abraxaslogs | WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

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WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

Welcome to The Free Cities! The portal exits outside the capital city of Cadens. The first impression of the city is its sheer size. It sprawls out across the landscape like a great hulking beast at rest. The wall that encircles it barely contains it, the buildings of Cadens practically bulging against its restraint.

The air here seems thicker somehow, tinged with a scent that’s acrid and smoky. Smog hangs high over the city, belched out by smokestacks that tower over the industrial district. The desert stretches out behind it, dotted with towers and dust clouds that disappear into the horizon. Multiple gates lead inside and each is staffed by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms that wave a steady stream of people through without appearing to pay much attention. People are coming and going almost all of the time, to and from the outposts and areas of activity around the city proper. It’s difficult to tell just what’s out there beyond the impression of tall metal structures and a great deal of labor. Wagons carrying travelers to Libertas and Aquila roll out from the Travel Post outside the city wall.

Anyone who can sense magic will notice a much lower concentration here. No one will be stopped or questioned at the gate, even if the soldiers seem to take note of the fugitives from Thorne.

The activity and sheer number of citizens can be overwhelming. It’s crowded and loud and feels constantly in motion with everyone talking and yelling over each other. It’s easy to get swept up in the ever-moving throng or find oneself ducking into the mouth of a narrow alley just to breathe.

Anyone who’s willing to make their way to the northern part of the city and Portham Hall will find Prime Minister Marlo Reiner available to receive them.

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[ Considering he's offering to pay, Geralt thinks it's a generous proposition. Not every vampire can say they've been bought a drink by a Witcher. Getting into shit isn't the real reason he wants to avoid bloodshed, but it's a part of it and the other reasons he'd rather not get into. Isn't important. What matters is he's taking a vampire to a tavern, in favour of not seeing any bodies hit the ground, all because Alucard has the overstrung temperament of a cat faced with being thrown into a river.

He heads down the street. If anything, he at least isn't visibly armed—isn't armed at all, other than the dagger Jaskier had given him slipped into his boot. ]

Mm. Few missing. [ His priority, actually, has been the smiths, the armorers, and the healers. Herbalists. So far, Cadens' advancements seem...further along than the Continent, but not to the degree he can't grasp. He prefers it over the magic-soaked air of Thorne.

The closest tavern sits around a corner. Not as crowded as some; still crowded enough for him to go largely unnoticed. Less frequented by the soldiers than those near the barracks. Ideal, in other words. He steps inside. Slides a few copper pieces over. He said he'd buy, and he's keeping his word. Just one round, though. ]

It's a big city.

[Bigger than any Alucard's ever been to, in truth. He never found comfort in cities, the few times he had gone with his mother when she needed something and his father was away. Too many people, not enough room. Space was always his goal, even when building a crypt that would see him locked in a box. To have room was a sign of safety.

His footsteps are light, following behind Geralt. There's no weapon on him (a matter that should be addressed sooner rather than later), just clothes and coins that have been stuffed in a hidden pocket of his shirt. (Harder to pick pocket, since now he has to worry about those things.) If nothing else, Alucard's hair looks a million times better, well kept and soft.

Alucard says nothing regarding the crowd. There's the faint temptation to try and blend in to slip away, but he suspects it wouldn't be effective anyway. Geralt can pay, but Alucard's focus is on tables and--

--far against the wall. Not a corner, but good enough.]

I'll be there, unless you require four hands to carry two beverages.

[ Now he's inviting the hunter? Geralt looks over at Alucard, wordless. His glance is all that's needed. He'd meant it, when he said Alucard didn't need to drink with him. The vampire can lurk across the tavern for all he cares. His main concern is making sure Alucard is occupied with an ale and not with which human is the newest threat by proxy of standing an inch too close.

Since he's here keeping an eye, though. Might as well.

He grabs both flagons and sets them down on Alucard's table. Sits in the seat across. They've been in proximity this entire time in the cell, but out here—it feels different. Less of a common enemy, a common problem, to keep their attention on. But Geralt has not forgotten the vampire who quietly showed a little girl through a forest and offered to turn into a fluffy creature for her to pet. So. Here they are. ]

You won't last long in this city, jumping at every human shadow.

[A tiny part of Alucard, the one that still believes in concepts like self preservation, thinks that maybe someone needs to babysit him while he deals with being in a somewhat crowded space. That part is entirely correct, but the dhampir will not acknowledge it.

The beer smells, well, like beer. So shit to Alucard's nose, but between displaying that he's too much of a Fancy Boy Who Wants Wine versus the thought actually yes, drinking could be a good idea, he goes with the latter. He takes a sip, aware of his nose wrinkling through the process.

How did Trevor ever enjoy this crap?

He's quick to put the flagon down, nose still marking displeasure.]

What part of me gives the impression I've been around in a city for an extended time period, or that I am inclined to remain here?

[ Alucard's reaction to the beer is of no surprise. Prissy sonofabitch had rearranged both his kitchen and his stew back there. Too bad. Shit beer is all Geralt can afford at the moment until he gets his hands on some gear and a hunt. ]

Mm. [ Let him rephrase. ] You won't last long in this world, jumping at every human shadow.

[ Geralt is no stranger to desires of isolation. So many days, weeks, (decades), where he wanted nothing to do with people. With the humans that tore his kind apart. His kind that he'd never even asked to be a part of in the first place. But it doesn't matter, because people will always be here. Walking the earth. Finding you, even if you've sworn they never would.

He doesn't know, exactly, why Alucard fears the world. Frankly, he doesn't want to know. He recognizes it, that's all: that sense that every set of eyes on you wish nothing more than to see you dead. ]

Edited 2021-09-03 04:01 (UTC)

[He improved your kitchen and your stew Geralt, excuse you.
Alucard's takes that moment to take another sip of his beer, buying him a few moments to continue being stony faced. Geralt is entirely correct, he's sober and self aware enough to admit that, but fuck him for making Alucard to confront tha matter.

The mug is empty. It thuds with a hollow noise once on the table.]

Is that observation only, or a prelude to a suggestion?
[The question is about as dry as the desert beyond this city, and Alucard holds himself stiffly. More statue than person.]

[ If Alucard's demeanor shifts, Geralt's does not. One hand rests on the table; the other sits on the handle of his tankard, and his attention stays on the vampire's face—an expression that says nothing. ]

That depends on you.

[ It's not a threat; just a statement. He's not here to corral a vampire into behaving. He's done more than he should as it is. If Alucard wants to keep at it, then they will end up where they end up. Somewhere far apart from each other, ideally. Geralt still wants nothing to do with this, with whatever has Alucard constantly on edge, but he's learned enough about himself to know that if he is there—

It'll become a problem. And he has enough problems going on at the moment. ]

[Geralt's impossible to read. That much isn't a surprise, Alucard spent three months in a cell with him. Some of it is the meditation, but the rest? He doesn't know. The man just plays his cards terribly close to his chest.

He wants to just be far away. The only ambition, in a life that ought to have at least a few more of them. That thought prompts a soft exhale, and Alucard closes his eyes for a moment.]

All I want is a quiet crypt away from all of this.

[It's true, or at least true enough. The problem is that there is still a part of the dhampir, loud and outspoken, that still asks HOW DARE any of this happen. How dare he be nearly murdered by those he trusted, how dare he be dragged into a place and deemed a mistake at a single glance, how dare he be imprisoned for the crime of not being the right person some fucking mage wanted? The anger sits at the surface, too raw and refusing to scab over.]

[ Right. A crypt. What had Hector called it. A sulk-nap? Geralt had been wavering between how much Hector had been exaggerating, given the necromancer is not someone he especially takes at his word, either, but he's gathering there's more than an sprinkle of truth to what Hector said.

For a minute, he's quiet. He shouldn't give a damn, if the vampire wants to seal himself away. If anything, that should be the ideal solution. Except it isn't. Not truly. Things do not stay buried. They never do. And Alucard's little home away from home hadn't been a crypt. It'd been a house, a forest—silent and lonely, but not without warmth. The reality is, he likes Alucard. In a way. He doesn't dislike him, at least. Geralt has not gone this long without trusting his instincts; without learning to read people. The vampire has never struck him as cruel or bloodthirsty for the sake of it. Had stayed by his side in those tunnels until they made it out together. Even as a wolf without memory, Alucard hadn't hunted so much as a mouse until Geralt requested otherwise. It feels less like they are here, having this conversation, because of something Alucard has done and more because of something Alucard has imposed upon himself. Geralt just doesn't know what that is.

Maybe that's why he presses, against his better judgment. Against the understanding that he should walk away right here.

There's a softer edge to his words when he finally speaks up again—but the question is no less blunt for it. ] What are you hiding from?

[It is likely a good thing that Alucard is wonderfully unaware of Hector's phrasing. He'd be too quick to respond that Hector decided to help raise an army of forged night creatures to destroy all of humanity, so maybe don't listen to him?, although that would lead to more than a few questions that would probably end at the same place that they're at now.

But there's also a lingering scent of familiarity here. Not caring, while still doing it. Memories of Trevor's demeanor resurface at the worst possible times, and they're harder to push to the side lately. He wants to, tries to, and for it there's a flash of something like internal arguing that shows on the dhampir's face. A thin frown, his eyes moving off to the side.

What the most baffling part of it all is neither one of them are talkers. Pointedly so. How many hours passed in that cell in silence? Or it that cabin?

He can respect the softness. But there's a struggle to answer.]

How much do the details of it matter to you?

[ He's prepared for defensiveness. Perhaps no answer at all. His fingers twitch, and in the end he lets a few more coins hit the table for a pitcher. Still the same piss water beer, but there's more of it now. (Great.)

A shadow flits across his face as he watches Alucard in turn. Watches the way his brows draw together, his gaze avert. He thinks of Renfri telling him she'll leave town. Maybe he's stepping right back into the same pitfall, here with a vampire he can't genuinely look at as a monster. With a vampire he does not want to wind up looking at as a monster. (Because then what does it mean for him? When they're more alike than they aren't?)

They don't matter. The details. They don't. Not to him. He hasn't expected Alucard to share; it isn't the reason he's asking. ]

I think they matter to you.

[No. Please not more beer. That look is at least clear on his face, aggrevied sigh and sliding a few coins in Geralt's direction. He said he'd only buy one around. Alucard isn't going to force pity drinks on someone else's dime. It is also easier to complain about bad beer and the lingering smell than it is to go further in honesty beyond where they are in this moment.

He could just become a wolf and be out of here. That'd be the easiest thing, wouldn't it.

So would bluntness. Alucard finally meets Geralt's eyes, not bothering to filter out the lingering sense of exhaustion here.] You're trying to lead me to a point, and we're both inclined to use few words. What is the conclusion you're hoping I'll reach?

[ It's a pitcher for a reason: if Alucard wants nothing to do with the ale, Geralt's willing to drink it himself. He has all night and a deep desire to not be sober. But he'll not argue against Alucard putting down coppers of his own. He pockets his again without pause.

A soft noise comes in reply. There is none he's hoping for: if there were, he'd have said it in the first place, what he wants. Few words, as Alucard said. He has no particular point he wants Alucard to reach. It's that he thinks Alucard hasn't managed to reach anything at all. That there's something festering—growing, unchecked, because the vampire would rather allow it than confront why it's there. ]

I've no interest in making conclusions on your behalf. [ He sits back, drawing the mug towards himself. ] That's your business, not mine. But you can't make them hiding from the world. For someone so afraid that I might take your life, you're incredibly eager to give up living.

[The pitcher is absolutely all yours Geralt, and that you've taken fair reimbursement is all Alucard can ask for at this time. He slides his mug away. The desire to drink is not as overwhelming as how terribly tasting the beer was. He'll go find a bottle of wine somewhere else.

If forced to be honest, Alucard would defend that he's reached something. That he understands his father and why he isolated himself as he grew older. Why the castle moved. It was easier and safer, without any betrayals and far fewer Belmonts coming along with homicidal intent. No mobs with pitchforks. Only the chance to conduct scientific research in peace.]

I need time to myself, away from others, and I'm the one making the choice. [The last part is the key, so far as he's concerned. He gets to make the decision. No prophecy, no sense of duty to family or the world, only his own desires.] A year to rest in the past did wonders.

[ It's not as though he doesn't understand. The isolation. To be away from others. He's done it, more than once, and has found the world does not relent. That there's no real peace to be had that won't eventually be torn away. He's learned to move forward—that it's the only way to keep the shadows behind him.

But he's also not here to force anyone's hand. He's said what he wants to say. More than, in truth. They aren't friends, at the end of the day. He only owes the vampire so much for what's transpired between them in the past three months.

His gaze lingers, steady with a flicker of something more. ]

So it seems. [ Of course. Because Alucard has appeared so rested and at peace since the moment they've met. He decides not to bring it up. It doesn't matter. He tips the pitcher into his mug. ] Count yourself lucky, then, that you've had a world that won't disturb you until you're ready.

Edited 2021-09-04 03:03 (UTC)

[There's a sigh that follows, and Alucard can feel how weary it sounds. Or a huffy, morose teenager. Sypha might call it the latter, but at least his reasons for it are justifiable.]

I understand your point. [That the world will come knocking, no matter how many walls he puts up to keep it at bay. Still, this thing, the one thing that at least lets him pretend there's space to deal with it--]

A series of escalating events unfolded prior to Ambrose's decisions happened that have given me the need for time away and apart.

[Honesty without detail. Maybe this is too much and he should leave already. The thought is tempting, and Alucard suspects that at this point, Geralt would allow it. Only one drink, after all.]

[ He would allow it. Alucard looks less likely to hiss at some unsuspecting passerby, which had been his main intention before...this. He's half-tempted himself to tell the vampire that if he has a crypt to decorate, Geralt would hardly be one to keep him. He's placed far more effort into this entire exchange than he ever meant to.

Alucard doesn't leave. And Geralt finds he doesn't tell him to. (One day, the lessons he's learned will finally stick.) ]

You mentioned. [ A close call. Geralt hadn't asked at the time. Even now, he isn't certain he wants to know more. He already senses what it might be, given Alucard's jumpiness around not a just Witcher, but people overall. ] Hunters.

Following the murders of my parents, yes.

[Somehow, that feels like permission to leave. Not because he's told the truth (he has, but in the broadest possible strokes, no mention of who was responsible or the timeframe or any of the rest) but because what else is there for him to be miserable about? Those are the causes, the rest are details.

He stands quietly. Pushes his chair in, and moving it at a slight angle in case Geralt would like a foot rest. The window Alucard sat behind looks out onto a side street, although it clearly needs a good wash from the outside.]

Thank you for the drink. It was...well. It was.

[ That, Geralt knows a little from Hector—information he doesn't mention. He hadn't asked Hector, either. The man had simply volunteered it, which is telling.

He glances up as the vampire stands. Like all of their conversations, he's never quite certain where they stand at the end of it. Geralt knows where he does—he hasn't ever been vague about it—but Alucard has been...

Less forthcoming. Wavering between seeking companionship and not wanting it from a hunter of his kind. Geralt hasn't gone into detail about what it means, a Witcher. It's only now that it feels important, that he not be considered the same as men who hunt down monsters because they deem them unworthy of life. ]

I was a boy when the humans came for us. [ He takes the chair for his foot, since it's been freed. Part of him is curious if this will be the last time he sees Alucard. Perhaps that would be for the best. ] We each find our own way to live with them.

Edited 2021-09-04 04:27 (UTC)

[The humans.

Now that is a pointed and particular word choice. One that gives Alucard genuine pause, and the way he tilts his head ever just so is a gesture that wolf made quite a few times back in the Horizon. But beyond precise words, there is that little flicker of reoccurring themes, across worlds apparently. Hunters end up inviting the ire of the mob as much as their quarry.

All because humans are too scared to understand or even make an attempt.

For him, that feels like more reason to seek space for the time being. Perhaps right now, with no obvious grave to curl up in, he can let some of the anger out in the Horizon. The place is mallable after all, and--

--the rest can be dealt with there.

The dhampir offers a polite nod, acknowledging that what Geralt just said is a display of vulnerability and he won't take it at face value. But for now, it is probably more than enough.]

I think you've just had more time than a twenty year old to do that.

[With that, the dhampir departs. No better for any of this, but not worse either. Balancing out that initial flash of fury counts for a lot.]

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WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

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