abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] death is no man, death is no wraith

You don't even know if you'll be grabbing a hand.

[They're doing this, aren't they?

Alucard leans back in his seat, letting out a low and considered noise.]

There's two parts of this. The first is counting all of the bats. Then taking one, weighing it, and multiplying that weight by the total number of bats to see if they all match up to my actual weight. That's...probably easier?

[Can a tipsy witcher count bats? Who knows.]

The second is just taking a bat and seeing if I can even resume my human shape. And hoping you don't grab an organ or anything else vital.

[ Yes, probably. Himeka takes it as a joke as he reaches out to accept the troll. ]

Oh, I'd have included a recipe if that were the case.

[ She's also joking. Probably.

Yet as she puts her hands under his suspiciously small arms, the troll starts to wiggle and grunt in protest. She pauses, kind holding him out from her awkwardly, arms straight. ]

What, you don't want to be eaten? Mayhaps you should think before you slip into someone's meal basket. You can't be surprised when people get the wrong impression.

[ He shakes his head vehemently. ]

No? Then what is it?

[ A series of almost cat-like noises and deep seal-ish grunts follow. It sounds like a bunch of nonsense, but...those with a special gift can, somehow, understand it. (Mayhaps Geralt is one of those people.) ]

"I don't want to return to the bubble! I've explored every cavern and cloud and the dragonets liken me to a ball to toss around. No, I crave new horizons...and adventure!"

[ His lips quirk, though it soon fades as he studies the wriggling mole. Evidently, Himeka understands it. Geralt does not—though it looks to be protesting...something. Wait. Is it. Sentient? (Like the moogle?)

You'd think he would be used to the bizarre shit that goes on in Himeka's domain and yet she continues to surprise him. Half the time, he's pretty sure she's fucking with him when she tells him the things she makes exist on her sphere.

After a few minutes of jabbering grunts and gestures, Geralt clears his throat. ]

What is it saying?

[Melitele. Some goddess, he guesses. Not hard to figure out with the statue at one end of the temple. Though he's not exactly into it, the woman's still a breath of fresh air, four arms or not. Nothing used to annoy him more than looking at that ugly, gaudy giant statue of Sparda in the main theatre. Worshipping a demon while they killed them. It always felt so fuckin' stupid. (And now he's supposed to just accept that demon's his grandfather? Come on.)

He traces a sun on one of the pillars. It's almost like the gold might come off if he rubs too hard. Maybe he's used to fake-gaudy, not the real thing.]

No blood, huh?

[They used to have him drag the possessed back to the church if he could manage it, and where he thought the elder exorcists had been taking care of it, it must've been that bug bastard experimenting on them. Writing his sick little notes. Figuring out how to convert that into a ritual.

He's never had a single good memory with religion, huh? Except Kyrie. The first time he heard her sing.]

I met Kyrie in a place like this. [He pauses, flashing Geralt a look.] My girl. I mean, the church was way bigger, with a little podium. But her voice carried. I remember thinking her voice was wasted on hymns.

[He doesn't mean to do it. It's sort of how Nero's domain has always been; it does what it wants. The Horizon picks and chooses what pops into his head. Maybe it follows him, the same way that Shadow does. But as he looks at the gold-painted star, he can hear her voice filling the halls, the space of the arches, around them, and he knows Geralt can hear it too.

Listen to my voice calling you... Calling you out of darkness... With the wind you go, still I dream of your spirit leading you back home.

Leading him back home, huh. His hand drops, fingers curling into his palm. It's the one thing he's wanted to hear more than anything. And yeah, maybe he could come here to hear it, but he'd never let himself.

His tail goes still. He's still facing the pillar, but his voice is... wet.] Sorry. Stuff just happens to me in here sometimes. You know how it is.

Edited 2023-10-08 06:16 (UTC)

[ In truth, Geralt did not anticipate that the temple would resonate so thoroughly with Nero. He knows the scattered details of Nero's upbringing—more than most—but just as Geralt's never described what he lived through, Nero hasn't, either.

The voice is familiar. It's the same one he heard in that nightmarish landscape, pulsating with flesh and blood. The same one Nero chased up the roots of a twisted tree. Often, the grief of not knowing is worse. When only you can decide to let go, the temptation to cling for eternity burrows deep. And he knows no one can make that choice except Nero.

Yeah. He understands how it is. The Horizon does not always bend easily for people like them. ]

I'm sorry she isn't with you. [ If Ciri didn't arrived in this world, if he were trapped here not knowing what happened to her—he's lived that. And he never wants to again. ] She's been on your mind?

[ Not that he thinks Kyrie ever left it, but after the abductions, the monsters, the loss, Geralt suspects her memory must weigh especially heavy. Something is festering inside Nero. He hasn't pushed, but he can sense it hovering like a storm cloud. ]

[Nero takes in a breath. Another one. By the time he turns around, he's composed himself again. Her voice has stopped moving through the temple except for a soft, quiet echo.

Yeah. He's sorry, too.

Nero moves through the room, this restless energy keeping him moving now its raising its ugly head. He rubs the back of his neck.] Yeah.

[He thinks to leave it there. He didn't come here to talk about Kyrie. To talk about anything, really; he just wanted to see how Geralt's monster killing had gone, really. That was it. But now in this place, surrounded by the sound of her singing, nearly feeling her reaching for one of his hand with both of hers --

She's never left his mind.]

Dante reminded me how long I've been here. How long she hasn't seen me. [He shrugs, shoulders moving up then completely falling back down.] She might not even think I'm coming back by now. I've never been away from her for more than a few months. Not a single time in my entire life. We've been together practically since I was a kid.

[ A hand would be one of the more ideal appendages to unwittingly grab.

They are not doing a damn thing. Alucard possesses a glint in his eye that says they are, but Geralt prefers not to be complicit in this level of absurdity. He takes another drink as though this might erase the past ten minutes.

Alucard is looking at him. Geralt sighs for what must be the third time. He puts the jug down with a clink. He's too fucking full of ale to argue why they shouldn't proceed. ]

Fine. We will weigh you. Nothing more.

[ They've a scale somewhere in the unpacked crates downstairs. He rises to retrieve it, returning with a pewter scale typically used to measure alchemical ingredients. It should weigh a few bats easily. ]

[Ideally, it won't be an organ.

Alucard can sense that there is at least some resistance here. Unfortunately, being full of alcohol and in a good mood means that this is happening, and then Geralt gets right on up to get the scale. It is enough time for Alucard to put his own wine down on the table (using a coaster, of course) and transform.

So what if some of the bats are flopped on the sofa instead of fluttering about in an Alucard shape when Geralt gets back with the scale? A few of them flit over to the scale itself, and one manages to land riiiight where it should be.

This is absolutely normal behavior, thank you.]

[ The question of what their absence truly means is complex. Ciri comes from his future; she does not recall a time when he vanished to Abraxas for two years. Geralt's memories, when they arrive, do not involve his life upon this sphere. Feels as though they're caught between realities. Is there a life where he never finds Ciri? Does it make a difference when his memories don't wholly cross one another?

Fuck if he knows. ]

I'd return to Kaer Morhen each winter. Did it for a hundred years. Then I was here and...

[ And he no longer could. That's why the fortress sits here. Restrained to his imagination, devoid of his kind. He knows how it feels. For all the decades he spent alone on the Path, he could always return home. Then it was gone. ]

It isn't easy to have family taken from you, over and over.

[ He's rebuilt his family so many fucking times. His brothers. Ciri. The Summoned he's found here. He's tired of losing them, but if there's one thing he's learned, it's to protect what he has. ]

[ Himeka feels like she's the wrong person to shame anyone for wanting to see the world outside their usual domain. The spirit of adventure...in many ways, Shaggles had it as well, though his was geared more towards that of innovation. His pleas, needless to say, do not fall on hardened horns.

She made him this way, after all.

She looks up from the troll to Geralt like she almost forgot he was there. ]

Oh, he's...he doesn't want to come back with me.

[ The summary of all that ranting, yep. ]

"When I awoke I was surrounded by the scent of pie and found myself in some sort of stone castle. I want to explore it, Miss Himeka!"

He wants to see your Keep.

[Saying that so casually makes Nero's paltry twenty-five years seem like nothing. A fuckin' century. And now he hasn't seen his brothers for a few years, too.

It's the same, but it's different. Kyrie was protected because he was there. He knew he could at least keep her safe. He can't imagine Geralt's brothers needed to be protected if they were anything like him. And Nico. Who the hell is getting her demon parts now? (Not like he cared. He wasn't in it to help her. Obviously.) He can at least trust Nico got back to Fortuna. That they're taking care of each other, of the kids.

It just makes him feel like a failure.

And what if -- what if Vergil finds them? Without Dante to temper him, Nero doesn't know what the hell he's been doing. If he found them --

He suddenly clenches up, shaking his head. Anywhere else, he might've already put his fist in the wall. Vergil is an insane asshole, maybe, but somewhere in there is V. V... wouldn't have hurt Kyrie. He's gotta believe that.]

I found them the same day I lost them. [His real family, at least. His blood. Kyrie would always be family, but he'd finally found out where he came from.] I mean... Dante. My father. [He sighs, turning towards Geralt. Taking in the big guy helps him unclench a little.] I'm glad you've got Ciri here. I know what it feels like, being without.

[ Geralt doesn't try to guess what's crossing Nero's mind, though he watches him closely. Nothing he says will make it better. He can't reassure Nero his family is all right. Even if it were true that Kyrie exists in a reality where Nero never left her, who is he to say that would mean nothing has befallen her? Or others that he cares for?

Geralt had been there, and he still couldn't protect Ciri.

He pushes off the pillar and settles down on a chair nearby. ] I was without her. For a while.

[ He's glad she's found her again. And Nero is not wholly without his family, either. Despite the complications, he knows Dante cares—though he suspects it needn't be said. Something tells him Nero must realize that, too. Besides, Dante is a prickly topic for the boy; Geralt leaves it be, not wanting to reopen old wounds.

Instead, he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. ] These doors are always open for you. Just leave the monsters at yours.

[ Several weeks pass before Geralt finally seeks out Nadine. He'd wanted to...wait. To see if the pains were mere ghosts that would soon fade.

They do not. Denying it any longer edges into bullshitting himself. Though he does feel better than that first night—steadier, more himself—his leg in particular remains bothersome when he rides for too long, trains too hard, sleeps too awkwardly. More healing is not the answer. Between Triss, the dryads, Yennefer—he knows all the magic in the world has been expended to fix him.

It isn't a cure he's after. Just relief. And Nadine will have it, if no one else.

The door to her clinic is open. Geralt steps inside, letting it shut quietly behind him. He seldom comes for much other than to restock before he rides out, but this time, he looks for her inside. ]

Edited 2023-10-10 05:37 (UTC)

[ Ciri eagerly shows him, unwrapping the cloth protecting the last piece and handing it to Geralt. It's bone-white and rough, branching like fingers. One of the others is thin and flat, like lace. She beams. ]

From when I went with Nadine to Andromeda Bay recently. To help clear the shoreline.

We were given glass tubes to breathe with underwater. I'd never done anything like that before. It was fun.

[ Setting down the disassembled shelf, Geralt takes the piece of coral. It's rough like stone, but surprisingly lightweight. Back home, the lakes are full of kelp. He rarely visits the ocean enough to explore its depths.

He smiles back at her. It's good to see her cheered. ]

Did you? [ The coral is placed to the side with the rest of her things. He lines the cut lengths of lumber along the wall, organizing the pieces. ] Sounds more pleasant than my excursion. All I met in the water were teeth.

[ And now Jaskier has a miniature version of that damn plant in his domain. Leave it to the bard to keep a tiny facsimile of a monster. ]

Hey!

[Nadine turns from her work - pounding some leaves into a pulp - when Geralt comes in, offering him a welcoming smile. She knows, of course, from what Jaskier's told her that another one of those...memory dreams had happened. But it's none of her business and she hasn't mentioned anything. Nor did Jaskier say much in regards to Geralt, and she hadn't pushed. Her concern, of course, had been Jaskier.

So that's hardly on her mind when he enters Salves & Stitches.]

What can I do for you?

[He doesn't come by socially, not unless he has something to drop off to her and chats for a few minutes in the process. He gets what he needs and he goes, half the time it's Brother Cadfael putting together his bag.]

[ it's something a bit unspoken between them; that steve comes to kaer morhen, that steve trains in what he's pretty sure is the set for some movie version of eddie's fantasy novels, because where else would he do it? the tall dark stone towers and dusting of snow feels right. it's starting to feel familiar. and he's never really seen a reason to change that up.

plus, steve's not really had the uh. best experiences in his domain. between the monsters that felt too much a part of it to the way he can't really ever get rid of the things he doesn't want there, it's just. easier not to be here. he drives for hours on the dark roads that roll through rows of trees, blaring music and pushing ninety, but the drive in? scoops ahoy? if steve had any actual say in it (or if he could actually focus for long enough to do anything with it), they'd be gone. he doesn't know what would take their place, but it wouldn't be them.

but they hang around, and as steve feels the rumble of some sort of motorcycle roll through his winding forest road, he's...well, surprised but also not threatened, somehow. geralt steps in through the door that wasn't even there in starcourt, and steve is stepping through the back door, in from what should be the back room but here is something much worse. ]

Uh. Hi. [ steve says with a vaguely uncertain smile. geralt looks...honestly, geralt looks lost standing under these fluorescent lights. horrendously out of place. so much that it's almost funny. but steve doesn't need to harp on that, so he doesn't, reaching forward and lifting the counter so he can walk through it. ] Did I miss a training or something?

Not on purpose, I bet.

[It comes out bitter but it's not because of Geralt; it's what he could've had if his family wasn't a bunch of traumatized dumbfucks. If Kyrie's parents weren't killed by demons. He has a feeling Geralt would've done anything for Ciri. Feels like he pretty much has, especially when they were in the pit. Geralt was giving to her the last bites of food he had.

He forces himself to relax, 'cause part of him is still afraid he'll burst into flames, even if this is the Horizon. It's not like he's in much better control here than he is out there. Shit, truly, just happens.

Nero turns around so fast it's almost sharp. It's the kind of thing Credo might've said -- even with the jab. He knows Geralt isn't Credo, and no one will ever replace him. He isn't looking to replace him. It's just --

It's something he wanted to hear. He doesn't even remember why he came here in the first place.

Geralt doesn't need to elaborate. Nero knows exactly what's being offered here... even if he's caught between I need this and when did I ever start mattering that much?] You couldn't handle most of them, anyway.

[But he smiles when he says it.] I... thanks.

[ Geralt has, honestly, spoken very little of what happened to anyone. Julie knows the most. Sam. Otherwise, he's kept it to himself.

He steps further inside the room. A brief hesitation fills the air. Where does he start? No Witcher has ever needed what he does. They do not earn deep aches and pains. Wounds of that nature would simply leave them fucking dead.

It's been a constant frustration since that night. ]

I need something for...regular pains. [ She's given him a few potions to keep him going in an emergency, but this is. Different. It's not about staying on his feet for a few hours until he can stitch himself up. ] That won't interfere with my work.

[ The fact that they have a coaster says several things about who's responsible for the decor. Geralt didn't even know one existed until Alucard pulled it out.

At least with the cellar downstairs, the scorpions are no longer being butchered on the kitchen table. Which he'd like to point out is rarely him—he often goes after much larger beasts—but he likes to give Ciri a hand when he's around.

In any case, the scale goes on the table next to his near-empty jug of ale. He does not take another drink. He's both too sober and not sober enough for whatever the fuck Alucard has managed to convince him to do.

His gaze tracks the single flitting bat. He nudges it gingerly. A genuine researcher might record numbers, but Geralt does not write things down. He's never needed to. So he simply notes the weight and picks the bat up, ready to release it back into the cloud in exchange for another.

He's beginning to feel like a mad scientist of a mage, and this is not a sensation he appreciates. ]

[The bat is the calmest bat as it is picked up. Sure, the ears twitch a little, but that is it. The soft furry belly presses against Geralt's hand, and it is paired with a soft squeak of acknowledgement.

So it goes with the next bat. It flops around a little more, but it remains calm. And it weighs exactly the same as the last bat, suggesting that, perhaps, all of the bats weigh the same.

A few more bats flop onto the sofa, the idea of flying a bit exhausting to them at the moment.]

Oh. Okay.

[That's something of a surprise, but Nadine tries not to let it show on her face. Pain management had never been a concern of Geralt's.]

Well, what level of pain are you looking to manage? On a scale of one to ten, where one's a little bit uncomfortable and ten is can't even walk it hurts so bad.

[Closer to one, she'd guess, considering Geralt walked in here under his own power. But then again, he's much tougher than most. And there's his unique constitution to take into account. She's sure she can give him something that will help, though.

Without rendering him sleepy or sluggish.]

[ Ciri snorts a laugh. ]

There were some pinching crabs. Terrible on the toes.

[ She leans forward to help him hold the wood in place. ]

I was glad to help clean up the bay, though. It was in a sad state, and it's such a beautiful place. We'll have to visit again sometime, and not on business.

[ His lips curl faintly. Nero is a little shit, and that's not changed, but seeing Nero in this temple—bitter and a little angry and lonely—

He was there once. Wasn't he? Right here, just like that. So surefooted in his ability to slay the monsters and so uncertain of everything else. He remembers the temple unsettled him at first. Nenneke's kindness, the warmth, the soft beds. It wasn't like anything he associated with home, and he spent his days eyeing every dubious little pastry. Retreating from Nenneke's maternal instinct, too much a reminder of Visenna's shadow.

By the end of their stay, he hadn't wanted to leave. ]

Mm. Don't thank me yet. Those candles don't light themselves.

[ He's not serious; they do. Sometimes. Other times, Geralt lights them himself. He finds the familiar task soothing.

There's another pause before he rises. ]

I'll show you a secret.

[ In theory, this is a creation of Himeka's. It desires what she wants it to, yet Geralt has also witnessed oddities with the semi-sentient creatures occupying the Horizon. A state in limbo, something not quite real and not wholly controlled.

Given Himeka's taste for adventure, he supposes her creations would wish for the same. He can't deny her that. ]

Fine. [ He releases an exasperated exhale and holds up the basket for the troll to climb back inside. ] If it causes too much shit, I'm giving it to Jaskier.

[ Jaskier's already got two moogles and a miniature tooth-filled plant. What's a troll to that damn zoo?

Speaking of. ]

You didn't send him another of those winged bears, did you?

[ CLOSED ] death is no man, death is no wraith

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— ◈ nadine.

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