abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

So you did. [He sees that smile. He doesn't comment on it, he just goes for the wine bottle.

It is deeply silly to use one's elongated fingernails as a wine cork. Alucard does it anyway.] I should bribe Ciri to braid it one day.

[Alucard's pretty sure that Ciri would too. No matter. He flops right down opposite of Geralt and pours the wine, appreciating that it has a good, earthy funk to it. That's what he's in the mood for.]

How long are you planning to be out here this time?

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

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.

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. ]

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.

[ 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?

[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)

[ 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. ]

--And here I sometimes forget why I sometimes still consider going to you for advice. [He appreciates perspective when it shows though.

Alucard doesn't refill his glass. He takes some of the pork he's made instead, and he chews it thoughtfully.]

I know back home, I'll always be expecting that. Before I arrived, I was nearly murdered by people I trusted in a particularly vulnerable moment. [If there was ever any question about why Alucard was as bad as he was in that cell, well.] I feel spoiled by that thought not being constant here.

[ He hums. Perhaps he has a habit of giving advice, whether it's asked for or not—in direct contrast to other occasions where he simply can't be arsed to say anything even when he should.

Alucard has alluded to the incident before. Geralt has never asked for details, and he doesn't now. Some things don't need to be discussed in the open. ]

I can tell you another thing. [ He refills Alucard's glass for him, then his own. ] It's tough to indulge in the reprieve if you keep dwelling on when it might end.

[ And it will end, probably. But that makes it all the more important to take what you're given. It's how Geralt's always lived his life—grasping for what he can while he can. ]

[Alucard still vividly remembers how badly the first time asking Geralt for help with the Sypha situation went. Never again, just ask Jaskier. But few people are long lived like Geralt is, and it helps sometimes. Especially in making sense of some of his own lingering paranoia.]

Mm. I keep trying to tell myself that. It works for a time, then fails. Meditation does little for it, although escaping to the Horizon offsets it some. Or coming out here and having an excuse to try and make an elaborate meal in a less-than-perfect kitchen.

[There's a pause, the dhampir realizing he may have just also admitted to why he needs projects all the time to someone who isn't himself or the bard. Then again, Geralt probably figured that one out ages ago.]

--Probably none of this is what you were expecting from a fanged cellmate.

[ His lips quirk faintly, recalling the first time he attempted to teach Alucard how to meditate. Seems it actually took.

He keeps eating. It's a good fucking meal. And yeah—Geralt had rather sorted that puzzle out already. Not the hardest one to put together. It isn't as though Geralt's not the same, hunting deep in the desert or building small projects when he is not. (Or sharpening every knife in the drawer.) ]

Mm. [ No. Not quite. But then— ] Probably not what you're expecting from a hunter as a cellmate, either.

[Sometimes. The need to Do Something to run away from emotional problems is too great most days, and Alucard is glad he doesn't need to admit that part out loud. It isn't subtle. He's not subtle.

It works. And it is a pretty good fucking dinner.]

Once I got over the relative conviction you knew I had just impaled two corpses on my front lawn and recently committed patricide? It sort of was.

[ 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)

[ 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. ]

When aren't they?

[Alucard pauses, just long enough to get up to the kitchen. He comes back with a cake that's just big enough to be split in two, scented with citrus and garnished with candied orange peels against a light frosting that is far infinitely more delicate than everything else available at the moment. It gets cut in two, and a warm, gentle walnut smell adds to the air.]

Just so you're pacing yourself properly.

[The vial gets a nod, and a gentle sigh of relief.]

I had a feeling, since your hair still looks like it does, but I wanted to be sure.

[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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