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

[ When Jaskier tells him he's found them a new home, Geralt asks no questions. Knowing his friend, he'd seen it coming. The place has been feeling cramped for some time now, and it isn't as if they haven't got the coin to rent a larger space. It'll be nice to have a bit more room.

He has little to pack. What isn't already in his bags fits into a single crate. His room does not yet have a bed, but he intends to get one. Seeing as he has a room of his own for the first time since setting foot in Cadens. Perhaps he'll even build it just to have something to do.

It isn't his room that he's currently in. It's Ciri's—cozy but empty. As has become tradition, Geralt's brought some shelving and furniture to piece together.

He peers around the doorframe, eyeing the shells and other trinkets she's begun to unpack. ] Those are new.

[ The pieces of coral, he means. ]

Edited 2023-10-01 23:14 (UTC)

[ Mm. This is unexpected.

Not the basket. Himeka occasionally leaves him food with the wolf. Last month, it was a crusty bacon bread. This time, it's—

Geralt pulls the strange creature out by the scruff of its neck. A row of jagged teeth greets him in what appears to be a. Smile. He thinks. Stuck between its sharp pearly whites are bits of spinach. Crumbs are trapped on its fuzzy belly.

So that's where his food went.

With a sigh, he puts the creature back in the basket. Suppose he may as well return the damn thing. He'd say Himeka must be missing it, but if he knows anything about her, she's probably not noticed it's disappeared.

Tracking her and her crystal down is simple enough. If the food has only arrived, she must be inside the Horizon. Sure enough, he finds her halfway around the crater. ]

You, uh— [ He holds up the basket. The creature's head peeks out from under the cloth. ] —misplaced a friend.

[ It belches, satisfied. ]

Edited 2023-10-03 08:54 (UTC)

[It is a comfortable habit these days. One of them extends a not-quite-an-invitation to wherever they're staying now. The other one shows up with something to drink, and the night hours are spent in companionable silence with bouts of bullshitting in the way monsters and monster hunters do. Speculation about abilities. Comedy skits of incidents past that would be horror stories to anyone else. Ideas about new pierogi fillings.

The excuse this time is the new house for Geralt and his associates. It's a special matter, so Alucard brings wine for himself and fine ale for Geralt, leaving them to keep refilling their own glasses or to just drink out of the bottle. Alucard's brought a blood wine with blackberries and currants for himself, and given his friend a wheat ale that's as light and crisp as an early fall night. Apparently perfect for drinking on a roof, the faint glow of nightlife filtering in from all around.

Alucard's not sure how they got to the particulars of his bat form. There was probably a logical train of thought, but hell if he can recall it now. But they've been on it, and Alucard sighs dramatically, nearly melting into his seat.]

You're absolutely overthinking it. I just become bats. It's the same way I float - instinct. There's nothing more or less to it.

[ Kaer Morhen is the natural space to train in. Steve arrives for his regular lessons, and that's where they talk. Geralt's had little reason to visit Steve's domain in return—aside from when he came across Steve's gigantic monster before they promptly fell through a crack in the Horizon.

He can't say what finally brings him to the boy's side of the crater. Perhaps it's to do with his extended memories. Absent of the people he's come to know and care for in this world, they make him feel as if he hasn't seen them in far longer than a handful of weeks.

The long stretch of road hasn't changed. Geralt leaves behind Roach in favour of his motorbike. Just seems to better suit the smooth grey stone. The bike could almost belong to the same era with its vaguely vintage design, and it rumbles as he pulls up next to a lit sign that proclaims, in bold yellow letters, SCOOPS AHOY.

No snarling monsters. Always a good sign.

Curious and assuming the shop must be open to anybody, Geralt pushes open the door. The bell chimes. He can hear the hum of lights and machinery, and the smell that fills the air is thick with sugar. ]

Edited 2023-10-05 00:47 (UTC)

[ The not-quite invitation in this case has to do with the new home they (Jaskier) have acquired. Moving in is a simple task for Geralt. His room currently sits empty except for a single shelf of animal-shaped erasers, a crystal dome containing a miniature Kaer Morhen within, and his ever-present pack and swords. Frankly, he doubts he'll ever fill the space with much. It isn't as though his room in Kaer Morhen had been overtaken by personal belongings.

The rooftop makes for a pleasant sitting area in the now cooler evenings. Jaskier has placed a few succulents and thick-leafed plants about. Geralt lounges in one of the chairs, foot propped on a small stool. A jug of ale hangs between his fingers.

It's good fucking ale. He may have indulged more than usual. Not enough to enter inebriation—he dislikes reaching that state—but the edges have dulled, the thoughts circling his head less sharp. ]

Shapeshifting is the transformation of one's biology. [ A magical transformation, obviously, but one nonetheless. You begin as one thing and become another. You don't begin as one thing and turn into multiple things. A cloud of bats should be more like an illusion, but Alucard's behaves as a single organism.

Doesn't it? He realizes he doesn't know if that's been tested. He squints. Unfortunately, Geralt's habit of not saying most of his thoughts out loud means there is little context for his next question. ]

Has anyone ever removed a single bat from your cloud?

The biology is hardly the point. If you overthink it, it becomes harder to d-- [There's a little scoff noise. Alucard knows he's finished most of the bottle of wine. It means the reactions are a little more open. Much more...in alignment with the family trends towards drama.]

No, and no one would think to do so because that is incredibly rude, Geralt.

[He pauses, frowning.]

And don't get any ideas.

[ Geralt is right on the money--Himeka hasn't even noticed that her Tiny Troll has gone. To her credit, it's difficult to keep track of the things she creates and she has a habit of adding more little friends when she decides to brighten up the place a bit. After her latest stint in Eoreza and beyond, she'd found she had grown quite fond of the industrious troll living beneath the streets of Old Sharalyan. So she'd thought to make one in his likeness.

Albeit not quite as clever...but adventurous and mayhaps a little gluttonous as well. (More like Himeka than Shaggles in that regard.)

Himeka looks up when she hears Geralt, already smiling with the assumption that he has some feedback on her meal, and-- ]

Hm?

[ Oh. ]

Eh? What are you doing in there?

[ She trots over, lifting up the cloth to reveal the little and now even rounder troll in all his glory. His wide smile tells nothing, given that's his default expression. ]

I'd say he misplaced himself.

[Nero didn't really come for any particular reason.

Maybe that's the weird part. Geralt's not the kind of guy you just show up and hang out with. He's not a "hanging out" sort of guy. It's always been 'cause there's some stupid crisis, or they need to kill some dumbass monster, or because he's been thrown into Geralt's weird trauma basement.

It's sort of lingered on the back of his mind. He's not a nosy guy, so he has no intention of looking for the trauma basement. Honestly, bein' there once was enough for him.

But when he makes his way up the mountain, steps into the glorified snow lodge, it does feel like something's different. Wasn't there a door down?

Shaggles?

Nero looks down. What he's looking at can only be described as a glorified walking... mole... thing. Did it just. Talk?] What the hell are --

[It grabs hold of Nero's bootlace and tugs it so hard he nearly falls over. And then it runs off, bootlace flailing behind it, with something like a laugh before it follows up with a wet, chewing sound --] Hey! Don't eat that, you little shit!

[There's no way Geralt put that thing here. Which means it doesn't belong. Which also means when he catches it, he's launching it out a goddamn window.]

[ While the doors of Kaer Morhen are open to Nero, Geralt's never explicitly invited him. The few times they meet, Geralt came to him instead. There isn't much reason for a Nero to visit, and perhaps some part of him doesn't...want to acknowledge the previous incident. When Nero was last here.

The door beneath the stairs is gone now. So are the dark shadows obscuring the rickety descent. The stairs are sturdy now, and around the bend of a well-lit corridor, a different door sits. Perhaps the most remarkable difference is that Geralt emerges from the space below, climbing up the steps to investigate some familiar shouting. The fuck is—?

He leans against the wall's edge, crossing his arms as he watches Nero pursue the fleeing troll Himeka tells him is named Shaggles. The creature behaves just fine around Geralt, beyond pilfering bits of cheese and bread. Somehow, he isn't surprised it has no qualms giving Nero shit.

A tiny blur shoots past him and into the wolf on the other side. Lightning flash, its jaws close around the troll's scruff. Stubby legs dangle pathetically. The bootlace hangs from its mouth.

Geralt shifts his weight in silence, eyebrow lifting when Nero finally turns to look at him.

(Something about this absurd commotion is familiar. Kaer Morhen has not seen any bullshit rowdiness in a long time, he realizes.) ]

[ He isn't overthinking it. (He might be a little.) Frankly, he's looking for some inane horseshit to occupy his mind so that he doesn't dwell on lingering emotions he has not yet confronted. The deep-seated dread that Ciri was taken from him for good. That Brokilon may be the last time he saw Yen. Or Jaskier, crying at his bedside because Geralt could not answer whether he thought he would walk again or not, and the Continent ran red with the blood of elves and humans alike.

He wants to drink. He wants Alucard to argue over why he should not attempt to separate a single bat out of the multitude of bats. ]

It isn't rude if you grant permission.

[ He's seen Alucard and Jaskier work. He has also observed Alucard and Ciri together. Deep down under that weary exterior, Alucard is a man who possesses as much nonsense as he does silky hair. ]

[ Misplaced himself. That's one way to put it.

The creature appears not at all regretful of its transgressions. Geralt gives the basket a little shake as if to coax it out. When it refuses to move—possibly, it's grown too bulbous to do so—he plucks it up.

It's clear he expects Himeka to take the thing back. It's hers, for one. For another, what would he do with it? His Horizon is already filled with a wolf, a horse, and a miniature bat. His home in Cadens has two pets. He does not need more tiny animals in his life. ]

He should count his blessings I didn't presume you sent me a live meal.

[ Geralt's tone is flat, but it's likely he's joking. Probably. ]

You want to just what, grab a bat, and then watch me reform to see what part is missing?

[Alucard's eyes narrow. He's pretty sure that Geralt is tipsy, because frankly, this is downright bold for the man. Alucard is also pretty sure he's tipsy, because his mind is already thinking of improvements to the plan.]

[ Geralt frowns. What? Wait. ]

No. [ Does Alucard think he's trying to dismember his friend via bat? Perhaps it says something that Alucard isn't more offended by the suggestion if that's the presumption. ]

My question is whether removing one and carrying it some feet away might unbind the magic or if you would...remain a series of bats.

[ But with one missing. He wants to know what the range of bat removal is. He most certainly is not trying to leave Alucard without a foot. That would be terrible. ]

[He absolutely has taken all of this to be dismemberment via bat withholding. Please note that he's not having an entire crisis about this Geralt.]

Oh, that part's easy. I'd remain bats, and then either the single bat would eventually be pulled back to the cloud of bats or the bats would move over to the missing one. It depends on the levels of bat distress and if one area is safer than the other.

[He shrugs, taking a sip of the wine.]

Also the bats might flop onto the ground right now.

[ Easy. He is starting to form a few new conclusions about Alucard, and they're. Hmm.

All right.

He squints, leaning forward. He has absolutely noticed the lack of alarm regarding the previous topic. Is this something he should know about? Is it something he wishes to know about?

Two jugs of ale ago, the answer would be a resounding no. However, he's now on his third. ]

You're remarkably unconcerned about being dismembered.

I'm remarkably full of wine.

[Wait.

Alucard definitely can consider something like a danger bell going off. Maybe. It is faint.]

I am also going to trust that you don't intend to do anything, or if you did, you'd be good enough to ask. Because if you're still overthinking it, I'm at a point of entertaining a bad idea.

Hah! [He snaps, crossing the distance between himself and the wolf.] That'll teach you. Don't pick a fight you can't finish. [Ignoring that the wolf -- whom Nero met when he was actively dying in the pit -- finished the fight for him. Nero snatches his bootlace back, bending down to weave it right back where it came from.] Good boy. Thanks.

[He gives the wolf a scratch between the ears.]

So what are you even doing here, man? [It's directed at the mole now.] There's no way Geralt --

[Speak of the devil. The guy's not exactly a ninja, but Nero was. Distracted. He looks between Geralt, the little mole thing, and rubs the back of his neck.] Been watching the whole time, haven't you?

[ The wolf carries the troll away, no doubt to put it where it can't hassle Nero. ]

Mm-hm. [ He certainly has. ] It's Himeka's creation.

[ Nero is well-acquainte with Himeka. He'll understand the creature's existence once he realizes she made it. In any case, he imagines it is not the troll that brought Nero to Kaer Morhen. Geralt recalls their last conversation—not tense, but. A bit off. He hasn't pressed the matter since.

He tips his head towards the stairs leading to the cellar that's no longer a cellar. It's an invitation to something more personal. Something that he will not say but which Nero will understand when he sees it. After what they've been through together, Nero has earned the right. ]

Come on.

[Small. Furry. Annoying. Nero sighs.] Should've known.

[Everything Himeka seems to talk about is some weird, small, annoying thing. Like dragonets. Kobolds. Now... whatever the hell that thing is. What is it with whatever her world's like?

Guess he wouldn't complain. All he ever had was demons, and the occasionally really determined seagull.

Nero perks up with the gesture, following behind him. Geralt's not kickin' him out or telling him he's busy, so that's a start. And as he follows, he does see it. He was right. This whole thing is different. Even the stairs down feel lighter.

And then he sees the gold. There's no distant screams, no smell of blood. And there's color. He could ignore it, but this... this is bigger. He can't not mention it.]

You, uh, decoratin' for something special?

[ They have not talked about what Nero found down there. Geralt imagines it needn't be said. It isn't about what was there. It's about what sits here in its place. ]

I spent time here as a boy. [ He pushes open the door to the temple. Unlike the winter chill above, the air here is a crisp spring morning. Delicate pastries sit on each table. ] It's where we studied Signs. And a few other things.

[ Not all of his childhood was grim. He has good memories. He does. And it is, he thinks, worth preserving them.

More than that, he wants...he isn't sure. It's difficult to articulate. He just wants Nero to know. About the temple. About the fact that he's since torn down the wailing abyss that haunted Kaer Morhen. Perhaps he recognizes—after their last conversation in particular—that Nero wishes to know him better but will not ask.

So here he is. Letting him in. ]

[Whatever he thought that nightmare basement had been replaced with, it wasn't a chunk of the most gaudy temple he's seen in his life. (No offense. The Order wasn't much for unnecessary decoration. And most of the statuary could kill you.) But it is. It is where that basement was. As he steps inside, feeling suddenly grubby and underdressed, his tail begins to whip at the tip with curiousity. He steps away from Geralt, looking around. He picks up a pastry and breaks it in half (not dropping any crumbs; he wasn't raised in a barn) to find it full of some kind of fruit, sweetened with honey.

Even the weather's nice. It's got the feeling of someone who hasn't had a lot of hope suddenly finding it. Like a vampire who hasn't seen the sun for a century, finally walking out to greet it -- and to not burn for the effort.

Nero's tail gives him away, shaking at the tip, but there's this little warmth that burns in his chest. His fingertips trace golden walls. It's the kind of place Kyrie would've taken stage and sang, her voice filling every archway. People would've cried. They always cried, even if the song wasn't sad. Her voice could just do that sort of thing.

He'd give anything to hear it now.

Nero stops by one of the stained glass windows, looking out to a sunny day outside that can't possibly exist in a basement. But it's there, all the same. Shining in, warming his skin.]

It's nice. [He turns to Geralt, nailing him down with a gaze, tipping his head. Trying to figure out what he missed. What must have changed. It's not like he thinks Geralt is incapable of hope, but this... well, it's what it feels like, at least. Or maybe it's just a grasping for something he'd had before.] Like, really nice. Way nicer than the churches I grew up in.

[He clears his throat.] I didn't take you as a religious guy. But... you still aren't, are you?

[Maybe if he had any good memories of the Order, that weren't Credo or Kyrie, he'd have a chunk of the churches in his head, too.]

[ While Nero explores, Geralt leans against one of the star-dusted pillars. The touches of gold are from Jaskier, a small reminder of his friend. This would not be standing without Jaskier. Despite all that he's been through—the abductions, the memories—this part of his domain remains, for once, untarnished by the storm in his mind. And he thinks Jaskier is to thank for that. ]

The priestesses serve Melitele, but Nenneke had no desire to convert. [ As long as they followed her rules, her lessons. She was nothing if not a realist, and convincing four young Witchers to subscribe to a religion is a fool's errand. ] She only asked that no blood be spilled on the grounds.

[ Which. He may have broken that cardinal rule during his last visit. Couldn't be helped. He's only sorry he could not return to see to the temple's repairs. He misses her. That calming presence. Her quiet strength.

Maybe a little of that can be felt between these walls. There's an inexplicable sense of safety. Warmth. He's been spending extra time in the temple for that reason. Sometimes he waters the plants. Lights the hundreds of candles. It helps clear his head.

Seems Nero could use something similar. Killing imaginary demons can only do so much. Eventually, you need to learn to sit with the silence instead of trying to drown it. That's the first thing he learned from her. ]

[ Wine does not make one accept dismemberment without a blink. Or. It shouldn't. Perhaps Geralt at three jugs of ale in maintains a modicum of restraint that others do not.

A stitch forms along his forehead. He takes another drink, then huffs. ]

I will not be responsible for explaining to Jaskier why his architect is short a hand.

[ He should have never raised the topic. Now Alucard is thinking about it, and inside Geralt exists the boy who was as keen on trying to leash a wyvern and ride it as the rest of his brothers.

But he was barely eight summers old then. He's over a hundred now. He will not enable bad fucking ideas. ]

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

— ◈ ciri.

— ◈ alucard.

— ◈ nero.

— ◈ himeka.

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— ◈ steve harrington.

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