Tʜᴇ ᴊɪɢ ɪs ᴜᴘ, ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡs ɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ( closed )

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester & Co.
When: February
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Nocwich
What: Catch-all for Feb
Warnings: mark of cain shenanigans, violence, alcohol, self-loathing

Oʜ ᴍᴀᴍᴀ, I'ᴍ ɪɴ ғᴇᴀʀ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀʀᴍ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴡ
Lᴀᴡᴍᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴ', ᴀɴᴅ I'ᴍ sᴏ ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ

Comments

[gynvael]

Mm. [ He relaxes a hint. Even the fights are troubling. This, it isn't so much what Dean is doing—Geralt is scarcely one to talk—and more that it continues to be out of character. He's known Dean for a year. More than. He's never picked fights, in all that time.

Still. If that's all it is, then perhaps there's more time yet. That's been his main concern. That they will not have any more time. ]

Worse places to be trapped. [ He leans his head back against the wall. Shit. So much for having a drink as soon as he was back from his contract. ] Don't ask me to entertain with any stories.

[righteously]

( He scoffs at the very insinuation. )

What am I, five? I don't need you to entertain me. I'm just gonna do my time in peaceful, quiet meditation.

( To make his point, he deliberately settles himself back down on the mattress as though he fully intends to take a nap.

And so begins the last ten-minute period of silence Geralt will get to experience for himself for the rest of the night.


























He's bored.

He's so bored.

It's more than that, though — he's got energy, the bad kind, the restless kind. The kind he'd normally channel into the relentlessly excessive amount of hunting he's been doing for the last few months. The kind driven by agitation from a dark, unsettled source.

It breaks through all his good intentions, and after ten minutes, he breaks. Hauls himself off the bunk to start idly pacing the cell.

It begins with some casual small talk: )

I tell you we bought a house?

[gynvael]

[ Uh-huh. Geralt's not forgotten the last time he watched Dean attempt meditation. Technically, he could meditate himself and tune out anything and everything, Dean included. But he suspects the man needs something of an outlet, and he doubts the guards need much of a reason to tack on an extra few days to their sentence.

He looks over. ] You? A landowner?

[ Genuine amusement colours his words. Even beyond the idea of a hunter with a car and some weapons to his name owning property, the idea of anyone other than the nobility doing so is certainly a concept—though he's aware the Free Cities operates differently than a typical kingdom.

More than that: ] Whatever for?

[ If not for Ciri and Jaskier, Geralt would have never moved out of an inn room. He isn't in the city enough. ]

[righteously]

What do you mean what for? For- house stuff.

( Like it's baffling Geralt's even asking. Should he be offended at that landowner thing? Okay, technically he didn't legally own a place back home, but the Bunker's his in all but paperwork. He's a roamer, but he likes having a coop to fly back to in between his wandering. He likes nesting.

He settles against the bars, leaning his shoulder blades back until they dig gently into the metal, and rocks absently on his heels. Some pure restless toddler energy. )

I figured the four of us were taking up a little too much space, spent too much time squatting. If we rented somewhere, I couldn't remodel how I want to. I don't wanna have to crawl to somebody and ask permission before I knock down a wall to put in an armory or a sauna or whatever.

( Scoring a devil's trap into Mag's floorboards was pretty much the extent of what he thinks he could get away with, and if she finds out he imagines she's probably gonna wanna slap him upside the head. )

Gonna take a hell of a lot of work, though, so... if you get any free time...

( Renovation bonding round two's on the table for the next few months. )

[gynvael]

[ House stuff.

In the face of Dean's bemusement, Geralt looks thoughtful. The closest he's ever come to having a place to his name was when he built his little winter cabin in the Horizon. He supposes it isn't out of the question to outright possess a home here, with Jaskier, but the idea had simply never occurred to Geralt, and he imagines Jaskier presumed—correctly—that Geralt would not be interested in the notion.

He hums. Fixing a home. That he does know well. ]

Patched up Kaer Morhen plenty. [ Sure. He does like to be occupied when he's in the city, and he's run out of things to fix in their own rented space. All the crooked cabinets and rickety chairs have been repaired. He's even built Jaskier's pet gryphon a miniature bed. ] What're you putting in?

[righteously]

( You're a saint, Gerald. Truly. Let it never be said this blonde son of a bitch isn't kind. Indulging him'll help him pass the next twenty minutes with a little more sanity than he otherwise might. )

Well, the basement's unfinished, so I figure I'm gonna stone that up. Put in a reinforced cell just in case we need to hold something later. Place to stash some arms. Maybe redo the plumbing some jackass did all wonk-ways on the second floor. Replace the floorboards in the master bedroom. I think Jo wants some bookshelves lining a few walls, so I'm gonna sling some of those together. Weather-proof the attic, swap out the kitchen fixtures to something a little less likely to burn the place down, and then... I don't know. Maybe pool table?

( So, you know, like a dozen and a half things — plus a few he's not thinking of off the top of his head. )

[gynvael]

[ Until the conversation morphs into an existential crisis over chickens and milk, he's willing to indulge.

A tilt of his head and a faint squint greets reinforced cell. They continue to have extremely different hunting experiences; Geralt can only imagine Dean wanting to lock a wyvern in his room somehow. If you ask him, hiding a cage in one's cellar is an open invitation for being questioned a second time by the city guards. ]

If you want good lumber, I know someone. Went looking there when I built Rinwell's shelves.

[ Who Geralt's not formally introduced, though Dean may have seen her in the stables with Roach or at Jaskier's flower stall these past few weeks. He's glad she's here, but he isn't certain how he feels, deep down. The thought that she may vanish again any day now lingers. It's a strange thing, to have that sort of impermanence to a loss. He is not used to people coming back. ]

[righteously]

No kidding?

( Cue a nice twenty-minute Manly Conversation about lumber, lumber prices, and shelf building that eventually dies of natural causes, because it ain't exactly a juicy topic with hours of staying power.

Things devolve into quiet again.

A few minutes after that, he starts pacing again.

Over the next two hours, we see a montage of snapshots:
Dean pacing while Geralt chills silently.
Dean sitting on the floor while Geralt chills silently.
Dean sitting on the bunk while Geralt chills silently.
Dean doing sit-ups while Geralt chills silently.
Dean bouncing a ball (where did he get it??) against the wall while Geralt chills silently.
Dean hanging off the bars while Geralt chills silently.
Dean groaning while Geralt chills silently.
Finally, the inane questions start to flow while he sits with his back against the bars, eyes pointed toward the ceiling. )

You guys have sharks back on your home planet?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt is shit at small talk of any kind; it's a testament to Dean's ability to fill the silence for both of them that the conversation even goes beyond thirty seconds.

Once it dies, Geralt sure as fuck isn't the one to resuscitate it.

Last time he had cellmates, he was crammed in with three others for weeks. Only one of whom he could really tolerate. (Ironically, the vampire.) He is, in other words, exceptionally good at ignoring a variety of pacing, sighing, and yes, the fucking bouncing ball that's emerged out of nowhere.

Geralt, meanwhile, has not moved from where he's planted himself. He cracks open one eye. Than the other. ]

Spare me the philosophical quandary of fish.

[righteously]

( He tips his chin down from his vacant stare at the ceiling just long enough to flash Geralt an unimpressed bitchface, then turns his gaze upward again. )

It's not a philosophical quandary, it's a serious question. Come on, man, did you have sharks or not?

[gynvael]

[ A sigh in answer. He leans his head back against the grimy wall. ]

Sure. Taste all right.

[ Is Dean referring to the ever-typical great white? Possibly. Is that anything near the common dogfish Geralt has in mind? No. Regrettably, the sharks that appear in the northern waters around the Continent are fairly small.

They pickle well, though. ]

[righteously]

( So, here's the thing: that was a preemptive question. It was the Part 1 question to the far more serious question he wants to ask.

With utmost solemnity, he levels Geralt with a look. )

You ever had a sharknado?

[gynvael]

[ On occasion, a man regrets the friendships he acquires. Perhaps he is better off alone. How does he go back to being alone?

He closes his eyes again. ]

I don't believe you understand the words you use.

[righteously]

( There is no turning back. He has willingly allowed Dean Winchester to tether himself and now he cannot be excised. This is just life now. This is forever.

Or until Geralt kills him because of the mark on his arm slowly corrupting everything that was good about him and turning him into an irredeemable shadow of himself deserving only of death, or whatever.

Anyway: )

Oh, I understand 'em. Sharknado. It's when a massive tornado hits shark infested waters and scoops 'em up, then moves inland and just... friggin' nados sharks all over the place. You guys ever have one of those?

[gynvael]

[ His eyes are not opening. Not even in the midst of this absurdity. Why would a cyclone—? ]

Dean.

[ Can't the man go to sleep for a few hours? More folk should learn to meditate. It's soothing. Prevents conversation.

He rubs his temple. When he finally does open his eyes again, he can see the young guard outside staring sidelong into the cell with a mixture of fascination and deep concern. ]

No.

[ And. ]

You're scaring the boy.