( He's in the parking lot when this whole thing Goes Down. More specifically, he's half-buried underneath his car, giving the girl an oil change she absolutely does not need because she isn't real and he could totally just imagine the oil changed — but it's the ritual. It's where he finds his zen. It's a recreational, meditative oil change.
In any case, the sound of a rumbling motorcycle gets him rolling his flat board out so he can peer down the road, expecting Geralt. Nadine, maybe, though more often the former. He can count on one hand the number of people he's seen driving cars around the Horizon, only two of them ride motorcycles, and one of them tends to swing by more often than the other.
It is a flash of blonde hair he sees, but the proportions are all wrong.
And he's sprinting straight into freakin' Imaginary Purgatory. )
Woah, woah, woah- hey- guy!
( He calls out, scrambling to haul ass out from beneath Baby so he can book it into the woods after him.
The dude, he assumes, has absolutely no idea what he's running headfirst into. It's not tea time at daycare, that's for sure. He won't make it but a dozen yards in before something's launching itself fangs-first at him. with superhuman strength, intent to rip out his imaginary throat. )
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In any case, the sound of a rumbling motorcycle gets him rolling his flat board out so he can peer down the road, expecting Geralt. Nadine, maybe, though more often the former. He can count on one hand the number of people he's seen driving cars around the Horizon, only two of them ride motorcycles, and one of them tends to swing by more often than the other.
It is a flash of blonde hair he sees, but the proportions are all wrong.
And he's sprinting straight into freakin' Imaginary Purgatory. )
Woah, woah, woah- hey- guy!
( He calls out, scrambling to haul ass out from beneath Baby so he can book it into the woods after him.
The dude, he assumes, has absolutely no idea what he's running headfirst into. It's not tea time at daycare, that's for sure. He won't make it but a dozen yards in before something's launching itself fangs-first at him. with superhuman strength, intent to rip out his imaginary throat. )