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abraxaslogs2021-08-28 09:41 pm
abraxasmods) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-08-28 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- !npc,
- alina starkov; the hanged man,
- amos burton; the lovers,
- cirilla of cintra; the devil,
- coraline finch; the tower,
- estinien wyrmblood; the hermit,
- geralt of rivia; the hanged man,
- gideon nav; strength,
- hector; the magician,
- himeka sui; the fool,
- jaskier; the sun,
- jon sims; the high priestess,
- jon snow; the emperor,
- kiryu kazuma; the tower,
- sam wilson; justice
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.
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.
no subject
I don't know if any of us should be anywhere. [ His decision to be in the Free Cities was originally to go somewhere Thorne is least likely to force its way into, given the signature still tracking them. He's yet to find a mage capable of removing it altogether. Now that Ciri has raised the possibility that the Singularity might be interfering with her Elder Blood—hard to say. All he knows is that the two mages who conveniently appeared out of nowhere opened these particular doors for a reason. And he isn't sure if he trusts those reasons.
Besides. How reclusive is Solvunn, really, if it's garnered attention from their rescuers? If they're allowing prisoners fleeing Thorne live within their borders rather than quietly closing the gates and letting these strangers not of their own fend for themselves? Out of sight, out of mind. Unless Solvunn isn't aware. He can't see how they wouldn't be, though. Amos might not be a talker but Geralt's spent long enough in those cells to recognize that a handful of those who fled into either door do nothing except talk. ]
Solvunn. They must've noticed your arrival. [ Even the Free Cities have taken note—not its citizens, but its governing arm. ] Have they said anything of it?
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If he had someone in this world he knew he could trust, then yeah, he'd follow them, do what they think is best. But he doesn't. So. Trying to lay low is all he's really got.
He gives Geralt a shrug. ]
Kinda. There was some guy who said he was a council member or something. Didn't talk to him. [ Because yeah, Geralt's right there; Amos has nothing to say, anyway. ] They seem okay with people, so long as you can contribute to their community.
[ The concept is still amazing to Amos, and it might show; anywhere where people come together to help one another is completely counter to his worldview. That attitude exists in space — if something fails, everyone dies, so there's gotta be some level of cooperation there — but even places like that still have their infighting. Somewhere where the air is free and the land plentiful, resources abundant, and everyone cooperates with one another? Mind blowing.
There's also the part where he's pretty sure he can't contribute. Because he's him. Amos pauses, frowns, takes another drink. ] What're the Cities like?
no subject
Solvunn reads not unfamiliar to him, though he senses that's not so for Amos. His expression is curious, even if he decides not to ask outright. That part, at least, reminds him of Skellige, where half the Continent's criminals flee because the islands don't give a damn as long as you put in the work and keep your head down. It also sounds too much like a place where people get to know you, something Geralt's not cared to avoid back home—his reputation is impossible to dodge at this point—but which has now become a priority here. ]
Crowded. Shit air. Easy to disappear in. [ He looks up. There's a sense he holds no lost love for the Cities, but nor is it a place he finds especially strange to be in. It suits what he needs. His uneasiness has more to do with how rarely he stays in one place for longer than a few days at a time. Maybe a week or two, if a contract is particularly complicated. ] I'd rather take a horse and a sword, and ride, but—
[ He stops, leaving the thought unfinished. He's no longer alone, is what he nearly said, but it veers too close towards a topic he'd rather not discuss. Besides, it has no bearing for the moment. Thorne's magic signature posing its own problems aside, he's not got a horse or a sword. He especially misses the latter. ]
no subject
In the way he very, very much does not.
Amos raises his eyebrows at Geralt's unfinished thought. It's not his business. He's not going to ask the man to expand on it.
He can talk about what he knows, though. ] I'm guessing a horse wouldn't do so well in a city that crowded. Never saw one before I ended up here, but Cities sound a lot like where I grew up.
[ He's faintly amused, but there's no love lost in his tone; he grew up in a shithole. At the same time, it's the kind of shithole he knows. At the same time, it's the kind of shithole that would probably bring out the worst in him, the worst that Lydia tried to steer him away from. So. Can't really figure out if he made the right choice in going to Solvunn or not, if feeling out of place is the price to pay to make sure he doesn't become the worst version of himself. He's probably gonna be tested for a while, huh.
He takes another drink. It's not real. It's something to do. ]
Got lots of swords here. Nothing out there yet?
[ Their escape had been untraditionally nonviolent, though Amos suspects Geralt is the kind of guy who's going to feel a whole lot better once he's got a weapon on him. Fuck, does he miss guns. ]
no subject
Folk make room is what he thinks about the horses, but doesn't say. He's more interested in Amos' indication of where he grew up. Geralt's never questioned much, both because the dungeons afforded few opportunities to converse openly and because he's gathered Amos cares little to speak on it. That makes two of them, but—it doesn't ever leave, his instinct to tug at loose threads and quietly file away what he learns. The nature of his work. So while he doesn't ask, directly, he does offer something of his own. ]
I was raised right here. [ Mm. Here, replicated. Close enough. ] Then they send you out to roam.
[ Being trapped in a cage only exacerbated his restlessness, but frankly, even if he'd been set in the castle, he'd feel the same. There are borders he won't cross back home, for one reason or another. Hasn't set foot in Blaviken for thirty some-odd years. But not being able to leave a border is another matter. ]
A good blade is costly to come by. And I need one for my trade in the first place. [ It's a circular problem, in other words, one that's left him picking up simpler jobs in the meantime. He imagines Amos might be in the same position. Or what does he even wield? He remembers Amos saying he had no real experience with a sword. ] You?
no subject
Definitely more spacious than anything he ever had, though he feels like that's to be expected. Everyone else who came from Thorne seems to be more familiar with environments like this — open spaces, no overpopulation.
A faint wondering on how they would've fared on an Earth with 30 billion people. Or on a station where resources aren't abundant. And then it's gone. ]
Roam, huh? Like through those mountains? [ The ones that could be seen in the not-distance before they'd come inside. ] That where you go out to hunt?
[ And then get paid, ideally. He remembers that much about the man. Respects it. Could've been that, in another life, though he would've just been sent out to collect debts and kill those who couldn't pay up, which is probably not the kind of hunting Geralt did. And it's better he went down a different path. ]
Looks like they're several centuries from my trade even being relevant. I could strap a rocket to a wagon, I guess. Once I figure out how to get the materials to make a rocket. Which they probably don't have here. [ A sigh. He's never going up the well again, is he. ] Don't need a blade for that. Not sure I need a blade here, anyway. Solvunn's peaceful.
[ He hesitates. ]
Felt something weird when that guy got us out of jail, though. When I went through the portal. Not sure if I need a weapon or if I could just. Use that.
[ Leaving Earth's gravity for the first time had made him keenly aware of how much lighter everything is in space; he's never been so aware of gravity before, though. And now, out in the real world, he just. Kind of knows it's there. Always. One g, sure, that's standard, but Amos swears he can sometimes feel little variations, fluctuations near him, and if he thinks about it enough it. Changes, maybe. And that doesn't make a lick of sense, so what the fuck.
He looks back up at Geralt. ]
You feel anything different when we got out of there?
no subject
[ Underneath the casual explanation, the faintest wistful hint lingers. Homesick is not a word Geralt would ever use to describe himself, but he was on his way, to come home for the winter, and then he was in that fucking well. Perhaps Amos is mulling over the same—how he sighs and talks of...rockets. Whatever the hell those are. He chooses not to ask; the point remains. He gets it's something Amos had, back in his world, that isn't here.
And though Geralt's listening, in that way of his where it's difficult to tell whether he's truly paying attention—it isn't until Amos says felt something weird that Geralt's eyes cut upward. What sparks in his gaze, almost visibly, is more than just interest; there's a sense he's settling into old, familiar instincts. Turning in his head what he's already learned, what he's being told now.
Different. He considers—leaves what he's been asked unanswered while he does. Different how? His senses had returned, overwhelming him, but he suspects that isn't what Amos is means. He backtracks through the conversation to find a better question, one that might grant him more to work with. ] Use what?
no subject
So they have that much in common. Amos has brought the Roci back in his own domain. He knows it's pointless. But now that he's getting the hang of returning to the Horizon, sometimes it's nice to just sit in it, even if it's not the real thing.
It's also stupid, thinking about this crap. He dismisses it.
Geralt's eyes are really yellow. Unnaturally so. Amos doesn't feel put upon by his gaze; meets it, as at ease as he can be except for the topic he's broached. It's a fair question; not like he'd actually elaborated on it.
It's also going to sound really, really stupid. He's aware of that. But.
He sounds bewildered, skeptical, and thoroughly unenthused all at once. ]
Gravity. I don't know what's up with this place, but where I'm from, magic ain't a thing. People are just people. Nothing special about anybody. You jump out an airlock, you die. You accelerate too fast, you die. That kind of shit. Except since we got out, I swear I can actively feel the pull of gravity. If I think about it enough, I think I can change it. Make shit heavier. Or lighter. I don't get how that's possible. Probably shouldn't be. It's kinda fucked up.
no subject
He tries to find something other than, What the fuck is gravity? Neither of them have time for that. In the end, he settles on the only thing he can conclude: ]
You can float?
[ He peers at the other man. If not for what happened their first night in Cadens, Geralt would've suggested Amos must've picked up a spell unawares. Once they were free of Thorne's enchantments, it makes sense any human prisoner could access to the magic the guests had from the start. But how Amos is describing it—as if it's both unintentional and always present, lingering—it reminds him of the flowers bursting from Jaskier.
Which, coincidentally, also occurred immediately after they stepped through the portal. Though he can't imagine what it would be, about those portals, that would've caused this in some and yet not others. ]
Someone I know—human, like you—he was learning magic since we arrived in Thorne. Magic he'd not normally have. After we entered Cadens, he discovered something else. A new ability unrelated to the magic he's learnt.
no subject
Hadn't really expected you can float. No reaction to Geralt peering at him, either; but he does blink at human, like you. The implication that Geralt isn't human. Other than the eyes, he sure seems like it. But sure. Alright. At least it's not like he poses a threat.
And it is kind of nice to know he isn't alone in whatever it is that's happened to him. ]
Huh. So something about getting the fuck out of dodge caused... something to happen. [ Piecing this together is turning out to be tough. It's a little frustrating, actually. He tilts his head, a question. ] Just to a human you know? Nothing happened to you?
[ Shit's weird enough already; whatever it is Geralt thinks he is, sure, Amos'll just go with that.
He looks upwards in thought. ] Theoretically I might be able to float, sure. [ Back at Geralt. ] If I can stop gravitational pulls on myself, then I'd go up. Not like I've never been on the float before. But on a planet? Shouldn't be physically possible.
[ And what the fuck does it mean if he, of all people, can do this. Amos is already well aware of how dangerous he is; something like this is not helping. ]
no subject
Maybe it's both the combination of residing with Thorne's magic-soaked land and the portals. Hard to say. He'd need an actual experienced mage to consult. One better versed in the magic of this sphere in particular.
He shakes his head. No. ] Nothing. But that means little. Access to magic's always been limited for me.
[ It's no different here. He's tried. He has his Signs, and sometimes they flare stronger, but beyond that—the presence of the Singularity's not granted him anything more. He assumes, as he does most things that concern what he is or isn't capable of, that it's related to his mutations. It'd make sense. His kind were never created to possess magical aptitude and too much about him has already been forcibly changed long before he stepped into this world.
He frowns. How many others have been affected? In any case: ] I'd worry less about what shouldn't be and more on learning to control what already is.
[ Manipulating the weight of an object, like the ability to cultivate plants on a whim, seems harmless enough on the surface. Underneath, though—the potential for more is always there, especially when left unchecked. He's already stepped in some damn thorns that Jaskier hadn't meant to grow. ]
no subject
And apparently just to humans, based on their admittedly very small dataset. Although, if magic's always been limited for Geralt, ] Guessing you made up for it in plenty of other ways back home.
[ If everyone else has magic and you don't, then you've gotta come up with some other way to defend yourself. So. Maybe it's not a bad thing — for Amos' own sake — that he has this ability now. Except. ]
Don't know if learning to control it is such a good idea for me. I might be inclined to use it then. [ He says it with a straight face, completely flat. He's not fucking around with the possibilities here. There's nothing playful or sardonic about it; Amos kills people without much thought. If he can manipulate gravity's effects on someone else, chances are it'd be that much easier. ] Bodies can withstand only so many g's for so long. I learn how to use this, it's probably not gonna yield a whole lot of good results.
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[ That's the only answer he gives. Geralt is neither inclined to hide what he is nor to get into the details of it. It's long-winded and isn't relevant. People piece it together eventually—or they don't.
It's what Amos says next that catches his attention. He gives up any pretense of drinking, setting it aside. There are very few scenarios he can imagine where someone would tell him with no hesitation that it's a bad idea for them to possess a power they could use. That they might be tempted to use. To Geralt, controlling it is the only logical step. Left to its own devices, it's too easy for snap reactions to take over. Cause accidents that maybe aren't entirely accidents.
But Amos seems almost concerned about the opposite. He lingers on the last conversation they had. Amos is hardly of a pacifist nature—nor a stranger to taking lives. So that's not it. It's something else, something he can't quite put his finger on.
He isn't really one to dance around the subject. He blinks once before saying bluntly, ] If you're inclined to kill, you'll find a way with or without this new power of yours.
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He pauses for a second, taking in Geralt's actions before mimicking them, setting his own tankard aside. Probably won't be picking it back up. Still, he's comfortable now with the turn this conversation has taken. Geralt's directness is appreciated. Amos is shit at moral conundrums or what the fuck ever. Getting down to the actual matter at hand is much easier. ]
Sure will. [ It's probably only a matter of time, really. ] Makes the playing field awfully unlevel, though. I got fists; chances are the other guy does, too. Back home, chances were pretty good we'd both have guns. The other guy would have a shot at taking me out. Now, say I learn to kill someone just by thinking about it or whatever — kind of an unfair advantage. Could be pretty easy to be left unchecked, if I can do that shit.
[ It wouldn't even occur to him in the moment. Wouldn't occur to him until someone would point out, hey, it's fucked up you did that, maybe. It would be so easy to fall into that pattern and simply never stop.
That can't happen. He doesn't like the way it feels like it's going to. ]
no subject
Amos strikes him as neither. He's always come off, to Geralt, as someone just as scrappy as he is. ]
Unchecked. [ He cocks his head. Somehow, he thinks they've moved past the matter of this one potentially dangerous ability. It isn't his business, not really. He finds himself asking, anyway, if only because Amos has already told him more than he'd expected to hear. ] What're you afraid of?
[ That he can't stop himself? For what reason? Geralt's stayed his hand more often than not. Because of what he is, because of what he can do. It's a choice. One he doesn't always make and never one he makes out of some noble intention. Just. He's learned, that's all. To pick his battles. And it's starting to sound as though, the way Amos is talking, as if the concept of that choice escapes him altogether. As though, if he were handed a weapon, any weapon, it'll be used without question. ]
no subject
[ It's not true. Amos is also unaware it's not true. As far as he's concerned, his answer is genuine; the last time he recognized fear he was kid — young — and in order to survive, he cut off that emotion. Cut off most emotions, really. Or at least thinks he did.
Nobility doesn't exist in his personal world. He admires some people who are like the knights Geralt might think of — has all but pledged his life to some of them, really — but it doesn't exist for him. If he has a gun and the other guy doesn't, he's still taking the shot. It would be stupid not to. And therein lies the problem with possessing a power like this: he'll kill, and he won't see the problem with it, and he'll do it again, and again, and again, and then.
Oh. Maybe he wasn't asking about traditional fears. More like.
Amos shrugs. Doesn't mind talking about this shit with Geralt. Out of everyone here, he might even actually get it. Their rapport's alright enough. ]
So, I'm not a good person. Way I go through life can be kinda fucked up. Only, you know, it's what I know. Can't exactly change that. Things that probably should occur to me don't. [ Like murder not being a go-to solution for a problem. It's his, though. Or just being able to beat a guy and not... stop, even if he needs information from them. ] Usually I get someone else's help with that stuff, only they're all back home, and I'm flying blind. And now I've got this to take into consideration, too.
[ He frowns. Swallows, like there's something caught in his throat. There isn't, but he was imprisoned, lost all of his agency for a couple of months, and he still hasn't even attempted to deal with that. ]
Just feels like I'm gonna fuck up again. It's what I usually end up doing.
[ There's no self-pity in his voice; no resignation, either. He's as plain-spoken as he's been throughout all of this. Water's wet, sky's up, Amos fucks up. Just the way things are. ]
no subject
He’s not certain what to say. In truth, he wonders if Amos is even looking for him to say anything. It doesn’t come off as a confession. It comes off like an explanation, as though Geralt’s asked what his thoughts are on the weather. For a long moment, Geralt doesn’t answer. It’d be easy to dismiss what Amos has told him. So he thinks he’s a fuck up. What of it? Plenty of company in that circle, and if it makes him want to run from his newfound magic, that’s his choice. Not exactly Geralt’s problem. But he likes Amos. He does. And it just—
Doesn’t settle right, saying nothing. He understands too well that sense that nothing you do will be right. That somehow, every choice will leave you feeling like shit. Geralt has coped by simply not engaging at all—walking away, until the moment when he can’t. ]
I can’t change how I was made, either. But we find our paths, one way or the other. [ He hasn’t told Amos what he is and he makes no move to do so here. He only means—it can only matter so far what they are. The rest are...decisions made. Usually ones he regrets. Maybe what separates them from the monsters is they still try to make one. ] If you had another back home—what would they tell you now?
no subject
So he is kind of surprised when Geralt does speak up. Sure. They are who they are, but what now. He furrows his brow at the question, like he hadn't really considered that line of thought.
Takes a while to answer, trying to come up with something. ] Not sure. Powers aren't really a thing back home. Everyone's just a regular person; we're all vulnerable to the same shit. [ Except thanks to growing up on Earth he's stronger, less vulnerable to things than those who grew up on Mars, in the Belt. It's not really something that crosses his mind. ] I guess...
[ Amos falls silent once more, as though being forced to consider the opinions of people who think he actually has value is a problem for him. He was already terrible at empathy, but that particular feeling — putting himself in the shoes of people who like him — is a pretty big ask. ]
Guess they'd trust me to do the right thing. Learn how it works. It'd actually be pretty useful on a ship, maybe there'd be something I could do with it here. [ He shrugs. Something that's not murder. Telling, though, that that's the first place his mind went to. Can't really shake that. ] Probably hope I could make it on my own, but if we're all being honest with ourselves, that ain't happening. So find someone else who's a good person. Only, you know, none of us really know each other. And it's a big world. Kinda tough to do that and then stick by them.
[ He'd thought that cutting himself off in the general isolation that is the Tertiary Settlement was the right call, but maybe he shouldn't have left Himeka at all. Shit. Kinda falls right in with fucking up whenever he tries to make his own choices. ]
no subject
He lets the silence linger for awhile. Geralt doesn’t doubt that Amos possess some skewed judgment; he just doesn’t believe it occurs outside of what’s typical. People are what they are. All of them. The humans who stormed these walls were not special, not soldiers. Probably went back to the village below afterwards, washed the blood off their hands, returned to their quiet life. Raised their children. Good men, to the rest of their neighbours. Really, the fact that Amos carries this cautiousness in the first place puts him ahead of most men.
It also isn't his place to convince Amos what to think of himself. They don’t know each other in that sense. And he’s hardly one to talk of clear lines between right and wrong. But he can answer in terms of practicality, which is: Amos hasn’t got what he once relied upon to move through the world. So what he has got, here and now, will need to suffice. ]
You understand enough, to see in others what you believe you lack. That’ll have to get you by.
[ It is, for him, a simple fact of existence. People, however important, do not stay, nothing ever lasts, and in the end, you find your way with the little you can hold onto. ]
no subject
Probably won't help, either. But won't hurt. And without the people who actually know him around, it might be more valuable than he would've thought.
His lips part slightly before he answers, stay parted as he turns Geralt's words over in his head. ]
Guess that's one way of looking at it, yeah. But yeah. Kinda out of options beyond that.
[ That last part, though, sounds more uncertain than it should. It's true that people don't stay — except it had been. He doesn't know how many months it's been since he last saw his crew. They were the ones who stayed. As temporary as his trip back to Earth was supposed to have been, he's still the one who left; as suited as he was to live in the wasteland it became, he doesn't think that particular skillset is going to translate to where he is now.
So, fuck. There's a clock counting down, he's pretty sure, only he's not privy to its numbers, when it's going to go off.
It'll get him by until it won't. Even Lydia must've known there was an expiration date on what she tried to teach him.
He looks back up at Geralt, just a little bit of resignation creeping in now. ] Whatever else is gonna happen is gonna happen. [ He'll delay the inevitable until the inevitable comes. There's only one kind of ending for guys like him, anyway. ]
no subject
So he hears the resignation, registers it, and finds in it more a familiarity than anything else. The sound he makes in reply is acceptance rather than resignation—as though he's had an especially long time to come to terms with similar thoughts—but it's there: an acknowledgement that Amos is not wrong. What will happen will happen. ]
I believed once that even if the world didn’t want my kind, we could be needed. [ A rare glimpse of what’s on his mind. Something about Amos makes him feel less as though he’s saying too much. A steadiness, or just an altogether sense that Amos gets it in a way few do. Someone who'll not try to convince him he should be more or want more. There isn't more. Not for him. Maybe not for either of them.
He shrugs a little. ] Whether or not there's room for those like us, we're here.
[ Until they aren't. That time will come, eventually. ]
no subject
And the two of them are still here, yeah. Amos is the kind to take up whatever space he wants. Won't ask for permission; won't ask for forgiveness, either. Probably helps that he's not greedy, at least. Can't help but wonder if Geralt is similar. They didn't have a choice in being here, and maybe they didn't have a choice back home, either. Amos didn't. Not for a long time, but it was too late for him by then.
Doesn't matter anymore. He nods at Geralt's assessment; he's right. Then he cocks his head, looking directly into his eyes as though that'll help get his point across in what he's about to ask. The unnatural colour. ]
So, when you say your kind. What do you mean by that? [ His voice is a casual drawl. Geralt can answer or not, but it's been referenced too many times in this conversation for Amos to just let it hang there any further — by Geralt himself, no less. ] I take it you're not human. Look plenty human to me, though that's really all we got back where I'm from.
no subject
It means exactly that. [ His answer comes without hesitation. Almost as though he not only doesn’t care who knows, but that he’d prefer not to be taken as human. He indicates the structure around them. ] I wasn’t only raised in this place. I was made here. One of the last.
[ Home becomes complicated in the face of that, but what isn’t? At least the mages who created them are long dead, though he understands, on some level, that he was shaped by more than the mutations that physically altered him. It just. It isn’t something he reflects on too much, his childhood. He can’t change it. And he didn’t choose it, no. Not really. What semblance of choice existed was given to him when he was only a boy, long after too much had happened.
Maybe Amos understands how that is. That feeling of, even if you could walk away, you wouldn't even know where to go. More than one person has asked him what he'd be, if not a Witcher, if at some point in his life he could've decided otherwise, and he's never been able to explain that that's not a concept he can grasp in any meaningful sense. He can tell by the look in their eyes they don't understand. For them, having dreams they can hope for, however distant and unlikely, is ingrained in a way it no longer is for him. (Except here. In the Horizon, once. When they'd all been stripped of their past.) ]
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He's also definitely not a hybrid protomolecule monster, so that's fine by him. They can communicate; they've reached some level of understanding. And his eyes are golden, very much not an unnatural blue. It's not like there's a threat.
Amos looks up, around at the empty hall they're in. Whatever being made here means — he can only assume something happened to Geralt to make him what he is; something different from what Amos went through considering how, much as he doesn't really feel like a person, he still very much is one. Still, considering how well they get along, who's to say if whatever Geralt went through was anything good — it's a really nice place. Spacious. Something he'd have never been able to conceive of.
He takes that much longer to soak it all in. What it would have meant to grow up somewhere like this. Homely. Places to hide.
Shit. Though, yeah. Nothing to be done about childhoods once you grow out of them. They are what they are, and all you can really do after is play the hand you're dealt. You get a shit hand, you play a shit life. Not a whole lot else to it.
(There are no dreams, no. Not even without a past to look back on, understand why you are the way you are. It's just one day after another until you're dead. And hopefully you don't fuck up too bad along the way.)
He looks back at Geralt. ]
Seems like a nice place to be raised. [ A beat. ] How come they stopped making your kind?
[ He thinks he can harbour a guess, though his only real experience comes from protomolecule hybrids. And whatever kind of threat Geralt might have posed back where he's from, he's not that. ]
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He doesn’t expect that comment, though, and it shows. A nice place. He glances up at the high ceilings, the old walls. To him, it’s comforting; where he goes to leave behind the rest of the world. He also knows Kaer Morhen is crumbling, dying. No one ever comes here other than his own back on the Continent, but he’s always imagined if they did, they’d think it cold and lonely. Foreboding. Fitting, for an equally dying breed. He’s curious, suddenly, what Amos’ world looks like if he finds this nice.
His gaze drifts for a moment to the medallions hanging before it returns to Amos. It’s not a secret, what happened, and the way he answers suggests he's long buried how he feels about it. ] We were created, at first, to kill the monsters that roamed. More and more, those monsters dwindled. People turned their fears elsewhere. After that night, the process was lost. Amongst other things.
[ What’s left is left. Geralt has only brief memories of a time when there were dozens of them. He was a boy when the mob stormed the fortress. Freshly out of the Trials that killed more than half of the children taken with him, before the violence outside ever came knocking. So. The bones that fill the snow and the scattering of Witchers who remained in these hollowed out halls—that’s what he grew up with. ]
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