abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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. ))

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It looks more dramatic when it's down.

[At least he's honest. And it comes with a smug little smile as Alucard takes a long sip of his wine.

Then he goes for the pork. Shreds it finely with his fingers, because he is cheating with his claws.]

They have, against all odds. It makes life less stressful. I keep expecting something to happen though - everything feels like it is inching towards something. Beyond most recent events.

[ 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?

[ One thing Julie has never really dealt with before Abraxas is motion sickness. She'd never been on an airplane or open waters before, so it didn't ever come up. Now, she's traveling through portals, being forced onto cruise ships, and her body does not much appreciate it.

But she's willing to put up with momentary severe nausea if it means more time at the beach.

The breeze is an instant refresher, air that's actually cool and new as it brings in blessedly moist air. The wind in Cadens is like an assault, just more arid, dusty heat moving around. ]

What'd you do for him? [ She can't imagine what kind of monsters Aquila has, nor can she really imagine Geralt in open waters fighting them. Sea monsters strike her mostly as something that can be entirely avoided by just leaving them to their own devices (in the ocean, where they objectively have a right to exist), so she doesn't know why a Witcher would be needed. ] Fish him up a mermaid?

Horses have a limited lifespan.

[ The unfortunate truth. He's been through a handful of Roaches by now. They're important to him, all of them, but few things—man or animal—outlast the long life of a Witcher.

He falls into step beside Claude. The edges of Claude's domain are familiar. The architecture, their surroundings. He'd glimpsed the similarities in their former spheres from the things Claude had told him—swordsmen, archers, kingdoms—but seeing it makes it that much clearer.

His lips quirk at the hissing wyvern. Temperamental. Just like horses. Geralt's countenance is relaxed—a sense that he finds genuine ease in being around animals. Even ones that are seen as monsters back home. But this one clearly is not. And hell, it isn't as though Geralt goes out of his way to slaughter wyverns. Only when they become a danger to cities and villages. ]

This one's yours?

Why's that sound like sarcasm?

[Nero huffs at him. Okay, it'd sounded like sarcasm when he said it, but he'd sort of meant it. Just 'cause Geralt's fought monsters doesn't mean he's ready for every sort of demon.

Looks like the Palace really wants to fuck with him.

Nero hops onto a broken section of rock wall, his legs dangling down where Shadow curls up in the shaded grass. They both watch Geralt with full attention, taking in his movements. He's fast. Not surprising. The most important part of staying alive's being fast or being durable. You have to be at least one of them.

Fast, and patient. At least one of those, Nero isn't. He's about to tell him to get a move on when the knight makes the decision for them. The geryon's hooves hit the grass so hard it tears up, clumps of plant and dirt flying through the air.

It was a good shot. Geralt's sword doesn't hesitate, and strikes one scaled leg, drawing a blue spurt of blood. But as the horse rears back with a scream, there's a woomph, the air sucked out of the atmosphere. A blue sphere expands from the point of the horse's leg, and that's it --

The trick. The blue splash of blood freezes in the air. The grass stills completely. A dragonfly's wings caught, still, like it flew into amber. And that sphere expands in an effort to envelope Geralt --

A sphere where time has stopped. Completely.]

[ 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. ]

[ The addition of lifespans brings things a little more into perspective though at the same time, Claude's absolutely sneaking a slight sideways glance of appraisal towards Geralt since when it comes to age - what kind of range are they talking about? Probably a question he can leave for later if not outright another time.

Adelheid's more distracting anyway, even as Buri continues to grumble in the background and Claude continues to ignore the complaints, since with her chin scratched it's now her turn to investigate Geralt. This involves some gentle - on a wyvern scale - of huffs of breath and a (decently) light headbutt for attention. ]

Adelheid? No, she was one of the monastery's wyverns from when I attended the academy there. [ While speaking, he reaches for a pouch of jerky nearby that all of the wyverns will recognize and hands it over to Geralt. There's a tapping of nails signaling Dawn pacing her perch above as she contemplates joining for snacks. ] But we became good friends when working on sky watch shifts, and when Hilda created the aerie she was who I brought in. So... more like yes and no?

Speaking of Hilda, [ with a glance back over his shoulder towards yet another stall that proves to be empty, ] her wyvern Waffle is also usually here, but he must be out somewhere else in the Horizon.

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.

Geralt's answer is a flat, "No," followed by not one glance over his shoulder.

He hasn't any idea whether the man means one of those messages through the Singularity or a letter posted to his door, or if he's fucking about in general and there was never any message in the first place. He also can't bring himself to care.

It's true that Geralt walks expecting people to move out of his path—something that almost seems born of instinct, as though he's so used to being avoided that it's become second nature.

"It's a Witcher thing." Will he explain what a Witcher is? He will not. Instead, he sighs—exasperated, impatient. "What is it you want?"

Is it to do with their time in captivity? Because he can understand, in a sense, but there are better ways to get his attention.

[ Mm-hm. Can't argue with that. More and more, he sees why Jaskier and Alucard have become fast friends, though admittedly, Geralt has his own preferences when it comes to his hair. Mostly around how practical it is to grab a handful and hack it off with a blade (the answer is, the precise length he's had for the past century). ]

Back home, I had felt the same. The Continent, shifting. [ He shrugs a shoulder. ] The cyclical nature of any world.

[ Eventually, they reach an event. And he does not know whether that's war or the Singularity exploding or another facet none of them can predict. Even if they were to stop it, what then? There will be other catastrophes, other threats. ]

Are you worried?

[ He laughs, quiet. He doesn't even think there are mermaids here, though perhaps they've learned to stay hidden beneath the depths.

But he doesn't much like being on the ocean, either. The Continent is a giant landmass where reaching the coast can take months of travel, depending on where you start your journey. He's only travelled by ship to the islands a handful of times and finds himself most at home on steady ground. ]

Unstuck his son's wagon. I came across the boy on the desert roads, on his way home. No monsters that day.

[ He'd given the boy no further thought until he stepped into the inn one day weeks later, and the innkeeper recognized him. So now he gets a decent fare or a drink on the house, here and there. He'll hardly complain, even if he travels to Aquila rarely. It's a quaint little place—sits atop a cliff with a golden stray that seems to have made its home there. The rooms are clean and free of skittering spiders. ]

[ Geralt catches the glance, though he doesn't recall who does or doesn't realize he's much older than he appears; it isn't a fact he hides, but as with most details about himself, he also seldom advertises it unless prompted.

Claude probably knows more about him than most, simply because the man actually asks questions.

He removes a strip of jerky, offering it out from the flat of his palm. They're imposing creatures, but so are many horses—half a tonne of crushing muscle and bone. He can see why Claude is fond of the wyverns. If Hilda shares this space, then Sylvain must, as well. ]

Did hers hatch feasting on waffles?

[ Somehow, he's not surprised that's the name Hilda has chosen. Also speaking of her, she's half the reason Geralt has visited Claude, though he doesn't say it. It isn't his business, Hilda's worry for her friend and Claude's decision to cope with his ordeal how he wishes. He just thinks some company might do Claude a bit of good. ]

[Alucard makes a soft noise acknowledging that anything will be a cycle. Geralt's view is more balanced than his, and the dhampir has no shame in admitting that.

The question brings a moment of reflection. Of course he is, but the reason why is both startingly obvious and yet something he hasn't fully articulated before.

There's another sip of wine.]

I've not had things go well for quite this long in...I couldn't tell you recent events excluded. This place dragged me here at my worst and most paranoid. It's hard to shake the concern, I suppose.

Edited 2023-05-20 16:15 (UTC)

[ it's not the first time either one of them have been in a similar situation - coming to each other with questions, asking for help. it's no question for sam if he is going to help; and while that would be the same for anyone he knows, it's different with geralt. he knows that it's something important if geralt is here, that he's wearing that expression, so sam is all business now.

which, considering what it is that geralt tells him, it's a good thing sam's already prepared. domains are hard to pin down most times, some disappearing overnight and others taking days, if not weeks to fade. if it'd been a few weeks ago that castiel had noticed the domain hadn't disappeared, that's one thing. but if it's still there...

sam's eyes widen when geralt mentions that he's reached out to dean. the dark weight of dean's death during the search and rescue still sits behind sam's ribs, now suddenly back to the forefront again with this news. ] You're telling me Dean's not dead? [ because that...is something sam has to come to terms with first. it should be something of a relief, that dean survived. that he can come back to his brother and jo and cas, but it doesn't feel like a relief. instead, sam feels a kind of curling in his gut. ]

Shit- not right how?

[ whether or not the two of them had discussed it, sam knows that geralt had been aware of the mark, so sam doesn't bother asking him if it has anything to do with that. this must be something else, and if it has geralt worried, then it's something bad. ]

That's how you know you've got a good friend.

[ Which, of course, leads into a little inside joke of his own to Geralt's question. He pats the handlebars once again and leans back on the seat. ]

Sure is. Also something of a gift from a friend.

[ If "gift" counts as surprisingly convenient transforming weaponry spawned from freeing said demon friend from being mind-controlled into another demon version of themselves by the deranged full demonsona of your supposed-to-be-dead brother bent on being the king of hell and causing problems as usual.

Just another day that ends in Y, really. ]

Your place isn't too far from here, is it? What do you say to some friendly competition?

[ Adelheid accepts the jerky with gentleness he remembers well from her real life self, and the whole interaction brings a smile to his face. One far more genuine than most of the ones he slips on as a mask since while it always comes with the wish this wasn't in the Horizon alone, there's still something calming in this. Something beyond it being just a familiar routine to him from so much time spent with wyverns - maybe the addition now is sharing it with someone he's come to think of as a friend.

A realization that's not surprising, not like it might've once been after arriving and figuring out who could be trusted here. Even with so many questions yet unasked and answers not given, Geralt's presence has been a steady one. A constant, the more that he thinks about it, though it's set aside when the question gets an immediate laugh out of him. ]

No, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's fed him plenty since. His full name's longer so Waffle's quicker to get out. You'll have to come back here so she can tell you about him sometime.

[ Dawn finally flutters down from the ceiling to land on his shoulder this time, and Claude automatically hands her a piece of jerky next that she sets about chewing contentedly. He's not forgotten something else about the invitation to come here. ]

Now I have a question for you in return. [ He's going to pause for a second dramatically even though there's nothing dramatic about said question before grinning widely. ] Are you up to sitting on Adelheid's back? And for a follow up if the answer's yes, how do you feel about taking a flight out and around the monastery grounds?

[ For Geralt, the possibility had lurked. Between the stories attached to the nature of the Mark itself, Lucifer had claimed the same—that death would not be the end for the bearer of it. Though Geralt had hoped for a different outcome, he's learned he cannot protect his family by sealing them behind thick walls. Dean—or what's become of him—has made his intentions clear.

So only one road lies ahead. ]

The Mark possessed some demonic influence. [ Hearing it from Lucifer had been one thing, but Nero had sensed it, too. Without having ever been told. ] It's taken him over.

[ But the details of how or why is not the reason he's come to Sam. Geralt carries on, hands planted on the table. ]

He's set his sights on my people. I need you to stay with Julie and Nadine. I've asked Ciri to go to their home.

[ The question, he imagines, must be on Sam's mind: What will you do? And perhaps Sam knows the answer already, deep down. It is not an answer Sam will like, but Geralt has no desire to hide his intentions. Not from his friends, not from Dean's. They can stop him if they wish; he'll do what has to be done. He'd spent long enough biding his time, searching for a solution this world could not offer in the end. It's too late for that now, and he won't risk anyone further for the memory of a man who is no longer walking. ]

[ Occasionally, Geralt thinks something like the Horizon could've been of use when he was training as a boy. Illusory creatures, summoned from the mind, in a place where pain and exertion are real enough, but the true threat of death is absent.

But then, he imagines the older Witchers would have rejected the notion. Claimed they needed to face the real world. Thrown them into the gnashing maw of a basilisk, anyhow.

Blood spurts. The steed slows not near as much as he'd have preferred; as its hooves strike the ground hard enough to shake it, he feels the hum from his medallion, vibrating against his chest. It catches his attention before the growing bubble does. He starts to move out of its path—not yet recognizing what it does, but understanding full well he wants to be the fuck away from it.

He isn't quick enough to keep his sword hand from getting caught, though. That's what makes him stumble. He sees the charge coming. His shield stops the horse's hooves from caving his ribs into his lungs, but not the sweep of the knight's sword that sends him flying straight into a shattered wall.

The one Nero is perched upon.

He smacks into the other man with a grunt. They roll in a tangle of limbs, bouncing across the stone floors. ] Fuck.

[ Honestly, she thinks Geralt would have quite liked America, in terms of geography. An enormous country with every imaginable kind of terrain to conquer and plenty of large beasts to hunt for a living.

At least there's Aquila here, something different from the punishing red desert of Cadens. ]

Always a big damn hero. [ She says it with a tease in her voice, her fingers tightening a little around his for a second.

The walk to the inn is relaxing -- unlike Cadens, the streets are not as stuffed with people, and those that are out and about seem much less hurried. Seagulls squawk in the distance; music and windchimes ring out from the various homes and storefronts. ]

( Urianger hesitates again, ever reluctant to unburden himself ohis troubles lest he need to use them for some manner of secrecy — but then this is Geralt, isn't it? A man who isn't in the same faction as him, let alone privy to the various guilts he's been carrying with him from Hydaelyn. Perhaps a man with a fresh perspective is precisely what he needs. )

Aye.

( A nod. )

The ritual, it— ( Urianger draws in a breath, then backtracks a little. ) Long have I worked in the shadows to assist my companions — to make necessary decisions that would be too terrible for them to bear — and for that I have needed to cultivate a great deal of self-control.

( There's a pause, then: )

Of mental fortitude.

( Urianger's posture alters slightly, straightening and sharpening, like that of a man falling back on subtle habits that manifest physically. This is the version of himself he wants to be — that he needs to be, for the safety of his friends. )

Yet in the pit, I was powerless to stop the effect of the ritual from taking hold. My mind was not my own — something I cannot allow to ever happen again.

[ Mm. Geralt makes a noise that indicates he agrees. He eyes Dante's own machine, curious. There's a different aura about it he can't place his finger on. Not a darkness. Perhaps it matters not in the Horizon. He's aware neither Dante or Nero are fully human.

He raises an eyebrow. A race? ] Why not.

[ He revs the engine, pulling up to what passes for a starting point. Kaer Morhen sits on the other side of the crater—snowy white peaks and looming grey stone that can be seen in the distance.

He waits for Dante to be ready. Then they're off, dust spinning behind the wheels. ]

[ it feels...a little too familiar, though also not directly. sam remembers hearing the stories about bucky, about what steve went through back in the forties when he thought he lost him. when he died. and sam was there when he found out about the after, about what hydra had done and the winter soldier, and now hearing it from geralt too...

sam just sort of listens, still and focused. he nods at the mention of the mark because yeah, he remembers what dean had said about it when they talked, about how scared he was about what was going to happen and what he would do. the connection between it all has sam's stomach curling, dread and worry and concern all balling into one, singular knot. ]

Completely? Or...? [ or is dean still in there? that's a question he doesn't have to voice, because geralt would have thought it too. he knows that above anything else, and he knows that for things to get to this point, that it's not a matter of snapping fingers or calling out dean's name. it's not going to be easy.

he set his sights on my people geralt says, and sam can't help the quiet- ] Shit. [ that escapes him. but there isn't any hesitation, just a quick nod. ] Yes, of course. I'll head over there after this. But Geralt.

[ the pause that follows is weighted, where sam holds geralt's attention for a moment and then a moment more. he's trying to decide if he wants to ask when he is pretty sure he already knows the answer. when he's pretty certain he knows the answer, and no, he doesn't like it. but if ciri is in the crosshairs, if julie and nadine and jaskier are too- sam knows where geralt's decisions will have gone.

but, but, he can't escape the thought. the worry. he can hear steve's voice in the back of his head, in answer to his own. he isn't the kind you save, he's the kind you stop and i don't know if i can do that. and in the end, steve had been right, bucky had been in there, and now...

sam swallows, arms crossed over his chest. geralt knows the question is coming, so it shouldn't come as a surprise. ]

What will you do?

[Nero is not a silent audience on the sidelines; he whoops when Geralt gets his first hit in, as the horse screams. Good -- those geryon things are absolute bastards. Besides, watching Geralt's fun. He's quick, brutal, and doesn't take risks. He might not know what a geryon can do, but he's not fucking around to find out, either.

Fast. Not fast enough, though.

Nero gives a laugh when the cavalier's sword sails right into the Witcher, tossing him across the arena like a wad of used tissue.

Straight towards --

Nero sighs right before Geralt's body slams into him, tumbling him backwards off his perch; Shadow roars and catches herself with a snarl, curling back up as if she'd never been touched. Nero hits the ground and keeps rolling, rolling, until he rolls straight back to his feet, brushing dust off of himself. He picks Red Queen back up from where she's fallen, securing her right against his back again. The geryon gives a triumphant snort, the cavalier turning the horse around to face Geralt down again, face unmoving. Dark clouds begin to swirl above the arena, turning from light grey to dark shadows.

Thunder rolls.]

Too much for those old bones, huh? [He offers Geralt a hand up, if he wants it, but the grin on his face is just a plain shit-eating one.] Don't tell me one demon's too much for you.

[Well, technically two. Horse and rider are separate.]

[ That is something of a theme, isn't it? That their memories of home are abrupt, drawing them from an unsteady place. He recalls how it was when he arrived himself: believing Cirilla lost, unsure of Yennefer's fate, having not spoken to Jaskier in months. Cintra, burned to the ground. Then after, with Kaer Morhen broken and bloodstained.

He will not ever find closure for what he left behind on the Continent. He's accepted that. ]

Every town I walked in, every village, I would expect the worst. And sometimes it's what would greet me. [ He leans back in his seat. His gaze is thoughtful. ] You don't ever shake it off. You learn to live alongside it.

[ To let it take up the space it must without consuming every inch of your world. It's the only way to survive the horrors that wait. Because they will always be waiting. ]

[ His lips tilt, and there's a soft huff. ] Don't announce it too loud.

[ Truthfully, he'd have probably enjoyed the Americas. He's even grown to like the desert in its own way, now that he's come to understand the land: its hidden aquifers, the critters that come to life when the sun sets, the dry thunderstorms that light up the sky. It's the city he finds overcrowded and unpleasant—and if not for the people, he would have settled much further away than the middle of Cadens.

But it isn't so bad, either. He can adapt, so long as he has a reason.

The closer they draw to the coast, the cooler the breeze. The innkeeper greets him from behind the bar, a curious knowing glance tossed at Julie that Geralt ignores. He slides over the coin, picks up the key, and goes upstairs with her. His swords rest against the corner wall. ]

Waters first?

[ Seems a good place to start. ]

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[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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