abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[ The mention of Nero immediately simpers Dante's mood. Though his grin doesn't falter, there's a distinct lack of energy rolling off his shoulders than his hooping and hollering had been full of just a moment before.

He likes Geralt, for what little he knows of him, if at least because any time they've interacted it's been casual and unobtrusive. (What can be said about a guy you meet in a hot tub?)

(Actually, don't answer that.)

Right. There are a handful of people that know a bit of the family business, don't they? At least he trusts Geralt not to be the kind of person who would spread that around for shits and giggles. ]

That so?

[ Dante settles, placing his hands at his hips but he leaves his bike on for the moment. He casts a glance towards the other man. ]

Now my pride's on the line--did you beat his butt too?

[ Dante's reaction to Nero reminds him of himself once, with Ciri, before he grew to take her as his own: uncertain, subdued. He's gathered well enough that there's some contention between them.

His lips quirk. ] He'll claim I didn't.

[ Geralt hadn't argued the point then. Their race is not why he brought Nero up. It's that—he knows Nero is getting by, on the surface, but the last time they spoke, he gets the sense there's much Nero isn't saying.

He isn't worried, exactly. But he likes the boy, and more and more, he feels the instinct to look out for Nero. The way he used to with his brothers. ]

Have you spoken to him? Since he returned?

[ They kiss, and she grips him close. His eyes fall shut. Somewhere along the way, they move from window to bed; he lands on his back with her on top. The mattress sinks beneath him.

Her dress so light he doesn't even bother taking it off, just pushes the skirt to the side and slips his finger into the barely-there fabric beneath. He tugs it off, down past her thighs—letting his nails drag lightly as he does.

They've been together plenty since he returned, but he finally feels a little lighter than he has in weeks. As much as he doesn't mind the company he's found, solitude remains an old comfort. Time away from Cadens—and the people there—with just her is what he needs. ]

[ Had you asked him a year ago where he thought he'd be having lessons on wyvern back, he'd have said no. But here they are. He has a motorbike already. Why not a winged reptile?

Geralt listens closely to Claude. Some of it feels familiar, others less. Like steering her into the air—which he does with a light tug on her reins and a quiet appeal to not kick him off. Thick wings stir the air as the wyvern rises off the ground. There's a lurch he isn't quite used to before he settles onto its back.

Then he follows close behind Claude—higher and higher into the sky. The winds grow chilly up here, the sun brighter, even though there is no consistent sun or weather in the Horizon. Below, the Singularity rises from its crater.

Geralt learns easiest through observation; flying beside Claude is the best form of instruction he can have. Eventually, his steering smooths out. Being in the air is entirely new. Thrilling, really, even if Geralt's reaction is subdued as ever. But it's clear he's enjoying it. ]

You've made me wonder how cavalries would be if humans found wyverns to tame on the Continent.

[He already knows no's the answer. Or -- as Nero grins back at it -- fuck off. He's startin' to really get Geralt's full vocabulary over here. Though considering about 25 percent of it is some variation of "fuck," it's not too hard to learn.

Nero retakes his seat like nothing's happened, propping one foot on the other knee as he leans in. One hit's gotta be enough for him, right? Either that, or he's gonna be helping Geralt nurse some lightning burns.

He doesn't worry. It's enough watching Geralt work. It's cool. There's no fucking around. No playing. Just him determining what is the most efficient. It's not Nero's way, but he can acknowledge it looks pretty badass from the outside. It's not the first time he's seen it, but he feels like... yeah, maybe if he watches it enough, he can pick some stuff up.

He makes a gory mess of things and comes out of it hot and stinking of demon blood, but he won. Handily, too.

Shadow bats the head away, tail swinging.

Nero holds out a fist.] Pretty sick, old man.

[ She perches over him on her knees, back arched as she peels her dress over her head and drops it on the floor. Her hips roll languidly; a flush is already creeping up her sternum and over her cheeks. With her invisible hand, she tugs at the fabric of his shirt, yanking at the front of it until he shifts enough to remove it. ]

You know, you're the first man ever took me somewhere nice. Or at all. [ Her hands (the flesh ones) slide up his stomach, nails pressed in. Her eyes are dark and low, looking down at him. ] Too bad I may never let you up outta this bed to enjoy it.

[ She's teasing, her voice soft and silky, but there's a hint of sincerity in there too. Never in her life has she been so constantly hungry for someone like she is for him. ]

[ Claude's learned enough by now, he thinks, to read some of Geralt's mannerisms far better than he could the first time they'd spoken. After they both take flight, and aside from keeping a careful eye to make sure Geralt's still doing alright on his own, it does seem clear enough to Claude this is something being enjoyed. He's a quick learner for having never flown before, which makes it easier to start them on a loop around the monastery's spires at an easy enough pace to start out with. ]

Effective, probably, if our battalions are anything to go by. [ Said thoughtfully as he looks at Buri contemplating the fishing pond below them while looping the reins loosely around the horn on the saddle before looking out into the Horizon's skies before them. It feels strange to be here in the air without other groups on watch following their own routes around the grounds - but then again, they're not at the actual monastery, are they? ] Pegasi are also popular in Fodlan, and knights either ride them if not wyverns to attack from above or horses to be the usual ground based cavalry.

[ Entirely too capable when it comes to war or otherwise, more or less, and able to be trained to be ready to be taken into battle. Times like right now would be his preference if only the world allowed for it. Maybe someday, but in the meantime he can let his thoughts wander a bit. ]

I grew up around wyverns so getting to chance to ride one was a big deal to kid me back in the day. It sounds like a bad line out of some novel when said aloud, but the magic of flying never has worn off for me. One thing I miss thanks to being here is being able to take flight and see everything from above. I suppose it's much like looking up at the night sky and realizing how small and manageable everything seems in comparison.

[ Dean's elusive nature is a problem, but not one Geralt is especially concerned by. He can find him. He can track nearly anything, anyone, with enough persistence. Only so many places one can hide on this continent.

He nods in return. Good. All right. ]

I will. [ He can rely on Sam. He knows that. He just—thinks this should be on him. It's his people, his daughter, in danger. And Dean asked him to take care of it should it come to that. Geralt never gave his word, precisely. But he did assure Dean that he would not place Dean's well-being over that of his family. That is not in question.

He straightens up, already moving towards the door. They haven't much time to spare. ] Thank you.

[ sam might not think that way exactly - geralt is his people, and geralt's people are his too. but he also knows geralt, and knows he's going to want to handle this in his way. sam can respect that, sam does respect that, so for now what he can do is what geralt asks of him. he can watch nadine, and julie, and ciri. and that's what he'll do.

geralt straightens, heads for the door, and sam considers the conversation over. he needs to pack up some stuff, but will be heading off to nadine and julie's soon after, and sam turns to get ready on that when geralt thanks him.

sam stills. ] Of course. Always. [ he gives a small smile at that, a reassuring nod. because he means it - always - whenever or if ever. if geralt asks sam for anything, his answer would always be the same. ]

Good luck out there.

[ Is he? He supposes that must be so; he remembers the pictures Julie told him about, the places and things she's never seen until this world. Geralt surrounds himself with wanderers, but he knows that isn't how it is for most—in any sphere, his or hers or this one. People grow up in villages they never leave. Escape is a distant dream.

And before he was left to the Witchers, he'd craved the same. Adventure, leaving the confines of his childhood home. Maybe they both found it through paths they never expected to take.

He helps tug the buttons on his trousers loose, popping them one by one. Her hand is warm against his stomach and the heat grows into a heavy pressure. ]

My view is plenty nice from here.

[ He huffs a quiet laugh. ] Are you saying we're predictable?

[ That is, probably, close enough to the truth. There is a simplicity to the act of being a monster hunter. However one might define monster. Perhaps in another life, Alucard would have been one to him. In a village, a Witcher crossing through, hired by townsfolk to kill a vampire slaughtering men and placing their bodies as a warning.

Perhaps he may not have questioned it closely. Perhaps he might have needed the coin and wanted to do the job and move on. There is never a right path he thinks he's taken over the years.

But that isn't what happened. No reason to speculate. ]

Edited 2023-06-05 20:47 (UTC)

I'm saying the effect of the job is predictable. [Sorry Geralt. He's going to possibly cross a line here, but you can throw pork at him if he is.]

Killing things makes you hunted in turn, because if you're willing to kill things that are sometimes human shaped, well. Or maybe you're playing with magic instead. It probably doesn't matter. Your good starts to look suspicious, so you keep distant from society. Maybe you have your own people, maybe you don't. But there's a cynicism and a wariness of the world. Weary also enters into it. There's pitch black humor to cope.

[There's a shrug.]

I'm wrong on some details, I'm sure. This is just my observations. The job's damage tends to shape people in similar ways.

Edited 2023-06-05 22:54 (UTC)

[ Before she walked a thousand miles, Julie had never been further than a few hours' drive from her hometown. In many ways, the world was not so different than it had always been; people trapped by life and poverty in small, dead-end towns. She just had the unfortunate luck of being alive at a time where it was repeatedly hounded into her just how much she was missing out on by being one of them.

She can't say that anymore. In less than two years spent in Abraxas, she's experienced more than she ever thought she would. Seen things she didn't believe possible. There's nothing she lost that she would give this world up to have back. ]

Mm. [ It's half hum, half chuckle, accompanied by a satisfied smirk. She rises on her knees so he can move enough to tug his trousers down. Raising her arms, she lifts her hair and lets it fall back down over her shoulders. ] Better really take it all in, then.

[ She sinks back down, trapping his cock between them. Taking his hands and lacing her fingers with his, she grinds against him smoothly, deliberately. And slow. ]

[ And tug them down he does, an act he's grown practiced at over the century but which still takes. A bit of effort to yank them off. He kicks his boots to the side, buckles haphazardly loosened and the dagger tucked in the right pair slipping out a touch.

Then his hands are gliding up her bare arms—palm rough, her hair soft where they cascade over his fingers.

He smiles back. ] I'm convinced.

[ As if he needed to be. Her weight and warmth sends a breath escaping. His hips rise to meet her—and he grips her fingers tighter. ]

[ She leans her weight into his hands, her lips parted as her breath hitches. Everything is pleasantly fuzzy and warm, like static ghosting over her skin, and even the simmering yearning for more is more of a sweet ache than a sharp one.

When she can't stop herself from finally picking up some speed, her heart already pounding, she bends down to kiss him for a long moment, deeply. Then her mouth trails over his cheek, along his jaw; her teeth graze over his stubble. Her voice is a low, thick murmur, wrapped around her panting breath. ]

You put it it in. Want you. [ There's a sharp inhale, then her voice wobbles a little. ] Please?

[ Though he isn't quite aware, this is probably the first and closest he's ever come to having a holiday. Even travelling with Jaskier had come with a job, one he took for an offhand reason to make the journey. He's never simply left for no reason other than because he wanted to.

And because he had someone he wanted to go with.

She's draped on top of him, heartbeat picking up steadily as they move together. His beats in between hers, and he tilts up to meet her lips. She smells sweet, and of something heavier, darker, a light sheen already clinging to her skin.

He hums, decides not to keep her waiting—he isn't feeling patient, either. His fingers tighten around her and he eases inside. He breathes out against her ear—soft, wanting, sinking deep into her warmth. ]

[ Pegasi? Geralt glances over, curious. For all the magic of his sphere, flight remains a rare thing. ] Pegasus is a myth on the Continent.

[ Winged horses do not exist. Incidentally, unicorns do. Existed once. Exceedingly rare now, perhaps extinct. Other than Yennefer's...possession (which he maintains was not entirely his fault it broke, and also he had warned her that might happen), Geralt's not seen one.

Then again, he hasn't got the requisite pure heart to do so.

He smiles a hint. No. He understands. There is a certain wonder to it, and he thinks, even if the novelty were to wear off, he would feel the same. The view is pleasant, the air fresher. Maybe it's the effect of the Horizon, but he'll take it. ]

You always remember your first mount. I thought... [ He pauses. ] I thought after the Trials, my horse would not recognize me. But she came over all the same.

[ His first sword and his first horse. Two things he remembers clearly from a century back, though neither are with him any longer. ]

[ Let it be said that Nero specifically inspires at least ten percent more fucks out of him than the average person. (He means this with fondness, or inasmuch as Geralt feels fondness for Nero. Which, admittedly, is not a small amount. Though he will not say it out loud.)

He doesn't bother flicking the gore stuck to his hair or skin as he makes his way to Nero, leaning down to pat the big cat on the head as he does. Unlike house cats, she seems to tolerate him. Or perhaps Nero simply isn't aware of a cat's dislike of Witchers to imbue her with the same trait.

The outstretched fist receives a look. He pauses. What the fuck is he meant to do with this gesture? (Possibly, he may have witnessed Sam doing it at some point. Vaguely.) After another second, he just. Pats Nero on the shoulder and moves past him to sit down. ]

What was that creature? Another demon of yours?

[ From someone else, perhaps it would be crossing a line, but Alucard has known him a long time—compared to others here—and he finds himself making a soft noise, one that suggests he can't really disprove any of that.

But: ]

Could say the same of you.

[ Two sides of the same blade. So to speak. There's a reason he's found himself growing close with those not strictly human; between Nero and Alucard and Castiel—the world calls them monsters, looks to him to kill the ones more dangerous than he before turning on him for the same. He doesn't often let himself get caught up in the moral righteousness of it all. Prefers the contracts that don't touch on those questions—hunting beasts no different than slaughtering a deer or a bear.

It is the job, but more than that, it's simply the life. How the world responds to you. ]

I'm not as funny.

[Alucard won't deny that a lot of what he just said could be turned back on him. But they're discussing work and not just existing. Although for Geralt, Alucard supposes that they're often one of the same.

Still. To make the point, the dhampir flicks a tiny piece of pork crackling at the Witcher, because Alucard is still a twenty-something shitheel some days.]

And I'm not predictable. You thought I was older.

[ He may have to take that as a compliment. Alucard must be the first person to accuse him of having a sense of humour in a while. Years, at least.

He catches the crackling out of the air and crunches it between his teeth. It's good crackling, and he does not waste food. And because Geralt can also be something rather of a shitheel himself. Grew up surrounded by them. ]

Yes. In numerical years. [ He's only teasing, a bit. But it did make a hell of a lot more sense once he realized Alucard was a mere twenty summers old. Twenty-one at this juncture? Been some time since that revelation. ] Now I understand why you and Jaskier get along like peas in a fucking pod.

[ Jaskier, who does not act his age in years, nor does he look it. Youth comes in all forms. ]

Edited 2023-06-07 23:02 (UTC)

You're not the first, won't be the last. People are always so surprised when they find ou--

[Okay, he'll take that hit on the chin. Jaskier is definitely an eternal twenty something, just without the crisis of being in one's twenties. There's a laugh, and a lazy attempt at a kick that absolutely does not even come close to connecting.]

Hey. It also helps that he's one of the least judgmental people I've met in my life, and that counts for a lot when discussing sensitive topics.

[ He peels off more crackling, sucking a bit of salted grease and butter from the tip of his thumb. The kick goes unremarked upon beyond the lightest quirk of his eyebrow.

He nearly laughs, too, if only because least judgmental is both accurate and yet wholly not. Jaskier is judgmental in the pettiest of ways, but. Far less so where it counts the most. Where it weighs the heaviest. He knows what Alucard means. ]

He's persistent, I'll grant him that. Did you ever straighten out your many ribbons?

[ The ones they fussed over for hours, that is. Later, Geralt will be able to see for himself when he and Jaskier fuck on top of the desk, but. Alucard need not know about those details. ]

Like a dog with a bone. [There's no denying the warmth and affection there. Jaskier's just....what Alucard needed, when he needed it most. A friend, even if it started with Jaskier almost peeing on him in wolf form. Which is hilarious now.]

For now. Watch, when the seasons change we'll be adjusting the florals in the office and that'll come with new squabbles.

[He'll look forward to it.]

Did Jaskier ever give you anything during your recovery? I've meant to ask.

[does the bard still have a vial of his goddamn blood rattling around.]

Mm. Florals. A most pressing matter.

[ He pours more wine. Eats more pork. The meat is beginning to give way to bone; Geralt has an appetite fitting what one might expect by looking at him. If he didn't hunt his own meat, it'd be a much greater pain in the arse.

Oh. Yes, the vial. ] Took it back. Said he'd promised.

[ Geralt had found no need for it in the end—his injuries were heavy, but not life-threatening—and hadn't questioned it much when Jaskier said he needed it returned. He assumes it's to do with Alucard's blood within it. He does understand. Ciri's blood is not exactly something he'd want floating about for others to consume or experiment with. ]

[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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nsfw.

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and wrapped. c:

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