abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[Nero's confusion is plain on his face. Well, was he or was he not a fuckin' demon? He was turning into one, for sure. He doesn't need Geralt's word on that -- the Devil Bringer confirmed it, even if it was only a flicker. Something was demonic in that guy, and Nero can't help but have his first thoughts be that it won. Took over somehow.

Like it always does.

He clicks his tongue. It sounds like a classic possession to him -- a successful one -- but like usual, Geralt doesn't give a rat's shit amount of detail. And, for once, he won't push it. If the guy is gone, then... well, problem took care of itself, didn't it?]

Maybe. It's still a loss. [Nero isn't a hugger, but he does give Geralt a firm hand on his shoulder.] Sorry, Geralt. He didn't seem like a bad guy. Had killer taste in food. Dunno how I can help, but... here if you need it. Figure you don't, though. [He pauses.] Wanna kill somethin'?

[ 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.

[ 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?

[ 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.

[ One day, he'll have to show Alucard his newly gained claws. They can uncork bottles together. ]

She'll do it at no cost. [ His hair's been braided before between Jaskier and Ciri. He must be the only Witcher to have attended as many fancy parties and banquets as he has. The perils of being friends with a famous poet.

He holds out his glass for some wine. ]

A night or so. [ Not a long stay, but enough to leave the city behind a bit. ] Jaskier tells me he has big plans with you.

[He'll be so excited.]

Hm, but how elaborate can we get? There were women in one of our older civilizations who used needle and thread to make their hair even more elaborate.

[There's a grin as the dhampir pours Geralt's glass, before filling his own. He gestures to what's on the table, two places off to the side.]

To be fair, at this point it's stranger when he doesn't. [He takes a sip of his wine, the little cheerful hm! a sign of approval.] The Hall's done. It can be reopened, and that means it needs to be done as over the top as possible, which I'm in agreement on. So, five days of events. Then I keep working on Libertas' needs.

[ Geralt gives a faint hum. Aside from the scar that runs up his forearm, he's fully recovered. Perhaps that's startling, given the state he was in when they last saw each other—but Witchers repair quick, and the Cities have good doctors. A rarity for him. Normally, he treats himself or lets the local village healer try their best. ]

Coin's nice.

[ But no. It isn't about the money. He can get by fine on very little, and Jaskier has plenty to spare.

His head tilts: there's a sense he has made up his mind. He knows where Urianger is coming from, but Geralt is aware he has a different idea of what constitutes danger compared to most. ]

Horrors tend to find me. [ No point in hiding away. ] But I have people to return home to.

[ So he's no interest in overextending, either. Maybe Urianger glimpsed who those people were. He'd stayed close to Ciri throughout those weeks. ]

As they should, if you ask me.

[ Helpfully, since Claude's just going to take that as an opportunity to compliment them himself. Meanwhile, the wyvern also uses it as a chance to noticeably preen as a fan of any and all flattery sent her direction. As for her name, he glances up into the tree before back to Geralt. ]

Dawn, since she hatched right before it and reminded child me of a sunrise. I was still working on the whole creativity thing back then.

[ There's a thrill from the branch above as a warning and he automatically holds out an arm as a perch a second after she takes flight to land upon it. It's a familiar routine from all those years ago back when she was small and a comforting weight matching memory, given her real life much larger counterpart would flatten him into the ground if she tried it. ]

This is about the size she was when I left for the Academy which is what my mind latched onto my first time in here. The adult ones - and actually adult sized ones - are next door in the Aerie a short walk away if you'd like to meet them.

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?"

( An unreadable smile touches Urianger's lips at that — sincere, if not a little strained around the edges. It's true that he had noticed Geralt's habit of sticking close by a young woman with with light hair: he can relate, what with his time spent on the First with Ryne. Urianger misses her more than he could possibly say. )

Good. That is well.

( A nod, as he laces his fingers together over his lap. )

I confess, I—

( He pauses a moment, as though he hadn't quite planned on speaking again, before turning his gaze away to drift into the middle distance as he continues on. )

It has proven difficult for me to wholly return to mine own companions. Thorne's gala was a pleasant distraction, and yet I feel ... changed, since the Pit.

( "Afraid of myself" is the phrase he's looking for, not changed, but he's loath to admit as much aloud just yet. )

[ The confusion is clear on Nero's face. Geralt doesn't bother to rectify it. The truth is irrelevant, now that Dean is gone. Except...

He's aware no body was recovered. But after a month, more, what is there left to find? Were Dean to survive, that could mean nothing good. It would not be some miracle, only an occurrence that indicates something far worse has surfaced. And though he and Dean were not friends for long, a couple of years together is still time spent he seldom chooses to grant.

His eyebrow lifts. Mm. Perhaps this is the other reason he decided to tell Nero what happened. They have similar ideas of getting past it. ]

What have you got?

[ 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. ]

[ That remains his overall aura, but several seasons surrounded by folk from other realms has lent to his evolution. Which apparently means a steel horse and the ability to grasp what a movie is.

He can even change the tires.

Geralt gives Dante a look, vaguely bemused. He will not ask. ]

Gift from a friend. [ Hence it's startling accuracy. ] I've grown fond.

[ Unfortunate he can't experience it outside the Horizon, though in truth, it isn't sure he wants to. It's simpler to accept the machine in a place where nothing is quite real. ]

Yours is from home?

[ A scoff. ] You want to thread me like a shawl, you'll need to pay me in several jugs of ale.

[ The look isn't what bothers him. It's the effort and time he must spend to achieve it, and the annoyance that comes with it falling apart by night's end, anyhow.

And fair. They do scheme a bit together. ]

Five days? Ambitious. [ Appropriately so, where Jaskier and Alucard are concerned. ] The fuck's there even to do over five days?

[ That's the length of a royal tournament if he ever heard of one. ]

[ With a soft chuckle, she hoists her bag over her shoulder. To be fair, she does have a fairly roomy purse too, as those things go, but mostly it's a combination between extremely lightweight, casual clothing, and the small amount of it she foresees needing -- in addition to the short linen dress she has on, she's brought two other dresses for going to get food and drinks, a bathing suit that's probably considered on the risqué side, and an extra pair of shoes. She also plans on doing little that would require much more.
h way
There are vacations where you get up every day and follow an itinerary of things to do, sights to see. Julie does not anticipate this being one of those vacations. ] You think I should bring more? Gonna give me bad tan lines if you cover me up.

[ She has only ever traveled via portal a few times, most of them out of pure necessity, and she find the experience as unpleasant as ever; she comes out in Aquila and immediately dry heaves twice before she coughs and stands straight. Still, it's saving a week's travel each way, so she can deal with it. Her recovery is quick, though, once she catches her breath, and she takes his hand. ]

Y'know, I really did once think I'd start gettin' used to portals. It's been over a year since my first time, and nope, still terrible. Anyway, where to? I've only been here the once.

[ Geralt steps closer to the young draconid. Not near the largest he's ever seen, but he can tell from the shape of her wings that she'll be plenty big in the next few years.

He gives a huff. ] I name all my horses Roach.

[ He's last to talk of creativity. Part of him is curious as to why Claude never altered it from the smaller version of his childhood. Nostalgia? A subconscious desire? Why not recreate the adult Dawn he could ride?

He doesn't ask. Part of him isn't certain Claude can even answer. ]

Show me. [ This is a novelty. He's seen dragon riders once, in his long years. The idea of taking flight on the back of a creature of a hell of a concept. ]

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.

Edited 2023-05-16 14:42 (UTC)

[ The confession catches him off-guard. He blinks. They went through some shit. Can't expect to return the same. Geralt knows he wasn't after the Trials; perhaps the only reason he's come out of this experience not too different is because there isn't much more of him to transform. He's been here before. Maybe too many times.

But for someone who's never been through such a thing—

It takes a while. More than anyone could predict.

Still, he can sense there's more on Urianger's mind than what's been said. So he prompts: ] Changed?

[Shocker that Geralt doesn't have anything else to add. Another guy possessed by a demon, and another dead demon. It's just another day in the life of a devil hunter, right? Just. One of the shittier ones. You never want to lose someone to the demon.

But it happens. And he figures Geralt took care of it. He never seemed like the kind who would hesitate.

Nero claps his hands together.] Hoped you'd say that. Let's see... [He turns around the Palace clears itself; Shadow gives an annoyed growl as the column she was sleeping on disappears underneath her. The traces of Nero's blood mixed with the demon's erases itself. For a second, it's like watching a pit in a bowling alley reset the pins; the room turns blank, and rebuilds itself as it stretches around them. It is still undeniably an arena, but cracked castle walls rise around them, with tufts of grass growing between the cobblestone built at their feet.

Even to Nero, the sound of horse hooves on stone is unmistakable.

So this is what the Palace picked. Nero sort of made the Palace as a place to train, but it sort of... runs itself. Whenever he walks in wanting to kill something, there's something for him to kill. No thought in it. Just whatever's the demon de jour.

And for Geralt, it's a knight. A knight astride a skeletal horse, glowing with blue flames. Nero knows the trick here; he's talked with Nico on the equus daemonicus, 'cause some of that shit simply doesn't make sense. It just. Works that way anyway.

The demonic knight on the back of the horse faces Geralt, drawing its sword from its waist. The geryon stomps the ground.

Nero sniffs, stepping back.] You know, if it gets too much, you can totally tag-team me in. Promise I won't let you die, grandpa.

You and I both know I can afford that.

[Alucard's not going to do it to Geralt without having experimented on himself first, of course. He's also 90% sure neither of them could pull off the Roman matron look, which isn't the best look to begin with.]

Oh, you know. Highlight different part of the arts, show off every part of the Hall's uses and capabilities. Make sure that no one's going to use it for war mongering political nonsense.

[And then, he favorite part:]

Then I'm coming out here for a week to rest. Properly.

All of them?

[ The question's out of his mouth before he really intends it to be from surprise and genuine curiosity. Fortunately for Geralt, he can ponder the meaning of all horses named Roach and walk at the same time, so with a nod over his shoulder Claude heads farther into his domain. There's one door in particular that'll be their destination rather than the others along the courtyard leading further into the house into more standard rooms. This one has a bit of Horizon magic attached to it for the days where he doesn't feel like strolling across the entirety of the monastery grounds, even in their imaginary state.

Instead, this door opens on the other side to mostly up the aerie's staircase in demonstration of his belief a shortcut should be to the fullest and leave them with a few steps left. Dawn takes flight to head the rest of the way up ahead of them both. And at the top of the stairs is a wyvern in the first stall who immediately greets them with a hiss, a noise at which Claude immediately rolls his eyes. ]

Don't mind Buri. He's like that to everyone and always has been as long as I've known him, which is why we're going to see Adelheid instead to make sure you get a better first impression.

[ He leaves the grumbling wyvern behind to lead Geralt to a lighter brown wyvern who, in actual friendliness, immediately sticks her neck over the stall's gate to greet them both in anticipation of attention. To prove no one's about to lose a hand to her enthusiasm, he reaches up first to scratch under her chin with a smile. ]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2023-05-17 23:13 (UTC)

The last thing I'd suggest is covering you up.

[ Tragically, Geralt is wearing the same thing he invariably does regardless of weather, but it'll likely come off once they reach the waters. One day, she may convince him into something resembling swimwear.

At least he isn't alone with his distaste for portals. Geralt takes her bag as she doubles her over before it can slip to the ground, waiting for her to recover. Maybe for his own stomach to settle, too. ]

Mm. [ Mostly, he travels to Aquila for a contract: deliveries, collecting his coin, following a lead. But he does know a place to stay—one that's better than the cheap inns he normally picks when he travels alone—and plenty of places to drink. ] There's a room for rent overlooking the seaside. Good ale downstairs. Owner cooks a decent breakfast. He owes me.

[ The ground rumbles. Geralt stands up, already reaching for his silver blade. He's seen the monsters in these walls. The ones Nero showed him. (The ones he fought in their strange dreamscape adventures.) They're familiar in their own way: twisted lifeforms that crawled forth from another realm.

But there is a humanoid edge to the knight that rides forth. Curious, when and where Nero encountered this thing. ]

Comforting.

[ He circles the waiting kinght. He usually studies his targets first. This is, probably, where he and Nero differ. Geralt arrives prepared: the right weapons, the right tools, the right knowledge. He seldom allows himself to be caught off-guard with a monster he doesn't understand well. A problem, considering it happens in Abraxas more often. The perils of landing in a completely new sphere.

He can spy the monster's armour, though, and the steed's fiery blue hooves—and that's all he has time to do before it charges at him. The oversized sword scrapes against the stone floors. Geralt dives to the left, rolling far to keep his distance while he sizes up the beast. It's quick for something so large, but not agile; the movement of its sword is an easy tell with how heavy it is.

When he finally moves in to strike, it's to aim for what anyone should when their opponent is on horseback: for the animal's fragile legs. ]

Better question is why don't you braid yours more often.

[ One need not have enhanced senses to see that Alucard's hair is unusually luxurious. Rather good for styling. Geralt's assumed it's a vampire thing. (He's also noticed Viktor's hair appearing oddly shiny these days, which he's dismissed as due to Viktor's improved health—but now and again something niggles at the back of his deepest subconscious.)

In any case.

Geralt goes for the food, putting bread and meat on his plate. He peels off a strip of crisped skin. ]

At least the warmongers have fucked off. [ For now. Recent arrivals have not demonstrated the sort of shortsighted bloodthirsty desires that the four-armed ogre had. Six? He can't recall how many arms. More than two, less than eight. ]

[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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sam wilson.

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