abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] you had faith

Getting up this early, in her normal life, would be a crime. Actual want someone arrested for this being done to her. Would have thrown herself in jail for the times she choose getting up early. However, going to bed early is easier without Instagram, TikTok, and Youtube. Which makes getting up early easier.

She still doesn't like it. So she rolls up about twenty minutes late. Surprisingly dressed well for the activity. She doesn't have proper riding clothes but she has sturdy boots, fitted durable pants, and her skin properly covered from the desert sun. Wire rim sunglasses sit on her nose, and a hat she got for the beach trip to shade her face. Her hair is still down and not contained by anything. With a rucksack containing water and some snacks.

Also coffee. She has coffee. Without a coffee this day wouldn't happen. She isn't still asleep, but she is playing into that image as she walks up. But with a degree up actual upbeat energy to her. Like she might know what happiness looks like. "Sup."

Twenty past the hour is truthfully not as late as he'd anticipated. It is still past the hour nonetheless, and so it draws a mild, "You're late," in greeting.

Though Geralt doesn't look particularly concerned. Instead, he's already moved on to scrutinizing her attire. After a moment, he seems to approve. It'll do. He's not in what she'd consider typical equestrian gear himself—just the same black and leather he's never seen out of.

"Come." He steps out of the stall, patting Roach idly as he does. "Let's find you a horse. What was your previous like?"

She said she rode before, had she not? Back home? If she has a preference, they can begin there. Cadens has its share of temperaments for rent, from friendly geldings to ornery mares. They'll find her a suitable mount either way. He supposes Baron could've served well enough—Julie's—but. Better for Abby to have her own. One she can return to hire later when she wants.

"But I am awake," which felt more important. And she sees zero reason to apologize for being late because she did get here. And that's what counts.

"I never had my own," Norah had her own horse because Norah actually had riding lessons. Max had her own horse because Max was a Horse Girl for the better part of a year. Abby rode whatever horse wouldn't kill her. "Usually they gave me the more even tempered ones that are good with children."

Abby could tell a horse what to do well enough, if it wanted to listen to her. But that was a big if there.

There's the smallest tilt to his lips in response. Evidently, he's not seeking an apology.

"Mm." A contemplative noise. He can work with that.

He finds the stablehand, who leads them through the livery towards a section of horses available for hire. Some are large draft horses, others are for riding, even a couple of ponies. The horse Geralt eventually stops at is small, light—what the locals call an Aquilain. There are others of its breed nearby, in a few coat colours.

The animal snorts as he approaches. He lifts his hand, patting it down the neck. Friendly. He opens the gate.

"Here. Say hello."

As much as Abby isn't the horse girl of her friends, she softens and immediately goes to 'say hello' to the mount Geralt has chosen for her. And in that moment Abby is acting like- well, a horse girl, cooing over and talking softly stroking the horse's mane with an honestly unusual level of care for her.

"This is gonna be so much fucking fun." And then she speaks to Geralt and she's her usual self.

Of course, on horseback it's clear that she hasn't been riding in a while, sitting on a horse is easy enough, but she's not overly invested in convincing her ride to- you know, do much but stay on the trail alongside Geralt. She doesn't look bored, but she doesn't look too engaged either. Of course, it would help if the horses weren't better conversationalists than her riding partner. "Is the not talking thing cause you have nothing to say, or nothing you want people to hear you say?"

There are few easier ways to win Geralt over than someone who appreciates a horse. He helps Abby tack up if she needs it, then hops on Roach. His swords are sheathed in her saddle, a pack strapped to the back.

Regrettably, fun is not a word that applies to anything Geralt does. He's not exactly silent, and if she speaks to him he answers—but it's minimal at best.

An hour in, he glances over. Looks back ahead. Geralt spent most of his life with only his horse for company. Then he spent it with a bard who won't shut the fuck up. He's not against speaking. Quiet is just a comfortable state for him. Listening is his preference.

"Both." For a minute, that seems to be the final word. Then: "Is there something you'd like to know about me?"

"Yes. But you're weird enough from my view I don't know what questions to ask." Abby's practical with adults, weird or not. She can be a little more playful with ladies in charge. They are rarely far enough removed from Georgia that she feels the need to respect them.

This place has erroded what rules existed for her in the dynamic of adults and children.

Men the rules are little more practical. Julie trusted him, which helped. Geralt was clearly older in both age and life experience. But he seemed to have all the social graces of a very gnarled tree. "You have a pretty good sense of me because of Julie. We come from similar worlds and we do some of the same stupid shit. But I don't really have much to work from when it comes to you. Other than you're into horses and seem ready to fight a small army at all times."

She's right. He has got a fairly good sense of her, in part due to Julie and in part because she's only a little older than Ciri was when he'd taken her in. Abby might have less interest in picking up a sword (for now), but the similarities are there. The attitude crossed with a certain hesitation to trust.

For all that he scarcely talks of himself, it's not a matter of secrecy. More that he sees no reason to bother until he's asked. Which he has been, and so:

"I was raised a Witcher on the northernmost mountains. We wander the continent. Kill monsters for money. Try not to get killed ourselves. I have a daughter I taught to do the same."

The introduction is truncated at best, but it's more of one than he's given others. For the moment, Abby doesn't need to know the multitude of complications that make up the details.

"Witcher, so... guessing that means 'I have magic' and everyone else doesn't?" It seems as much the easy path as anything. If you fight monsters for money because of what you are, it's gotta be more than just the ripped Grecian statuary thing he has going for him.

Fighting monsters doesn't feel like a first pick at a job fair, especially with such an optimistic review of 'Try not to get killed.' And if you wouldn't choose it for yourself, training your kid to do it feels like bad parenting, unless lacking alternatives.

"What was it like, training your kid to do the same shit you do?"

"No. Mages are different." His Signs are child's play to a trained mage, but it's not his magic that he relies on in his work. "Witchers are...augmented."

A product of magic more than wielders of it. It's matter-of-fact, the way he talks of what he is. But Ciri brings a note of fondness not often heard from him.

"She was stubborn," he replies. "Impatient. Slipped away to train without me a few times."

Doesn't matter what world you're from, apparently; your children will sneak out to do things they were told not to.

It's not what he wanted for her at first. He'd brought her to Kaer Morhen because it was the safest place he could think of. And though he knows she took to the training for complicated reasons—vengeance is a powerful motivator—he's managed to temper that side of her. Given her another purpose. Ciri is the first of them to choose the life. He's accepted she's no longer the young girl he remembers protecting. These days, she's nearly as good as he is. There will come a time when she's better.

"Faster, more powerful, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound?" Something in how he said it made this feel less and less like a choice he had any say in.

Abby grins at his description, it's short but between the tiny change to his voice and the universality of his complaint, she can get it. He was trying, she was trying his patience. The way it should be.

"I guess everyone in your world has to fight to some degree, or just be ready to die?" A world of monsters never seemed to work out for the background characters. And whoever was in the foreground either started as a badass, or got there in the end. There wasn't a lot of leeway on that. "Is this world like that?"

"At least two bounds," is the dry response.

Geralt shuffles Roach towards a well-tread path. More open. Smoother to navigate. A few of the usual critters scurry along the ground—a spiky grass-backed spider that blends into the coarse vegetation, a slithering serpent—but none interested in confronting two horses riding through. Yet, anyhow.

As the dust picks up, he slips the hood of his cloak over his head. For a moment, he considers.

Does it seem that way? Maybe. It's both true and isn't. He's witnessed Jaskier throw a punch precisely once, and it had ended with Geralt hauling the bard out the door before the burly innkeeper could pop his friend like a grape. Removing Jaskier had been akin to dragging an unruly cat out of the fucking river. Jaskier has outlived many regardless, back then and now here. Resiliency has more to do with it.

And a firm understanding of when you're better off running away. A bit of luck, too.

"There's more than one way to survive. But it doesn't hurt." He glances over at Abby. "Are you worried about what you'll face?"

For all that Abby has expressed her similarities with Julie, Geralt hasn't fully gathered the sheer mundanity of her experience. He knows how Julie's life began. Unremarkable, devoid of magic and strange beasts. He's equally aware of how it ended: with the collapse of society, an entity intent on consuming what remained of the world, and likely some blood on her hands—directly or otherwise—that he's never felt the need to ask about.

Abby isn't as aware of the various critters and crawlies, but she leads her mount to follow Geralt's path easily enough. She's lazy in her ride but hardly stupid enough to separate from the guy with the weapons and any clue what he's doing.

"We've all been summoned as heroes, I'm kinda not? Reworking those odds to be better for me doesn't seem like a stupid idea."

Abby's ability to care for herself is limited to what she's learned during her parents disastrous uncoupling. And even then she had their money to offset her lack of abilities. Being here has been a lot of wake-up calls in a very short time.

Plus she doesn't have youtube to keep her occupied she might as well embrace violence.

A brief pause meets that comment. "Not all of us."

For some time now, things have been different. Summoned to save the world or whatever the fuck these kingdoms have claimed. In the starting weeks, there were those like Geralt—dragged forth, deemed unfit, locked away. Thorne had not wanted him; the Free Cities had not asked for him.

He supposes that's nothing new. He'd be lying if he said he'd prefer they hail him as a saviour of the sphere. For him, unwanted is familiar. He's learned to wear it.

The noise he makes is contemplative. He's particular about who he chooses to take on. A certain temperament he looks for.

"I could train you. But you have to want it. And I'm not a fencing instructor."

If she's only interested in learning to swing a sword for the sake of it, there are others who can guide her just fine.

"I've gotten a few versions of the 'I'm not a hero' and that's not really it. Because almost everyone I've met seems more ready for whatever shit this place is doing than I am."

Wilhelm and the Blind Lawyer were pretty clearly 'less ready for shit' than she was, or maybe even. But everyone else seemed to take to this place very well. Maybe it was just insecurity, but she was sixteen and barely able to clear tables or do laundry.

Her posture shifts a little at the offer, terse and antisocial as everything Geralt did. She wasn't fishing for an offer of training, she figured she'd ask Inej or Jesper what they thought she should do, she just wanted to know if she should do anything, or if she was better off just hiding behind everyone else forever. Which would be fine by her, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't really think you're the right person to train me. I need someone a little more... talkative. Otherwise I'll just feel judged and uneasy the whole time."

Also he was scary. He was very very scary. She trusted him because she trusted Julie, but that was doing a lot of heavy lifting because he was scary.

Geralt hums. It's a fair assessment. He can't take offence, even if he were inclined to. "You're honest. That's good."

If she knows what she wants, he doesn't doubt she'll find it.

"And I don't mean heroics," he continues. Nor anything to do with how he perceives himself. "When Thorne summoned the first of us, they locked a handful away. Our presence was a mistake, they said. I suspect they saw in us a threat to their kingdom."

As for the Free Cities, who the fuck knows? The woman, Marlo, obviously maintains careful eyes on all of them. She is not unaware they fled to Cadens from Thorne without having ever been invited. His life in the city has thus far remained unquestioned.

He cannot say for how long this will hold true.

As the horses move at a steady clip, the sand ahead stirs. He slows a touch—not yet stopping, just cautious. The main roads tend to be safer, but that is not the same as being safe.

Edited 2023-06-30 09:35 (UTC)

She's honest with others anyway.

"An augmented sword for hire, capable of fighting in a world with magic. A woman who has issues with authority placed over her?" The second was definitely a polite description of Julie. Several people arrived in Thorne seemed to rest their heads in Cadens now. It didn't seem to be without a bit of history. "I'm sure people in charge because their mommies and daddies were in charge are totally cool with things outside their control."

Abby doesn't slow her horse until she realizes she's gotten a half-horse ahead of Geralt, which- shouldn't be right. He was leading cause he knows where the fuck he's going. And she doesn't. Then she stops her mount to let Geralt get ahead of her again. Given she's not used to doing this, has barely left the cities (traveling through portal save her first few trips from the Barracks), and has never had to deal with this shit she has no idea what subtle clues are playing on her guide's senses.

Also because he doesn't fucking talk like normal people talk.

Yes. A vampire with a penchant for his father's temper. Ciri, with her immeasurable Chaos. Himeka, who can cross realms others cannot, amongst other things. The reasons for their imprisonment are no mystery. Geralt suspects if he had not been in the dungeons from the start, he'd have ended there regardless.

He's more interested in what Thorne has done since. If it's true they've refined the process or if they've simply learned to dispose of those they don't want rather than keep them under guard.

A topic for later. His focus has turned to their surroundings. Abby pulls a few inches ahead; he doesn't stop her, still watching, unwilling to alarm the girl until he's sure.

Until the wind carries to him the smell of fresh blood.

He urges Roach to pull ahead until he's alongside Abby once more.

"Wait." Roach pulls to a halt, and he dismounts. He unsheathes his sword, moving to Abby's side in case she needs a hand. "Get off your horse." He's not certain she can manage a frightened horse from the saddle. "Stay back until I say otherwise."

Geralt riding ahead of her wasn't too surprising, guys liked being in charge. It was the dismounting and drawing his sword that was- well. He didn't seem to know what a sense of humor was, and if he met one he probably would try to stab it in the face.

So Abby was absolutely clear he was serious.

She gently brushed the neck of her horse before jumping down to the ground. Now, normally, when someone jumps off a horse they land on the ground, or a chair, or a hapless cabbage merchant in their way. They land is the point. They don't just vanish between horseback and the ground.

She didn't ask that power to wrap around her on the way down, it strongly suggests everything around not pay attention to her, just ignore the tiny girl who is a little freaked out. Freaked out enough she's hiding in plain sight-ish. Of course, there are clues Abby hasn't gone anywhere. The only footprints being where Abby landed, someone is still holding the reins of her horse. That she literally didn't go anywhere.

As the girl's feet hit the ground, the whole of her vanishes. His medallion hums in the presence of her magic. That's...new. It's evident she's gone nowhere; he can hear her heartbeat close by and catch her scent. The reins are lifted in her invisible grasp.

"Neat trick." He won't question it. There's time for that afterwards.

Sword in hand, Geralt steps forward, following the trail. The smell of blood suggests a fresh kill. That's good. It's probably feasting, not hunting. He can rule out a few beasts by the time of day and their location: several hunt only at night much deeper into the wastelands. Near the city, under the morning sun, it might be an outrice or a pack of sandcats.

Or men. A complication he would prefer to avoid. Monsters are simpler.

The earth's surface rumbles. He pauses. Long tracks slither across the dirt, like a body dragging itself through. They crisscross each other—more than one. Small claw marks dot the area, leading towards a shaded overhang.

Larval sandskids. Four of them. Much smaller than the massive adults that can swallow a wyvern whole; still large enough to consume a man alive. Now that summer nears, it's no surprise newly hatched young are feasting—though it's rare they're this close to the main roads. May as well clear them out before they eat some merchant's horse and then the merchant, too.

Their prey twitches, flesh torn to the bone by razor teeth attached to fleshy bodies. Engrossed in their meal, they don't sense him approaching until his sword splits the first of them in two. A thick red-yellow fluid bursts over the ground. The others hiss, rearing up on their dozens of sharp-clawed legs.

She'd say something smart but it wouldn't do anything. Her voice, like her shadow, was suppressed the way all of her was. The power isn't perfect, but trying to notice her really is a matter of having the right angles as much as brute force.

But knowing she's there helps.

Now, she should stay by the horses. She definitely should, it's dangerous and scary and she should stay by the horse until Geralt comes back. If he comes back. She doesn't like the feel of that thought. For starters she's fucked if he dies, but also now she's just got to wait here and hope he comes back.

She has his horse, he'll come back for his horse. If he comes back. It'd help if she knew what the fuck he reacted to. She crouches down to look at the ground he followed. It looks like ground. The air smells like sand and sun, lacking the salt of sea or anything fun.

This is boring as fuck and terrifying and she's kinda hating all of it. Of course, the sound of something in the distance, in the direction he traveled makes her less bored, more scared, and more hateful. Her best guess? Geralt found whatever it was he was sensing.

Stay by the horses. She takes a few more steps down the path Geralt lead, she's still by the horses enough, but she'd like to know what the fuck is happening.

She won't need to stray very far from the horses to glimpse what's going on. Geralt has moved a bit ahead, but the desert hills lack thick brush to obscure. And while he told her to stay put, he's learnt from Ciri—who invariably did not listen to him—that he cannot expect Abby to trust him so soon.

Though it would be helpful.

In the short time it takes for her to inch close, Geralt's made quick work of two of the sandskids. They lie cleaved in half, their chunks scattered in the bloodstained dirt. The third is latched onto his back like a heavy wet blanket. (With teeth.)

He grabs its slippery body. It sizzles beneath his palm, the smell of scorched meat rising. As its claws release, he yanks the creature off—slamming it against the fourth and final worm rushing towards him, jaws unhinged.

They slide across the sand in a tangled mass of bruised and torn flesh, and spindly tooth-like limbs. A shrill chittering pierces the air. Focused on his targets rather than searching for Abby, Geralt is not yet aware of precisely where she is when he stalks forward to finish the beasts off. Which means if she isn't careful to take a few steps back, her boots are about to be sprayed with the entrails of two plump larvae.

So- for starters, gross. And, after that, gross. She'd already taken a few steps back from the smell, let alone the sight of it. Which gave her enough distance to run away more when monsters are thrown toward her location. Which given she came from the horses is a bad direction to throw monsters.

She kept backing away as Geralt stalked on the monsters. Which- you know, fucking terrifying. She figured it would be, but figuring and seeing were, you know. Not the same. But she wasn't looking away because turning your back on monsters was bad in movies. Her last steps away from Geralt's killing blow involved tripping over some rocks behind her feet. "Shit, fuck."

She didn't get guts on her boots. That's the extent of blessing on this.

Is that—?

He can't see her, but he can see her footprints as before, dust kicking up when she stumbles. Were she visible, he might've reached to steady her, but he can't entirely tell where she's standing or moved to. Besides, he doesn't want to startle her further.

Though he supposes it's no surprise she wound up following him instead of staying back.

The splatter may have spared Abby's footwear, but it did not do the same for Geralt's. He pays little mind. Instead, his attention turns to determining where she might be, eyes searching and ears perked for any further signs of her presence. Concern etches a faint wrinkle into his brow.

"It's safe. You can come out now." Out from whatever spell might be hiding her, he means. If she can. He knows from experience that not all magic is easily controlled, but...if that's the case, they can. Sort that out as needed. "Are you okay?"

Abby doesn't 'become visible' in the sense that a spell fades, she's simply is recognizable as a person, who exists, where she's sitting on her ass in the desert. "If you die what are the odds I get back to the city?"

It was the obvious question, he told her not to follow, she did. She didn't really do a lot, but she did need to know exactly what she was in for. Absolutely not prepared for it. In any way. Not the sight, or the acid guts, or the smell.

"You smell disgusting." Very helpful Abby. She hasn't made a move to get up yet. Cause of the shock, mostly. She doesn't appear injured, and her heartrate is steady enough.

[ CLOSED ] you had faith

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can wrap here or on yours!