[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: May
Where: Cadens; Horizon
What: Catch-all for May
Warnings: basic witcher canon stuff, adding as we go



(( starters below. discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot. ))

Comments

blake.

[gynvael]

By month's end, restlessness has coiled around his bones. A day or two of riding does little to satisfy the itch. Geralt knows of only one cure: to search for something to kill. So that's what he's doing. Searching for a worthwhile contract, one that will take him not too far from the city—just in case—but won't end within the hour.

He starts at the apothecaries. Assumes that with the abductions barely in the past, they'll be short on folk willing to venture into the desert heart. Which is exactly what he finds: a harried shopkeeper who thrusts a crumpled list of parts into his hands and a promise of coin. Geralt doesn't give a shit about the money, to be frank, but he has a reputation to uphold; he's not about to give anybody the impression he'll work out of charity. He eyes both the list and the offered payment.

It'll do.

Folding the parchment in two, Geralt pushes open the shop door to greet the dusty cobblestone street. Someone's either walking in or walking past, and he sidesteps them without a second thought—then pauses for a split second, a glance over his shoulder, as he catches the familiar face.

[oversight]

As it happens, it's John Blake who do-si-dos with Geralt outside the door of the apothecary. Head down, the detective-turned-odd-jobber is focused on a list of his employment leads in the Free Cities, courtesy of Mags and a few of her trusted acquaintances. It hasn't yielded results, but it has offered him a few opportunities that he may not have had. It's not by accident that it also allows him free access to following up on a few leads he has into some recent homicides.

"Oh, hey," he says as soon as he recognizes Geralt. In the time since their last meeting, Blake's dark hair has grown longer — long enough to be shaggy with a hint of unbridled curl. The circles under his eyes have softened and there's a sharpness to his gaze that hadn't been fully present when he'd been in the hospital. The scars aren't fading nearly fast enough.

Blake's tempted to move on — acknowledgment should be enough for this purpose — but Geralt's austere countenance keeps Blake's feet firmly planted. He fidgets.

"Where's the cat?" Blake asks, expectantly. "Did you bring it?"

[gynvael]

The cat? Geralt raises an eyebrow, bemused. "Why the fuck would I bring it about."

It isn't even the one the man gave him, though that particular detail is irrelevant. The one Jaskier acquired for him looks no different: fluffy, big void-like eyes, white fur not unlike the white of Geralt's own hair. Geralt looks remarkably healed considering the last time they saw each other—a lingering scar, not much else.

He starts to walk with the air of someone who can't quite care if his companion follows him or chooses to leave him.

"And it isn't a cat," he adds. "Cats don't like me."

So frankly, the man was lucky; the outcome would have been immensely different had he tried to introduce an actual cat to a Witcher's room.

[oversight]

Well, okay, Blake can't help but follow because Geralt is walking away in the middle of a conversation, and as he does so it strikes Blake as awfully similar to a known swagger of done with your shit that Blake's seen a few times before in his life. Not the first or last time.

"What, you didn't get the message?" he asks, eyebrows knitting together and voice lowering. He recites, "'Meet me outside the apothecary and bring the cat. It's crucial you don't forget the cat'?" The questioning lilt of his voice is attached to his hands raised in confusion at how such a sentiment could be mistaken.

He's keeping pace with Geralt, but there is a lot to be said about how differently they're carrying themselves. Blake feels as if anyone in their path is quick to move out of Geralt's way, but each ends up cast off towards Blake who's then forced to go around.

"But more importantly: Why don't cats like you?" Blake deigns to ask, but the bite of can't imagine why that reeks of sarcasm sits just on the tip of his tongue. Now he's just plain curious.

nero.

[gynvael]

[ Beyond a brief stop by Nero's room back in Nocwich, Geralt's found few chances to look in on the younger man. Physically, he knows Nero is all right. But that isn't the point. Given Josselyn's involvement, the Council—

Geralt can put what happened behind him in the Free Cities. Not many reminders around him. No shrines, no gods, no rituals. Solvunn is not the same.

A few weeks on, he steps into the Horizon to look for Nero. Rides his motorbike, searching for the familiar shitty white van before he pulls him at the domain Nero calls the bloody palace. Don't ask him what the fuck it means or why; that's simply the title Nero gave him.

The ground gives a violent shudder under his feet. He raises an eyebrow. No need to question whether Nero is here, then.

Geralt pushes open the door—to a jagged row of gnashing teeth. He ducks, the monster leaps over him, and pins Nero to the sticky ground.

Hm. ] Fine company you've got.

cw: gore :)

[vengeanceinside]

[The panther that used to annoyingly dog Nero's steps in the Horizon now seems even more alert now, picking her head up with her ears back as the doors to the bloody palace open. It's enough of an unexpected distraction that Nero turns his head.]

Oh, Ger --

[A rake of claws throws him backwards, giving the Chaos just enough time to leap across the entire arena right on top of him, tearing through his coat, shirt, and skin.

There's a wet sound, the smell of blood splattering, and then a single bullet shot as a gun materializes in his hand. Good ole Blue Rose.

The Chaos explodes into demonc blood, splattering the ground with his own. With a groan, Nero sits up, an arm across his stomach to hold his guts inside, where they're supposed to be. This is entirely on Geralt. Dick.] Couldn't knock first, could ya?

[Ugh. He gets up, shaking blood off his free hand as his stomach knits itself back up, intestines remaining in their safe, squishy cavity. You know, this is like the third time in as many months. Hell of a record.

Unfortunately, while it might not have bothered him before, it sort of shakes him up now. Shadow growls at Geralt, setting her head back down with her tail slapping the outcropping of broken marble columns she lays on. Nero keeps an arm around his stomach. It's not instantaneous anymore, the healing. This is slow. He can watch it work. Skin knitting over skin, but still the pulsating, grey mess of bloodied organs underneath.] Shit. You never get used to that.

[gynvael]

[ In retrospect, he should know better than to assume Nero has any fine control over his own creations, and realize they would simply rip him to shreds upon interruption. He frowns at the wet noise of entrails hitting the stone floors.

Doesn't sound much better while Nero squashes them back inside. ]

Came to see how you were doing. [ He crouches down beside Nero and offers him a hand. Ignores the growling cat. ] But I suppose you've answered that.

[ Coping, in other words. However one goes about it. Istredd is hiding inside his library, Geralt is building a small bed for Jaskier's (his) new pet. Life moves forward, and so do they. But Nero has become...not his responsibility, exactly, but someone who deserves his efforts and time. Perhaps he sees more of himself in Nero than he'll admit. A younger version of him, with a temper that had not yet evened out through age and a penchant to take foolish risks.

A notion that the world can still be made better if you kill enough of the monsters in it. ]

julie.

[gynvael]

[ The trip's been on his mind here and there, something he's mulled on over the past few months, but never quite had the chance to do. Interruptions from the world at large are aplenty. Now, though—there is no good time with a life like his, but things are finally quiet. He plans on hunting by the end of the month—he needs the routine back, a sense of normalcy—and so, in the interim, they can travel.

They could use a change of scenery. And a trip that isn't dictated by politics and diplomacy.

He asks Julie to come with him before the portal formally opens. They both ride well enough. Then the gate is announced a day or so afterwards. Fortuitous timing. The fee is no matter; he's short of coin from having not worked lately, but the bard has gold to spare.

No need to ask. Geralt takes the money and meets Julie outside her home. The only thing he's got slung over his shoulder is his sword and some spare clothes packed into the same leather case. He'll walk Cadens without his main blade, but he won't go past the city limits without at least one sword on him. As for the rest—he doesn't need much to take along. ]

[princessvegas]

[ It's a good time for Aquila. The temperatures are rising quickly as summer looms, and the ocean breeze sounds exponentially better than the dry, dusty occasional gust they get in Cadens. She agreed readily, but is actually secretly relieved when the portal gets announced -- Julie has only once ever gone on a full trip on horseback, and it was when she was running away to Nott. A portal sounds much better than a week in the desert.

Julie, who never seems to travel with fewer than three large pieces of luggage, is holding a single small carryall when she steps out. Small enough that it's possible he is bringing more clothing than she is, given that there's definitely the clinking of a wine bottle in there.

She beams at him. ] Ready.

[gynvael]

[ Her limited belongings garners a raised eyebrow. ] Travelling light?

[ In fairness, it's not as though there are multiple social outings planned. Geralt mostly intends to spend time at the seaside; beyond that, he's content to go along with Julie's whims. The art of vacationing is lost on him.

He falls into step beside her. If she gives him her bag, he'll take it automatically. He'd rather ride a week than walk through a portal, but the convenience is difficult to deny. He just. Still doesn't enjoy the side effects.

It's a short walk to the portal, at least. He hands over the coin. The sharp smell of sea salt hits him first—then the distinct sensation of his insides being rearranged. ]

claude.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt's seen Claude about in the city since their return. They've exchanged glances, maybe a silent greeting, but he hasn't spoken with him yet. It's in the Horizon that Geralt finds himself considering that he should—especially given Claude's invitation from what feels like an age ago.

So he goes. Hilda had seemed concerned about Claude, and Geralt wants to talk to the man himself.

He isn't certain what he expects from Claude's domain, even after receiving directions. It is surprisingly calm, and something in the structure of the buildings feels familiar even if the canals spilling around the dwellings does not. He gingerly gets in the boat, rows his way across, and eventually lands on a solid walkway.

It's difficult to tell where Claude may be in this sprawling city that he must, from its size, share with a couple others. Hilda and Sylvain, no doubt. Geralt ends up knocking on the first door he comes across. May as well try. ]

[godshattering]

[ Geralt's timing in showing up into the Horizon is good. Excellent, even, given that Claude's been avoiding his own domain to equally avoid the forest next door to this that was one someone else's domain slowly fading out. Today he's seated in the courtyard toying with balancing a bow. It's the sort of thing the magic in here would take of in seconds flat if he thought about it, he's sure, but it gives him something to do that feels productive even if it amounts to procrastination.

Lost in his thoughts, the knock startles him enough to pause with the bowstring in hand. Ah. He had locked the doors for once, hadn't he? Normally they're unlocked since Claude's come to enjoy having people wander in and out, but. Maybe that tells on him more than he'd really like it to.

As he makes his way over and opens the door as the small white wyvern in the tree above shuffling her wings in reproach since letting visitors in freely means more snacks for her and there's been a lack of that, he's faintly surprised to see Geralt there. But it's a good surprise, and the smile appearing on his face is a genuine one. ]

Ah, you made it! I take it my use of 'right by the giant monastery' still serves as a trusty landmark, then?

[ That's good, considering there's several structures around that could apply to, but no point in dwelling on it as he steps aside to let Geralt in. ]

Come in, come in. And tell me, is it bows or wyverns?

[ He's not forgotten that invitation - maybe it's both. ]

[gynvael]

[ His eyes go to the wyvern first before landing on Claude. Then he steps inside. ]

Good enough. [ He found him in the end, which is all that matters. As for why he's here, the real answer is that he came to see Claude. He doesn't mention it out loud, though. ] Can't say your wyverns haven't caught my eye.

[ Archery is a practical skill Geralt can appreciate, but which he doesn't hold as much fondness for as swordmanship. The wyverns, though. That's a true curiosity. Tame wyverns don't exist on the Continent. Humans have tried to cage them now and again, in the same way they cage bears and wolves for entertainment. Bloodthirsty sport, not domesticated companions. ]

Has it got a name?

alucard.

[gynvael]

[ As promised, Geralt mounts his horse when he feels well enough to ride again. Jaskier's brought up hiring a stablehand several times; with Rinwell lost once more, Geralt finally decides fuck it. Finds a stableboy worth his coin.

A Witcher with a stableboy. Who'd have fucking imagined?

He leaves before dawn, taking advantage of the cooler temperatures. By the time he arrives at Alucard's crypt, the sun is starting to sink below the horizon again. He tethers Roach in the courtyard—new plants and decorations have been added since he last came by—and knocks on the door.

He hasn't come empty-handed. From Roach's saddle, he removes a bottle of wine—a vintage he knows Alucard will enjoy. He does know his wines. (Having a superior sense of smell helps.) Just doesn't usually bother to indulge. ]

[cryptsleeper]

[There's a recently extinguished fire in the courtyard of the crypt when Geralt gets there. The ash is all hickory, all carefully considered and left neat in spite of the fact it's the remains of a fire, for god's sake. Alucard's left everything just so, and there's a bucket nearby for Roach's thirst.

Everyone is treated well as a guest here.

When the door opens after a few moments, the dhampir carries the same scent of hickory on him. The scent is just as strong inside, where there's food already laid out on a table near the low sitting sofa. A good roasted hunk of pig over the fire, berries over salad greens, lightly cooked squash that seem to have been done over the remaining embers of the fire.]

You made good time. And look significantly less like shit.

[gynvael]

[ Alongside the hickory, the smell of a succulent roasted hog hits him as soon as he steps through the door. An intricate cook as ever, Alucard. (It's not a complaint.) He's rarely treated to a rich meal—somewhat by choice, somewhat by necessity. It's a pleasant indulgence.

Geralt's smile is brief but genuine. ]

Could hardly keep that pig waiting. [ He sets the wine on the table. ] I brushed my hair for it.

[ He seats himself without waiting for invitation. They've known each other a long time; he can relax around him easily, and though the events of the past weeks linger, he finds it simpler to put behind him being here. Away from the city. ]

urianger.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt had not entered the Horizon with the explicit intention to see out Urianger. Only on passing by a scene that's familiar yet not—something about the trees, the architectures that reminds him of things he's seen through Thancred and Himeka—does he hazard a guess as to where he's wound up.

He isn't close with Urianger. But they did spend some time together down there. They share mutual...acquaintances. He wants to see how the elf is doing.

The grass beneath his feet is dotted with rose-pink blossoms. The boughs above cast a faint glow. It reminds him a bit of the lavender trees that filled one of Himeka's crystal homes. Ethereal, as though there's a permanent veil of illusion over his surroundings. Eventually, he crosses into a set of stairs that opens up a spiral of leather tomes, floor to ceiling.

Hm. He can see why Istredd was spending time with Urianger.

Geralt raps his knuckles against one of the wooden shelves—curious of the elf is in. ]

[soothsighs]

( The elf is indeed in.

Urianger has been spending much more time in the Horizon than he did prior to the pit; he couldn't say why, exactly, if someone were to ask him about it directly, but he's at least vaguely aware of a sense of safety he finds within his domain that feels somewhat lacking outside of it. Had he access to a space like the Horizon back on Hydaelyn, he suspects he might have made it his primary research base.

He isn't expecting guests, however he has long since learned that the Horizon isn't especially interested in invitations. He startles at the light rap, glances towards the origin of the sound, befor rising from the chaos of his research nook to slip through the shelves and find his visitor.

Pleasant surprise crosses Urianger's features immediately when he sees his pit-mate standing there. )

Geralt. 'Tis good to see thee hale and whole.

( He smiles, somehow never losing that Elezen poise even as he visibly relaxes. )

May I be of assistance in some way?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt, meanwhile, possess about as much decorum as a wild muskrat; he looks naturally out of place in a room full of books and marble floors etched with gold, though there's a sense he isn't bothered by how little he belongs as he moves towards Urianger.

For such a tall figure, the elf hid himself well. ]

No. Just thought I'd see if you were still alive. [ The words are dry, but his concern for Urianger's is genuine. ] They wouldn't let me wander to visit back in Nocwich.

[ He'd managed to see Ciri—no amount of berating nurses could've kept him from her—but besides that, he'd stayed in bed. Mostly. It was less out of compliance and more because he really did fucking hurt all over. Felt like he took longer than usual to recover, too. He'll blame it on whatever substance they were force-fed, but fuck.

Perhaps he is getting old. ]

just guys being dudes

[subhuman]

[ There are few things to a man than some quality time with his bike and the open road. Even if said bike was actually a remanifestation of a demonic contract. Most people would say that makes it all the more metal, more badass. Dante just says it's nice that it comes without a downpayment or interest.

Sure in Horizon it's not exactly the same thing, but now that the proverbial dust has settled, he's once again left to wandering about the castle or snoozing the day away. With much still on his mind, at least he can get out some of that extra energy in the whole mind palace whatever the Horizon actually is.

And because it's Horizon Dante doesn't actually need his jukebox to jam out while he's going. His motorcycle blasts his chosen background music as he rides between the edges of different domains, paying little attention to the drastic change in landscape and aesthetics. It's that mind clearing kind of numbness he's looking for.

What he isn't expecting, however, is the rumble of another vehicle. Another person of taste? Surely! He purses his lips for a moment before revving the engine and speeds forward towards it. ]

[gynvael]

[ Tough to say which he hears first: the music (which is only familiar thanks to Nero...and Dean, once) or the roar of the engine. Both, perhaps. Despite planning on riding alone, he finds himself following the growling cacophony. Spots the flash of white hair that is distinctly not Nero or Thancred.

Mm. About the man he expected now that he's laid on eyes on him. Who in the hell else could it have been?

Geralt pulls forward, slowing to a stop as they begin to cross each other. He's aware of the connection between Nero and Dante, but he knows little beyond that. Nero doesn't speak on it much, and Geralt being Geralt chooses not to pry. But he is curious, after all that happened, how things are. He imagines Dante must've been searching for his nephew. ]

Having a party of one?

[subhuman]

[ Well shit, that's definitely not who Dante was expecting. Geralt had more of a "medieval mercenary for hire" vibe going on, but he's got to say, the guy looks like he's meant to be on a bike. Something, something, "on a steel horse I ride" comes to mind.

He slows down so that they're parallel and gives Geralt a tip of his hat. (His cowboy hat because of course he's got it on.) The music turns down to a moderately reasonable degree on its own accord. ]

Like a drifter I was born to walk alone...

[ He pats the handlebar of his bike. ]

...but you're never really alone with one of these babies, eh? I wouldn't mind some company. I didn't realize you had a hog of your own.

sam wilson.

[gynvael]

[ When he first tried to contact Dean, it'd been on a hunch. A need to just try it, to see what the result would be. He does not regret doing so, but the situation escalated from uncertainty to genuinely fucked in a matter of minutes. Geralt's spent the past hour or two moving things into place—and perhaps, he is realizing more than ever that he has people to turn to in this world. People he can trust.

There was never a question of whether he'd go to Sam. With Alucard looking after Jaskier, he needs someone here in Cadens. For Julie, Ciri, Nadine. For Sam himself, in truth, but though Sam is human, Geralt knows Sam's closest friends are not. Where Sam needs him, Steve Rogers will follow.

He sends Sam a message (Are you home?) only to confirm where the man is. Keep things quick and simple. He suspects, if Dean wishes not to be found, he will not be anywhere near Mag's.

At the door, he pushes it open without knocking. Closes it behind him as he steps inside, eyes searching out Sam in the room. ]

[falcony]

[ sam's been...well, 'busy' would be the most accurate term for it, but that also wouldn't really be a change from the norm. he's always found things to occupy his time, because he knows what happens when he doesn't. it just so happens that after the return of the summoned after the kidnapping and subsequent execution of josselyn creed, there has been more than plenty to do.

which is why geralt's are you home? doesn't seem all that out of the blue. more hours of the day than not sam isn't actually at his flat, somewhere in the city running errands or meeting with other summoned or helping mag with the inn. it's actually a kind of stroke of fate that he is when geralt messages him, having just returned for a day of errands and had been planning on setting back out for something else. something that wasn't time sensitive, and therefore is easy to push off to do at another time.

yup; door's open is what geralt will get in return, and when sam hears the door open not all that much later, he comes stepping out from his room, expression at first quite happy, curious even, wondering if geralt had gone out hunting and brought back something else for him to cook with. ]

Hey man, long time no- [ which is exactly when he seems to see the expression on geralt's face, the general air about the man, and any upbeat demeanor sam had is immediately dropped into something much more serious, worried, his mouth a thin line. ] What's wrong?

[gynvael]

[ With Sam, he seldom needs to say much to be understood. Geralt steps into the kitchen, where he perches on one of the wooden stools. In the past, he'd have hesitated to seek help from others. Fear of putting them in harm's way. A habit of taking care of shit on his own. But as time passes, he's started to learn he has options.

And that, perhaps, he cannot always do things alone. Especially not if he wants to protect the people he loves. ]

A few weeks ago, Castiel told me a piece of Dean's domain hadn't faded. I thought little of it. [ It'd been a concern, but domains don't always disappear overnight. Like an abandoned shed, the environment grows over it. But after all this time, the forest remaining had been a sign of something wrong. ] Earlier, I made contact. Just to see. And he answered, but...something isn't right with him.

[ It's so much more than the mark. Dean had been aggressive, violently so, under its influence, but Geralt could look at the man and still say with certainty that that was Dean Winchester. Struggling, clearly, with a force he could not quite suppress, but not unrecognizably so. This, though...

He cannot say what or who he'd spoken to today. He only knows it resembled nothing of Dean. A facsimile of a personality. ]