abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[ 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.

[ Should have realized Alucard had dessert prepared. Geralt chews thoughtfully, then leans forward to sniff it. Hm. Delicate. ]

You mean it doesn't look like yours.

[ Unreasonably and inexplicably glossy. Now that the cake has arrived, Geralt does not hesitate to take a curious bite out of it. Whether he's meant to or not. Alucard should know by now he doesn't give a shit about the rules of dining unless he's a good reason to bother. ]

New experiment or a recipe from home?

[Alucard really didn't expect anything less. He'll wait to finish his meat first though, as meat-cake-more-meat is not his preference.]

--Mmm.

[Fuck it, Geralt should know this just in case.]

The former. And I began to realize I did not know the abilities my own blood had, given that vampire blood can create other vampires. Anything mine does is temporary except for improve one's hair.

[Alucard also knows Geralt isn't an idiot. If he puts two and two together with VIiktor, so be it.]

[ A beat. Then: ] I was talking about the cake.

[ Considering the sheer deadpan, that's probably a joke, but it's difficult to tell with Geralt. He absorbs the information. Blood experiments are nothing new. (Look at Ciri.) It's a powerful ingredient, whether in magic or science.

Wait—

He peers at Alucard. Is he putting it together? Somewhat. Geralt does not speak to Viktor frequently enough to fully notice the state of the man's hair, but. Likely, the next time he sees Viktor and looks, he'll realize. ]

And its other properties?

Edited 2023-06-09 01:07 (UTC)

You're correct. Everything about my appearance is perfection itself, and it extends to cake.

[Alucard can't beat Jaskier in the vain category, but by god he can try.

There's a small shrug.]

Healing, mostly. Good for injuries that might be hard to triage otherwise. Little bursts of other things. No one's going to be biting necks or in want of blood.

[ The quiet chuckle escapes him. Geralt leans back in his seat, watching the flickering candles for a moment. He's known Alucard for a while now; it's safe to say Alucard seems better than he has been compared to their early days together.

It's gladdening to see. There will, he thinks, always be some conflict over being torn from their homes into a new world. But it isn't the worst. He doesn't know if he could claim he'd be any better off at home. Few of them left behind a comfortable, easy life. ]

Good to know. [ Makes him wonder if Alucard's come across the only other vampire he knows of in this sphere. Louis. ] And don't worry. Your secret's safe with me.

[It'd be hard for the dhampir to be worse than he was at first.

There's a faint nod of his head. Alucard can believe that Geralt won't share the information. He's reliable when it comes to keeping personal details personal.]

Thank you. The circle that knows is small as to not compromise my safety. [Because that's the nightmare. Someone captures him and keeps him just alive enough to sell his blood as some miracle cure-all.]

--Does Roach need anything?

[He forgot his third guest!]

[ He glances outside the window where Roach is tethered. She's in a shaded little spot with a trough of water, which is plenty for her. Geralt might be fond of his horse, but she's still a working, travelling animal. Minimal maintenance is vital. ]

She can have an apple.

[ They're not going far, anyhow. Geralt came to visit Alucard, not to work. A leisurely sort of trip. He'll be returning to Cadens after this. Perhaps a short detour to the gather a few ingredients in the desert outback. Though, given he's been riding for almost a full day: ]

You've room for an overnight guest?

[Geralt you're the worst horse girl.]

I'll indulge that and make sure her water's topped off.

[Everyone is a guest, everyone deserves good treatment.]

Sure, if you don't mind sleeping about five inches from where you're sitting now. I'll be out here for a few days more. [Sleeping, mostly.] It's only a matter of me grabbing blankets from one of the niches.

[The blankets are light, really there just because Alucard enjoys making a blanket nest for himself no matter the situation. That his yes is instant also says a lot about how far his trust has developed.

He lets out a soft huff of amusement at that revelation, then takes another bit of food. Honestly, this isn't a bad evening. It's quiet. Just enough other people in it. Ideal, really.]

[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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