'd you die?"

"Which time? You've got two deaths to choose from." Another drag from his cigarette, another exhalation of the smoke. Ask awkward questions, get awkward answers, etc.

Now Devin looks properly intrigued, although it's still draped in snark. He folds his arms over his chest, not appearing awkward in the slightest.

"Really, you as well?" Technically, he may have had three, if being born dead counts. "You'd think that would be a more unique condition," the vampire scoffs. "Ah, well. You may as well start at the beginning, and end at the end. Or ends, as it were."

He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Ancestors, this guy was a prick. Maybe not quite as much of a prick as the Dragon had been, back in Thedas. But he was easily a close second.

"Really, you as well? You'd think that would be a more unique condition. Ah, well. You may as well start at the beginning, and end at the end. Or ends, as it were."

"I could do that," Kit replies, sounding very much like 'could' is an unlikely variable. He takes another drag off his cigarette and absently strokes the bibiru's ears with his free hand. Out comes the exhalation of smoke. "Maybe I'd rather just sit here, all on my lonesome, and finish my damn cigarette in peace."

Devin lives to please.

The vampire does not appear troubled by Kit's obvious scorn. He's prodding where it hurts, and the dwarf is reacting appropriately. Action, reaction: simple physics.

"Keep that up and you may die a third time if lung cancer gets you," he needles, grinning mirthlessly. This isn't fun, exactly, but it's comfortable and it fits him like a well-tailored suit. "Peace is an illusion, Kit, so enjoy it while you can. Now, come on, you're already clearly pondering your mortality, you may as well have out with it."

"Sodding--" Kit takes one last drag off his cigarette, flicks it aside, and then pushes himself up to his feet. He's short, being a dwarf, but still built like a brick shit house, though he looks more like he's preparing to gather up what few possessions he brought with him and split.

"You can't take a hint, can you? Sod off." He crouches to pick up the bibiru before it can spook and bolt into the tall grasses, helping it into his backpack. "Or I will, whatever--I don't owe you shit about my life." Or his death.

The smirk on Devin's face belies the way his gut twists with guilt, posture relaxed in the face of Kit's obvious displeasure. Kit won't be the last person he does this to, in all likelihood. It was still better than them ending up targets; the risk here was low, but not gone. And, some tiny part of him admits, it's selfishness driving him to push others away.

Regardless, he's gotten the result he anticipated. "I don't believe I claimed you owe me anything," the vampire says thoughtfully, stroking his chin. There's a cold edge to his gaze. "It's a free beach. Good luck finding someone else who knows what it's like to be skewered," he shrugs.

There probably are a handful - the Dreaming had a type - but the bigger challenge would be finding someone who considers the topic an ordinary one. He's an ass, but he's an ass who knows a lot about death and pain. Devin doesn't appear to be leaving, so that will be up to Kit.

"Good luck finding someone else who knows what it's like to be skewered."

"I'm sure there's a kebab sandwich somewhere in the city I can commiserate with," Kit mutters back tartly. He's focused on getting his little bibiru companion settled in nicely into his backpack, tucked safely in but not so securely it can't keep its wings comfortable. Then he pulls the backpack up onto his back and turns to face Devin one more time. The frank look he fixes on him is unfriendly, but also somewhat disappointed.

"See you around, or," a vague hand gesture, "whatever." He turns to hike away, bibiru peeking out of the back of his packpack at Devin with its ears perked and its little nose wiggling.

[Walking the beach is becoming a newfound habit for Padparadscha, courtesy of the familiarity of the scene compared to everything else here. As usual, their shirt is open, revealing various holes in their torso filled in with crystal.

It seems like they might not be the only one with that kind of damage, though. Padparadscha can recognise the sight of someone trying to inspect their own torso from the back, and the movements are a little too explorative to be for a more normal reason.]

Ah, I was expecting company, but not that kind. Poor thing.

Kit is really, sorely regretting not keeping the earring once made for him by the Dragon back in Thedas. (Though by now its usefulness as a hearing aid would have worn off.) Predictably, he jumps a little where he sits and turns to look backward over his shoulder. But maybe he's been startled enough times that he's beginning to get used to it.

Still--

"'Poor thing'?" Bewildered, he points at himself. "...Are you talking to me?"

Padparadscha tilts their head slightly before tapping their own torso and circling it with a finger. Though the holes there are filled with crystal, they're still quite clearly holes.

"You're looking at yourself like there's something incomplete about you. It's something I can relate to, huh?"

Since this person seems more like a human or similar species, they doubt it's exactly the same kind of problem as theirs, but surely humans must also have incompleteness.

Kit's eyes follow Padparadscha's fingertips to their torso--and then he startles again. Rather than just some trippy-looking garment, those--are--

"Whoa," he says, his eyes lingering on the gems in the stranger's torso.

"You're looking at yourself like there's something incomplete about you. It's something I can relate to, huh?"

It takes him a moment to come back to himself and to drag his eyes away from the gems to Padparadscha's face again, but then he quirks a lopsided kind of smile, sheepish, and looks down at his own torso. The scar is ugly; the wound should have killed him. Had killed him.

"Or maybe too complete?" he suggests as an alternative, his voice thoughtful, confused. "Tell you the truth, I'm not even sure why I'm here, and not..." A vague gesture with one hand. Gone, it could mean. Dead. Somewhere else.

So it's another one of these ones. Padparadscha's heard that story a few times by now, and they slowly pace around to the front, glancing towards his torso as they do. It certainly is a remarkable scar, even for someone like Padparadscha, who doesn't injure anything like a human would, to look at.

"Is that all it takes for soft creatures to stop forever?" they ask, tone musing. They've had this whole 'death' concept explained to them by now, and it doesn't sound like it's difficult for humans to end up in that state even beyond just aging. "And you're not 'undead', then, I guess...so that does sound like it's a little curious, huh? More questions to add to the pile."

The pile is already quite large, and they just keep running into more the longer they're here.

"Is that all it takes for soft creatures to stop forever?"

"Damn." The word comes out half as a chuckle, half as something more like a nervous smirk, and Kit lifts a hand to rub uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "You're just, um. Going for the jugular with those kinds of questions, aren't you?"

He looks up at Padparadscha's face again, considering his response. "Sometimes it takes a lot less than this. I'm pretty tough, for a fleshy guy." This ostensibly said with a lopsided smile, intended to be a bit of humour to cut the tension. It doesn't quite work.

"I'm sure that would be an easier question to answer if I knew what a jugular was," Padparadscha replies, tone easy and amused. They have been trying to learn a bit more about how humans and the other species here work, but it takes searching for, so they haven't run across that kind of specific information yet.

"I see. So sometimes you break easily, and sometimes you don't. That's more familiar." Even the strongest gems can have their weak points, like diamonds being brittle. It varies by person, so it's not surprising to hear something like that.

"It's--a turn of phrase," Kit responds after some internal deliberation over whether it's worth going into the particulars of dwarf anatomy. It's beyond the point, really. "It just means... going right for a vulnerable place, is all."

"I see. So sometimes you break easily, and sometimes you don't. That's more familiar."

A quiet pause, before Kit nods, pensive. "Yeah, I think that's true of most people, regardless of what you're made of." He gestures at himself, looking at Padparadscha again. "I'm Kit, by the way."

"Oh, that makes more sense," Padparadscha says, in a musing sort of voice. Obviously humans and human-like species would have different weak points, so they should probably learn the names of those if they can.

"But you're right, huh? Everyone has vulnerable places." They have less than most, considering the strength of the gem they're made of, but they're still not completely indestructible.

"I'm Padparadscha. Good to meet you, little one."

There are many different ways to break a person without harming a hair on their head, anyway.

"I'm Padparadscha. Good to meet you, little one."

Kit snorts, but it's more of a startled sound than a derisive one. He looks back at Padparadscha in surprise, quirking a lopsided grin. "Been a while since anyone called me something like that," he says wryly. After a moment, he gives the sandy spot on the bank beside him a pat, inviting his strange new friend to have a seat. "So is it normal to have stones stuck inside you, where you're from?"

"Ah, well, most of the people here are little ones," Padparadscha says, as lightly as if it's a normal thing to think. Anyone who might be as old as they are has been keeping it to themselves, and while there are some they may be suspicious of, it's not enough to be sure.

As for his question, Padparadscha offers a somewhat rueful smile and taps at one of the inserted gems. "It's certainly not normal to be born incomplete like I am. But this is the way we fix ourselves, attaching stones like us."

Kit surely can't be blamed too much for his confusion; there's really no equivalent to Padparadscha in Thedas, save for perhaps a golem, and golems... don't look anything like the almost fairy-like entity next to him. "Incomplete?" he repeats, scratching his beard. "I don't think I follow."

Padparadscha's smile turns more amused, and they trace around the edges of one of the plugged holes. "If something has holes in it, then you fix them up and make it work, right? It's the same for me, though I break down again after a while. Or I usually do."

This is the longest they've been awake in a long time, and while Padparadscha doesn't really want to give the Moon People that much credit, they don't have much of a choice.

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[OPEN] bleeding, I'm bleeding

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