[In another life, one that Kaz has carried with him in vaulted silence within himself, he lived on a farm. There had been meadowed fields and the scent of hay, clover, and apples. A goat’s bleat mingled with the cow’s mooing and chickens’ persistent clucks. His gaze now didn’t focus on the silver goat design, but the images drew his mind backwards for a moment. It had been peaceful for him in those early years of childhood, but only out of ignorance. Kaz hadn’t fully realized how in debt their father had been. Society’s ills touched him long before he became aware of their tightening.
Yet despite the retrospect that leaves him ever on alert now, there’s a softer undercurrent, a gentler wave. He always did enjoy animals and their symbolism. For those first few years, they along with his brother had been his only friends.
Kaz did buy his father’s farm back, many years later, but he doesn’t return to visit. It doesn’t smell the same, it doesn’t sit right. It can’t. Perhaps if he was less crooked inside he’d find better ways to honor the Rietveld name, one that didn’t rest on good Kerch sensibilities of tossing money at a problem. As it is, for now at least, simply knowing the farm isn’t in some thoughtless banker’s greedy hands is enough, and he lets the tenants take care of the rest.
He likes to think there are goats back on it now, too.
He wonders a little what they mean to Doana. Likely something more grand and symbolic than what they meant to a child making friends. Though predictably, Kaz finds more worth in the latter for himself.
There is something to be said though for symbolism. Kaz knows people called witches and saints, and while he’s never felt any inclination to bend a knee or raise a prayer to those that are merely people for him, he’s seen the power that belief held by others can wield. Idolation and fear often go hand in hand, but the underlying common denominator that faith can lead one to act is undeniable. He suspects that the priestesses at the temple want the compass back not merely for their own beliefs, but to avoid sowing uncertainty among their constituents.
A slight crook at the edge of his mouth’s left corner flicks upwards for a moment. They aren’t in an immediate rush then for the drop. He’s had times where a sense of urgency took precedence, but opting for a more casual cadence to blend in is easy enough as well. This sort of adaptation he can run with.]
If I’d known I’d be expected to gain manners and be pleasant, I might have charged extra. [A deadpan joke, he’s not actually adding taxes, but it’s true that Kaz isn’t known for having a delightful disposition.
Though the conversations he’s had with her so far haven’t been the normal pleasantries that make him bored and impatient within two minutes.]
What, my face? It’ll just have a little more personality for a few days. [He says it as one who deals with physical violence on an alarming rate on the regular. He’s more concerned about the illegal trade market that extends to her realm. Sacred objects can fetch a pretty coin, but it’s a more niche market than many others. Spider fingers tend to create webs that tangle even the unassuming, and he’d rather know who’s pulling the strings for the jobs he takes. Not merely who hired him, that he knows, but who stole the item and who, if any, the buyers were, too. Or if it was stolen specifically to undermine her temple. He overheard a name, or perhaps a phrase, while inside, and glanced over some papers that looked of interest, but the streets didn't seem the time to bring any of it up. It might end up meaning nothing anyway, but living as he does so close to the gutters, he sees all stones as worth being turned.
No, he’s practicing his pleasantries. He can hear his friends mocking him from across the sea.]
Is it common for one from your temple to be out and about, conversing with people on the street?
no subject
Yet despite the retrospect that leaves him ever on alert now, there’s a softer undercurrent, a gentler wave. He always did enjoy animals and their symbolism. For those first few years, they along with his brother had been his only friends.
Kaz did buy his father’s farm back, many years later, but he doesn’t return to visit. It doesn’t smell the same, it doesn’t sit right. It can’t. Perhaps if he was less crooked inside he’d find better ways to honor the Rietveld name, one that didn’t rest on good Kerch sensibilities of tossing money at a problem. As it is, for now at least, simply knowing the farm isn’t in some thoughtless banker’s greedy hands is enough, and he lets the tenants take care of the rest.
He likes to think there are goats back on it now, too.
He wonders a little what they mean to Doana. Likely something more grand and symbolic than what they meant to a child making friends. Though predictably, Kaz finds more worth in the latter for himself.
There is something to be said though for symbolism. Kaz knows people called witches and saints, and while he’s never felt any inclination to bend a knee or raise a prayer to those that are merely people for him, he’s seen the power that belief held by others can wield. Idolation and fear often go hand in hand, but the underlying common denominator that faith can lead one to act is undeniable. He suspects that the priestesses at the temple want the compass back not merely for their own beliefs, but to avoid sowing uncertainty among their constituents.
A slight crook at the edge of his mouth’s left corner flicks upwards for a moment. They aren’t in an immediate rush then for the drop. He’s had times where a sense of urgency took precedence, but opting for a more casual cadence to blend in is easy enough as well. This sort of adaptation he can run with.]
If I’d known I’d be expected to gain manners and be pleasant, I might have charged extra. [A deadpan joke, he’s not actually adding taxes, but it’s true that Kaz isn’t known for having a delightful disposition.
Though the conversations he’s had with her so far haven’t been the normal pleasantries that make him bored and impatient within two minutes.]
What, my face? It’ll just have a little more personality for a few days. [He says it as one who deals with physical violence on an alarming rate on the regular. He’s more concerned about the illegal trade market that extends to her realm. Sacred objects can fetch a pretty coin, but it’s a more niche market than many others. Spider fingers tend to create webs that tangle even the unassuming, and he’d rather know who’s pulling the strings for the jobs he takes. Not merely who hired him, that he knows, but who stole the item and who, if any, the buyers were, too. Or if it was stolen specifically to undermine her temple. He overheard a name, or perhaps a phrase, while inside, and glanced over some papers that looked of interest, but the streets didn't seem the time to bring any of it up. It might end up meaning nothing anyway, but living as he does so close to the gutters, he sees all stones as worth being turned.
No, he’s practicing his pleasantries. He can hear his friends mocking him from across the sea.]
Is it common for one from your temple to be out and about, conversing with people on the street?