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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By month's end, restlessness has coiled around his bones. A day or two of riding does little to satisfy the itch. Geralt knows of only one cure: to search for something to kill. So that's what he's doing. Searching for a worthwhile contract, one that will take him not too far from the city—just in case—but won't end within the hour.

He starts at the apothecaries. Assumes that with the abductions barely in the past, they'll be short on folk willing to venture into the desert heart. Which is exactly what he finds: a harried shopkeeper who thrusts a crumpled list of parts into his hands and a promise of coin. Geralt doesn't give a shit about the money, to be frank, but he has a reputation to uphold; he's not about to give anybody the impression he'll work out of charity. He eyes both the list and the offered payment.

It'll do.

Folding the parchment in two, Geralt pushes open the shop door to greet the dusty cobblestone street. Someone's either walking in or walking past, and he sidesteps them without a second thought—then pauses for a split second, a glance over his shoulder, as he catches the familiar face.

Edited 2023-05-03 02:24 (UTC)

[ Beyond a brief stop by Nero's room back in Nocwich, Geralt's found few chances to look in on the younger man. Physically, he knows Nero is all right. But that isn't the point. Given Josselyn's involvement, the Council—

Geralt can put what happened behind him in the Free Cities. Not many reminders around him. No shrines, no gods, no rituals. Solvunn is not the same.

A few weeks on, he steps into the Horizon to look for Nero. Rides his motorbike, searching for the familiar shitty white van before he pulls him at the domain Nero calls the bloody palace. Don't ask him what the fuck it means or why; that's simply the title Nero gave him.

The ground gives a violent shudder under his feet. He raises an eyebrow. No need to question whether Nero is here, then.

Geralt pushes open the door—to a jagged row of gnashing teeth. He ducks, the monster leaps over him, and pins Nero to the sticky ground.

Hm. ] Fine company you've got.

Edited 2023-05-03 03:32 (UTC)

[ The trip's been on his mind here and there, something he's mulled on over the past few months, but never quite had the chance to do. Interruptions from the world at large are aplenty. Now, though—there is no good time with a life like his, but things are finally quiet. He plans on hunting by the end of the month—he needs the routine back, a sense of normalcy—and so, in the interim, they can travel.

They could use a change of scenery. And a trip that isn't dictated by politics and diplomacy.

He asks Julie to come with him before the portal formally opens. They both ride well enough. Then the gate is announced a day or so afterwards. Fortuitous timing. The fee is no matter; he's short of coin from having not worked lately, but the bard has gold to spare.

No need to ask. Geralt takes the money and meets Julie outside her home. The only thing he's got slung over his shoulder is his sword and some spare clothes packed into the same leather case. He'll walk Cadens without his main blade, but he won't go past the city limits without at least one sword on him. As for the rest—he doesn't need much to take along. ]

Edited 2023-05-11 03:09 (UTC)

[ Geralt's seen Claude about in the city since their return. They've exchanged glances, maybe a silent greeting, but he hasn't spoken with him yet. It's in the Horizon that Geralt finds himself considering that he should—especially given Claude's invitation from what feels like an age ago.

So he goes. Hilda had seemed concerned about Claude, and Geralt wants to talk to the man himself.

He isn't certain what he expects from Claude's domain, even after receiving directions. It is surprisingly calm, and something in the structure of the buildings feels familiar even if the canals spilling around the dwellings does not. He gingerly gets in the boat, rows his way across, and eventually lands on a solid walkway.

It's difficult to tell where Claude may be in this sprawling city that he must, from its size, share with a couple others. Hilda and Sylvain, no doubt. Geralt ends up knocking on the first door he comes across. May as well try. ]

Edited 2023-05-10 21:28 (UTC)

[ As promised, Geralt mounts his horse when he feels well enough to ride again. Jaskier's brought up hiring a stablehand several times; with Rinwell lost once more, Geralt finally decides fuck it. Finds a stableboy worth his coin.

A Witcher with a stableboy. Who'd have fucking imagined?

He leaves before dawn, taking advantage of the cooler temperatures. By the time he arrives at Alucard's crypt, the sun is starting to sink below the horizon again. He tethers Roach in the courtyard—new plants and decorations have been added since he last came by—and knocks on the door.

He hasn't come empty-handed. From Roach's saddle, he removes a bottle of wine—a vintage he knows Alucard will enjoy. He does know his wines. (Having a superior sense of smell helps.) Just doesn't usually bother to indulge. ]

Edited 2023-05-04 02:09 (UTC)

[The panther that used to annoyingly dog Nero's steps in the Horizon now seems even more alert now, picking her head up with her ears back as the doors to the bloody palace open. It's enough of an unexpected distraction that Nero turns his head.]

Oh, Ger --

[A rake of claws throws him backwards, giving the Chaos just enough time to leap across the entire arena right on top of him, tearing through his coat, shirt, and skin.

There's a wet sound, the smell of blood splattering, and then a single bullet shot as a gun materializes in his hand. Good ole Blue Rose.

The Chaos explodes into demonc blood, splattering the ground with his own. With a groan, Nero sits up, an arm across his stomach to hold his guts inside, where they're supposed to be. This is entirely on Geralt. Dick.] Couldn't knock first, could ya?

[Ugh. He gets up, shaking blood off his free hand as his stomach knits itself back up, intestines remaining in their safe, squishy cavity. You know, this is like the third time in as many months. Hell of a record.

Unfortunately, while it might not have bothered him before, it sort of shakes him up now. Shadow growls at Geralt, setting her head back down with her tail slapping the outcropping of broken marble columns she lays on. Nero keeps an arm around his stomach. It's not instantaneous anymore, the healing. This is slow. He can watch it work. Skin knitting over skin, but still the pulsating, grey mess of bloodied organs underneath.] Shit. You never get used to that.

[ Geralt had not entered the Horizon with the explicit intention to see out Urianger. Only on passing by a scene that's familiar yet not—something about the trees, the architectures that reminds him of things he's seen through Thancred and Himeka—does he hazard a guess as to where he's wound up.

He isn't close with Urianger. But they did spend some time together down there. They share mutual...acquaintances. He wants to see how the elf is doing.

The grass beneath his feet is dotted with rose-pink blossoms. The boughs above cast a faint glow. It reminds him a bit of the lavender trees that filled one of Himeka's crystal homes. Ethereal, as though there's a permanent veil of illusion over his surroundings. Eventually, he crosses into a set of stairs that opens up a spiral of leather tomes, floor to ceiling.

Hm. He can see why Istredd was spending time with Urianger.

Geralt raps his knuckles against one of the wooden shelves—curious of the elf is in. ]

Edited 2023-05-04 19:22 (UTC)

( The elf is indeed in.

Urianger has been spending much more time in the Horizon than he did prior to the pit; he couldn't say why, exactly, if someone were to ask him about it directly, but he's at least vaguely aware of a sense of safety he finds within his domain that feels somewhat lacking outside of it. Had he access to a space like the Horizon back on Hydaelyn, he suspects he might have made it his primary research base.

He isn't expecting guests, however he has long since learned that the Horizon isn't especially interested in invitations. He startles at the light rap, glances towards the origin of the sound, befor rising from the chaos of his research nook to slip through the shelves and find his visitor.

Pleasant surprise crosses Urianger's features immediately when he sees his pit-mate standing there. )

Geralt. 'Tis good to see thee hale and whole.

( He smiles, somehow never losing that Elezen poise even as he visibly relaxes. )

May I be of assistance in some way?

[ In retrospect, he should know better than to assume Nero has any fine control over his own creations, and realize they would simply rip him to shreds upon interruption. He frowns at the wet noise of entrails hitting the stone floors.

Doesn't sound much better while Nero squashes them back inside. ]

Came to see how you were doing. [ He crouches down beside Nero and offers him a hand. Ignores the growling cat. ] But I suppose you've answered that.

[ Coping, in other words. However one goes about it. Istredd is hiding inside his library, Geralt is building a small bed for Jaskier's (his) new pet. Life moves forward, and so do they. But Nero has become...not his responsibility, exactly, but someone who deserves his efforts and time. Perhaps he sees more of himself in Nero than he'll admit. A younger version of him, with a temper that had not yet evened out through age and a penchant to take foolish risks.

A notion that the world can still be made better if you kill enough of the monsters in it. ]

Edited 2023-05-05 22:31 (UTC)

[ Geralt, meanwhile, possess about as much decorum as a wild muskrat; he looks naturally out of place in a room full of books and marble floors etched with gold, though there's a sense he isn't bothered by how little he belongs as he moves towards Urianger.

For such a tall figure, the elf hid himself well. ]

No. Just thought I'd see if you were still alive. [ The words are dry, but his concern for Urianger's is genuine. ] They wouldn't let me wander to visit back in Nocwich.

[ He'd managed to see Ciri—no amount of berating nurses could've kept him from her—but besides that, he'd stayed in bed. Mostly. It was less out of compliance and more because he really did fucking hurt all over. Felt like he took longer than usual to recover, too. He'll blame it on whatever substance they were force-fed, but fuck.

Perhaps he is getting old. ]

For which I should be thankful — I was hardly at my best.

( It's a wry comment, of course, because they were all very much at their worst (or shades of their worst) in the Pit )

Yet here I stand, very much alive.

( If not a little ... tired-looking. Dark shadows circle Urianer's eyes that belie the fact he's barely sleeping, and the usual warm bronze of his skin is a little paler than it should be. His hair, now a little longer, doesn't appear to have seen a brush in a day or two, and if Geralt looks more closely hhe might spot a smudge of ink against the pointed lobe of his ear. )

And thee? Art thou well recovered from thine ordeal?

( He gestures for Geralt to follow him into the chaos of his nook, where he doesn't bat so much as an eyelid before haphazardly pushing a pile of documents from the spare chair onto the floor. For all his poise, grace, and flowery way of speaking, Urianger's workspace has always been a mess. )

Oh, doing swell. Just, you know, keepin' in shape.

[Nero takes the offered hand, shooting Shadow a glare from over Geralt's substantial shoulder. By the time Nero gets back to his feet, the wound is mostly gone, but he's still covered in blood.

Part of the reality. He could wish it away, but -- honestly, Nero doesn't think that way. So here he is, meeting Geralt, covered in blood again.

It's like some things never change.]

You worried about me, old man? [He smiles, clapping Geralt on the shoulder.] Fit as a fuckin' fiddle.

And what shape is that? [ Geralt lifts an eyebrow. ] A puddle of viscera?

[ He stands with Nero, unfazed by the blood and gore stuck to the man. Or the dead monster on the ground. He steps around it, curious if his gifted basilisk has made an appearance more than once. It has not escaped his notice that Nero created an arena to kill beasts in and a van that travels with him. That's home, for Nero.

Having learned Nero does not drink (something he'll not ever comprehend), Geralt offers instead the dish Nero introduced him to before shit went sideways into the fucking moon: a hotdog, topped with the liquid cheese and crunchy pieces. ]

Mm-hm. [ Geralt adds nothing further, but the doubt that colours his tone is evident. Nero's physical well-being is not what he's questioning.

But they needn't talk about it. He isn't Sam. He's simply here to be here. Nero, he thinks, will broach the topic on his own, given the room to do so. ]

Ooh, look out, folks! He came armed with jokes.

[Nero spreads his arms to say, viscera, what viscera? I'm fine and dandy. Not being human has its perks, as much as it doesn't.

The conversation, even to Nero, feels stilted. Awkward. Maybe 'cause he's forcing it out of himslef. HJe hasn't been damn near as quiet as he has since getting out of that pit.

It isn't dying. It isn't even comin' close. If he was afraid of dying, he'd be shit in his line of work. It was --

It was when he realized if he was gone, Kyrie was gonna be alone. For real. Their whole family --

Nero looks between Geralt's face and what he's holding out: the same hotdog Nero made him in that crappy gas station months back. And he can't help but give the guy a look, like he's making fun, because he'd just lost his guts a second ago. But the demon's dead, a sprawling, bloody lizard of a thing, and.

Yeah, maybe he's hungry.]

You are so weird. [But Nero's taking the dog and taking a bite, because the shit is good and -- wait, what is it with everyone giving him food now? Is this like, a pity thing?] And what about you, huh? You had a lot goin' on at home, last time we talked about it.

[There's a recently extinguished fire in the courtyard of the crypt when Geralt gets there. The ash is all hickory, all carefully considered and left neat in spite of the fact it's the remains of a fire, for god's sake. Alucard's left everything just so, and there's a bucket nearby for Roach's thirst.

Everyone is treated well as a guest here.

When the door opens after a few moments, the dhampir carries the same scent of hickory on him. The scent is just as strong inside, where there's food already laid out on a table near the low sitting sofa. A good roasted hunk of pig over the fire, berries over salad greens, lightly cooked squash that seem to have been done over the remaining embers of the fire.]

You made good time. And look significantly less like shit.

[ There are few things to a man than some quality time with his bike and the open road. Even if said bike was actually a remanifestation of a demonic contract. Most people would say that makes it all the more metal, more badass. Dante just says it's nice that it comes without a downpayment or interest.

Sure in Horizon it's not exactly the same thing, but now that the proverbial dust has settled, he's once again left to wandering about the castle or snoozing the day away. With much still on his mind, at least he can get out some of that extra energy in the whole mind palace whatever the Horizon actually is.

And because it's Horizon Dante doesn't actually need his jukebox to jam out while he's going. His motorcycle blasts his chosen background music as he rides between the edges of different domains, paying little attention to the drastic change in landscape and aesthetics. It's that mind clearing kind of numbness he's looking for.

What he isn't expecting, however, is the rumble of another vehicle. Another person of taste? Surely! He purses his lips for a moment before revving the engine and speeds forward towards it. ]

[ Just one joke. Since it's been used, Geralt offers no more. He finds the nearest surface to sit on, unbothered by any awkwardness in the air that might be there.

A shrug answers the look. ] You don't drink.

[ What else is he to offer for a shit time if not liquor or food? Geralt understands two languages, and those are it. Notably, Geralt has no hotdog of his own. He's drinking out of a bottle instead—unmarked, the sort of glass jug one would find in the stores of Kaer Morhen.

As for home— ]

Always something. [ Nothing new. ] Ciri's safe. Dean didn't make it home.

[ So that conversation they had once, about what might need to be done—it isn't relevant. Not anymore. He's trying to put his focus on his family. The ones who are left. (Lately, he's started to include Nero in that category.) ]

[ Geralt's eyebrow lifts. Not the biggest concern in his book, being at their best. ] All of us were a bit fucked up.

[ He'd felt like death trampled him with a dozen horses. No doubt looked it. Hadn't exactly had the most shining moments in the pit, either. But they make do and move on. ]

Recovered. [ Well recovered is debatable. A work in progress. He follows Urianger, perching on the nearest surface. Nice little corner. ] Might search for something to kill soon.

[ The mark of a Witcher moving on is picking up another contract. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be a shortage of those in Cadens. Always another monster, Vesemir often said. ]

[Nero gives Geralt a quizzical look with a hotdog stuffed halfway into his mouth. He's not sure what not drinking has to do with hotdogs, but it's still an awesome hotdog -- and the top's still crunchy! Though he wouldn't mind, like, a lime slush to go with it...

(Yeah, he could make it. He doesn't. The palace itself is weird enough for him. And he's never been someone who expects to get what he wants the moment he wants it.)

Nero chokes on the last bite, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand -- gloved, now that he's in the palace. His stomach drops as his gaze hardens. He only met the guy once, but...]

The demon?

[ Alongside the hickory, the smell of a succulent roasted hog hits him as soon as he steps through the door. An intricate cook as ever, Alucard. (It's not a complaint.) He's rarely treated to a rich meal—somewhat by choice, somewhat by necessity. It's a pleasant indulgence.

Geralt's smile is brief but genuine. ]

Could hardly keep that pig waiting. [ He sets the wine on the table. ] I brushed my hair for it.

[ He seats himself without waiting for invitation. They've known each other a long time; he can relax around him easily, and though the events of the past weeks linger, he finds it simpler to put behind him being here. Away from the city. ]

[ Tough to say which he hears first: the music (which is only familiar thanks to Nero...and Dean, once) or the roar of the engine. Both, perhaps. Despite planning on riding alone, he finds himself following the growling cacophony. Spots the flash of white hair that is distinctly not Nero or Thancred.

Mm. About the man he expected now that he's laid on eyes on him. Who in the hell else could it have been?

Geralt pulls forward, slowing to a stop as they begin to cross each other. He's aware of the connection between Nero and Dante, but he knows little beyond that. Nero doesn't speak on it much, and Geralt being Geralt chooses not to pry. But he is curious, after all that happened, how things are. He imagines Dante must've been searching for his nephew. ]

Having a party of one?

Edited 2023-05-10 17:55 (UTC)

[ Food and liquor is one of the rare things Geralt has grown comfortable to making. Perhaps it comes from how much eating and drinking occurs in the Horizon between Sam's gatherings, Julie's parties, and Himeka's cooking.

He glances over as Nero inhales the bread the wrong way. A frown draws his brows together. ]

He wasn't a demon. [ It's complicated. Also no longer relevant, now that Dean is gone. Geralt grows quiet. ] Perhaps it's for the best.

[ In a sense. Geralt does believe that, if only because he's aware of what Dean wanted, what he had damn near begged him for. But this is not how he wanted things to end. Still, he's told Nero for reasons other than grief; Nero had not been friends with the man like that. It's that Nero, he knows, was concerned about Dean's steady corruption, and so...now it's over. Nothing to be worried about any longer. ]

( Urianger sinks into his own chair a moment later, crosses one leg over the othher, and tilts his head just so as Geralt offers a brief insight into his future plans. What little he knows of the man does stretch to the fact that he's a monster-hunter of sorts by trade, and yet ... )

Thou art in need of coin? Or would such a venture satisfy a more therapeutic need?

( Golden eyes glance over the man again, assessing his stance and the pattern of his breath for any tell-tale signs of lingering injury. Urianger can't help himself: the plight of the healer. )

Have a care, Geralt.

( He chides lightly. )

I do not doubt thy skills, but the Pit and the horrors therein were ... recent. Thou needst not court danger again so soon.

[ Geralt's timing in showing up into the Horizon is good. Excellent, even, given that Claude's been avoiding his own domain to equally avoid the forest next door to this that was one someone else's domain slowly fading out. Today he's seated in the courtyard toying with balancing a bow. It's the sort of thing the magic in here would take of in seconds flat if he thought about it, he's sure, but it gives him something to do that feels productive even if it amounts to procrastination.

Lost in his thoughts, the knock startles him enough to pause with the bowstring in hand. Ah. He had locked the doors for once, hadn't he? Normally they're unlocked since Claude's come to enjoy having people wander in and out, but. Maybe that tells on him more than he'd really like it to.

As he makes his way over and opens the door as the small white wyvern in the tree above shuffling her wings in reproach since letting visitors in freely means more snacks for her and there's been a lack of that, he's faintly surprised to see Geralt there. But it's a good surprise, and the smile appearing on his face is a genuine one. ]

Ah, you made it! I take it my use of 'right by the giant monastery' still serves as a trusty landmark, then?

[ That's good, considering there's several structures around that could apply to, but no point in dwelling on it as he steps aside to let Geralt in. ]

Come in, come in. And tell me, is it bows or wyverns?

[ He's not forgotten that invitation - maybe it's both. ]

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?

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[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

blake.

nero.

julie.

claude.

alucard.

cw: gore :)

urianger.

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just guys being dudes

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