[o] Cheese Respite

Kip

It was an unusually bright day in the Barrows, especially for it being only Flowerbirth, giving a small reprieve from the nippy air. Snow clung to the highest areas of the Barrow hills as if trying its hardest not to melt—yet no one could stop the inevitable, leaving the lower lands cold, wet, and hazardous to those not sure-footed.

Among the Barrows roamed a familiar face, a caretaker, Kip, a quiet man who tried his best to complete his work unbothered. Colder seasons, or thawing seasons such as Flowerbirth, meant the foot traffic was light, which meant Kip was usually in an optimistic mood.

Adding to his contentment, his rounds had so far not alerted him to any dangers or spirits running amok—everything was peaceful, like even the dead decided to slumber away until a warmer time.

Within the finite moments of calm, Kip stole away time for himself, searching for a place to sit to have his fifth snack of the day so far. A man of his size needed snacks! Or so he told others when questioned about his ferocious appetite.
He was gentle with his actions, as if every move needed to be mindful of the spirits and shrines resting nearby, cautious to lay his walking stick beside him with care—he loved his walking stick; whittled from a fallen branch and carved with detail. He began to unbind a bundle from the top of the stick, a makeshift sack for all of his snacking and walking needs. Scattered in the weathered bundle, Kip produced a semi-smashed half-loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a type of dried, peppered meat whose origin he was unsure of.

Certainly, he could store these items in a normal bag, but the large man found it easier to carry the bundle to keep edible items at the ready.

Head and body cloaked in an earthen green cloak, it was difficult to see when a pairing knife was produced, carving away at the block of cheese and happily devouring the pieces.

This was his happy place—his place for cheese-fed respite.

relive who i've been at my worst,
every single night, looking for a distraction

Flowerbirth was struggling to fully take root. Which means the frigidity of the Barrows continued to leak through toward the meadows of Mourn, though it doesn’t stop Sunjata from taking a few moments to survey everything. After all, the Barrows were home to the Refuge and the House of Midnight, and wasn’t too far of a flight down toward New Haven. So he takes wing, this time in the form of his Pegasus shift, small and relatively unassuming and nowhere near as threatening as his dragon shift would be.

He’s flying overhead when he notices the brief movement there by the graves, a green cloak that would otherwise blend the man in to the ground beneath him if it weren’t for the plants struggling to fully take root with the grip of Deepfrost still hanging on.

The Pegasus descends, a far enough distance away to not startle anyone and shifts back into himself to make his approach, immediately flashing a smile when he notices who it is among the Barrows. A wave is offered to try and catch attention, before the Heartless calls out from this distance. “Hey Kip!” He greets, pulling down the sleeves of his dark green sweater over scars and tattoos alike, doing his best to keep him warm out here. He’s careful as he makes his approach to not step on any graves or any headstones that might be underlined in the ground, always taken care of by the Caretaker lest the grass try to take them over. “How’s it going?”

the heartless

waiting for the sun to rise
pretty sight for some hollow eyes

totally sniped from odd ilu

Kip

The large, cheese-snacking man should have known Sunjata was approaching, because nothing else in the forest smelled of lavish feast–golden honey ham and sweet cinnamon rolls, somehow the combination worked–an exact match to what Kip most desired.  

Oh, how he wished he had brought more to eat on this day. 

Belly grumbling, Kip tipped his head up just the other waved from afar. Politeness led him to pull back his earthy cloak, revealing familiar features. Skin, despite not seeing much sun during the colder season, was still dark as roots and the dead leaves that scattered the grounds, his eyes–nearly blending in outside of the golden ropes along the edges. His frame remained hidden under his cloak, but beneath the leafy fibers was nothing special: Kip was just a large man with a heart of gold. He was slow to smile, not because he was unfriendly, but because Kip moved like the ancients, like the trees swaying slowly: Kip was slow and mostly deliberate with his motions. 

“Sunjata,” he greeted, carefully searching his provisions and deciding just how much he’d have to split up. A small sigh–he’d brought his good cheese, but he supposed there were worse critters he could be sharing with. His gaze cascaded past the other, catching the other trying to bundle up in such cold weather.

“I dare not say things are calm–there is much more light left in this day.” Glancing the stones as if to gesture to whatever spirits might be lurking about. Even when it was quiet and everything seemed still, Kipper felt the others in his presence, always there, like a small grain of sand in the bottom of his shoe.

“How are things for you?”

relive who i've been at my worst,
every single night, looking for a distraction

Sunjata had never really been one to find himself close to the spirits. Too worried about what kinds of unrest might strike from histories he had hands in – too nervous about the reactions of those he’d lost that he made lanterns for and carried them around as ghosts in his heart everywhere he went. So as Kipper greets him and gestures to the potential spirits lurking about, Sunjata nods. He supposes it was up to Kipper and Mort at the end of the day.

And besides, Sunjata had always been more of Freys nature – fun, impulsivity, enjoying life rather than the rest of it. But, happy that things are relatively fine for the moment at least, he shoots him a lopsided smile as he approaches a bit closer for the ease of conversation. The scar that cuts through his cheek is gnarled and warped and affects some of the muscle tissue there, though the Heartless hardly seems to notice it these days in his lopsided smiles. “Things are good. We’re almost done with the healing river, then things should kind of even out. Shouldn’t need to dig up anything close to the graves for the near future.” Luckily in trenching out where the river would go, they’d managed to avoid the vast majority of the graves with spirits still attracted to them.

“Hoping it warms up soon, though.” He admits, looking away from Kip to the Barrows around them and the frost still clinging to them, sparkling in the light of the day.

the heartless

waiting for the sun to rise
pretty sight for some hollow eyes

totally sniped from odd ilu