abraxaslogs | [ OPEN / CLOSED ] adieu to all the faceless things

[ A scant few days have passed since Geralt's returned home, and settling back into his routine hasn't been difficult. When he isn't hunting, he's not doing much. Most of his time is spent constructing the cellar downstairs; he's divided the area into two rooms. So all that's needed is some furniture. Shelves, mostly.

It's strange to have a place that feels permanent. Much more so than the floor they rented for years.

Something's been on his mind, though: his conversation with Blake. It is, in truth, a subject he's considered discussing with Sam now and again, but he'd been sidelined by so much shit, he kept pushing it further and further back. Dean's turn as a demon. Ciri in danger, again. Monsters spilling through fissures between reality. The rush of memories. Then Julie. Only now has he had time to sit and think, and he realizes he cannot delay any longer. Besides. While his offer to speak to Sam had not seemed to satisfy Blake, his reasons for going to his friend go beyond that.

He arrives at Sam's home without announcement. It's empty, which is fine. Geralt expects Sam will return soon. He finds a drink and settles in the kitchen, turning over a newssheet on the table—released by the city. It's old, detailing Cauldor Wain's arrest, but he can imagine why Sam has kept it.

He needn't ask Sam's thoughts on what happened. He already knows.

In any case, that's where Sam will find Geralt when he enters: on a chair at the kitchen table, an ale to the side, studying one of the printed pamphlets. ]

Edited 2023-12-06 22:37 (UTC)

[ sam has been busy - but that much is to be expected. not only is sam's general state among the city one that keeps him moving, he now has to add in the holidays. which, in retrospect, makes it sound like it is something sam is forced into and not something her actively takes part in. the festival of enlightenment has its own charm, but where it concerns holidays, where it concerns his life here, there are certain things he refuses to let go of. the inn is up and running in its newly renovated state, and for that he's relieved. it's nice to feel like something is done before starting the next - the next being the welcome and holiday party.

he knows geralt has returned to cadens, had his minor check in to make sure everything was alright, and then they continued on with their ways. again, sam was busy, and he was certain geralt had some catching up to do after his jail stint. still, making it up to his apartment and finding geralt already inside was both a surprise and somehow wholly unsurprising that sam can't help but laugh. ]

Welcome back. [ he says at first, because he might as well poke a little fun at geralt's more-annoying-than-serious stint out in the mines.

with a bit of a huff, sam heaves a few large bags onto the new dining room table - the supplies for the food he'll be prepping for the rest of the evening. with the welcome party tomorrow, there's a lot of work left to be done - he's thankful that jesper, hilda, and diana have taken over the core of the decorating. that leaves sam with...well. the food. a task made much easier with his new kitchen. honestly, sam had been looking forward to this part of the process, and seeing geralt here just has him grinning. even better. ] You're just in time- I need someone to chop basically... all of this. [ he gestures to the pile of groceries nearly falling off the table in front of him.

he's about to ask about if geralt could grab him a beer of his own when sam's eyes fall to the kitchen counter. ] Oh- you brought presents? [ sam doesn't waste any time in walking over and peeling back the wrappings to see what's inside, eyes lighting up when he sees the pig. oh, oh he has plans for this. ]

[ Sam's footsteps are audible from outside the door, though Geralt only looks up when Sam speaks. His lips tilt into a crooked smile. Mm-hm. He's back. And none the worse for wear. ]

Putting me to work already? [ He stands and joins Sam, taking his beer with him. The walls are different, he notices. A new colour. Jesper had said something about modifying the rooms at the inn, and it seems that includes Sam's. Even a polished new kitchen.

Not for the first time, it strikes him Sam's never left this place. Others have come and gone, moving onto greener pastures, but Sam—though Geralt is certain he has the means to do so—has chosen to stay. For the new arrivals, no doubt, but he suspects there's a sentimental component to it, too. Geralt can't say he minds. There are memories built into these walls. They've been here together for more than a handful of seasons now.

A jar of pickles begins to roll. Geralt catches it, setting it upright amongst the mass of meat and eggs and vegetables Sam's collected.

Yes. He did indeed bring a small offering in the shape of a large boar. It's customary. He may have only just returned, but he knows Sam will be hosting his annual gathering for Yule—or Christmas, as Sam calls it—and it wasn't difficult to hunt one before he arrived.

Reaching for a knife, he finds dish towels instead. He pulls open the next drawer. Hm. ] You moved your things.

[ That's the most minor of the changes, but it's the one Geralt's chosen to remark on. ]

You're the one who decided to show up the day before our Welcome Party.

[ and yes, sam's tone is quite the chiding parent, even as his own smile matches geralt's. he continues with his unpacking, flashing geralt a thankful smile when he catches the escaping jar of pickles.

it is right about then that sam realizes geralt hasn't yet seen the new room and renovations. sam is still in the process of processing, something about the upgrades and fresh set of pain making it all feel a whole lot more real that it has over the last couple of years, but somehow what it takes is geralt in the midst of it for sam to recognize it. he doesn't know how to quantify the feeling, so he decides to deal with it at a later date, his attention on the beautiful, beautiful boar.

sam is looking it over, noticing how it's been pre-butchered, how clean it all looks, and then his eyes are on the clock. does he have enough...yes, okay, he has the time. he goes for his spice drawer, pulling out a variety of unmarked jars he's been collecting, some of which are new from nether. it's when geralt opens the second drawer that sam huffs a kind of laugh, reaching over and pulling out the drawer on the other side of geralt's first one. ]

I reorganized. Now that I've got the room for it. [ he gestures around them, at the kitchen that's now twice the size of the small corner of the room he'd been making due with since they first moved in. ] Don't worry, I'm still getting used to it too. [ and then sam is sidestepping around geralt, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands before grabbing a bowel to start mixing his rub. ]

How were the mines?

[ Mm. True. In Geralt's defence, he'd not known it was the formal Welcome Party tonight until he stepped into the tavern downstairs and nearly knocked his head against a dangling wreath. Though it's good to see Sam has help for it these days. Folk who have stayed longer than a scant few months.

The correct drawer slides open. Geralt takes out a knife. ]

Dusty. [ He tests the blade's sharpness against his thumb, deems it sufficient, and begins to slice the carrots. ] Had an interesting visitor, though.

[ An unexpected one. He'd anticipated Jaskier would see him. Alucard, sure. Dean wasn't on his list, but his presence was not unforeseen. Blake, however—

Beyond their conversation, Blake is a curiosity, perhaps because their initial encounters had been...less than cordial, through no fault of Blake's. Shit timing, that's all. Even at his best, Geralt isn't the friendliest, and he was most certainly not at his best after the bullshit with Josselyn Creed. He expected he'd scared Blake off for good. Then the man continued to return, and now Geralt's apparently receiving gifts on his doorstep.

And questions about social reform. While technically in confinement. The timing could've been better planned, but this was where the conversation occurred. ]

[ well, in the spirit of sam not saying 'i told you so' and geralt not asking, they'll just keep this going. really, if it came down to it, sam knows geralt would be fine with helping whether or not he knew about it. it's just come to be something that sam can trust from him, can expect. can depend on. and while sam wouldn't necessarily be someone to call geralt up to come over and help him chop vegetables...well. geralt's here.

he snorts at the dusty comment. ] Yeah, I can see that. [ it's the continuation that catches sam's attention, if only because the fact that geralt continues, and the fact he's mentioning an interesting visitor is all sam needs to know for him to understand this visit has a lot more to it that just a casual check in.

it's why sam pauses, why he looks over to geralt with what is now a vaguely serious look. ] Oh? [ and unspoken is another question, one asking if it had been a bad interesting or simply interesting interesting. because sam has a few names on his list of what would constitute bad (marlo, anyone from the thornean court, pretty much anyone asking about ciri, etc.), and somewhere in sam's body language is the preparedness and willingness to stop whatever it is he's doing and address this. if they need to. ]

[ Sensing the unspoken concern, Geralt shakes his head. No. Nothing like that. ]

John Blake. [ He assumes Sam must know the name, whether or not the two have formally met. Sam knows nearly everyone who resides in Cadens. ] He had...a concern about the mines. And Viktor's proposed solutions.

[ He reaches into the basket of vegetables and pulls out another carrot. A thoughtful pause passes. ]

I don't normally give a fuck about this. [ Not the children or the conditions in the mines, but he trusts Sam understands what he means. This. The Summoned taking it upon themselves to right the wrongs they perceive. ] But I promised I'd raise the matter with you. You'll have better luck tempering his reactions.

[ He understands why people are unsettled or upset. It's complicated for Geralt, that's all. Some of it is the world he grew up in. Most of it is a question of choice. He can't help noticing neither Blake nor Viktor—as far as he's aware—have made any effort to get to know the miners or earn their trust before deciding to swoop in to rescue them from lives they've deemed inadequate. And it is a shit life. It is. His childhood was not any less harsh. But it's still a life, and it's still theirs.

And though he thinks Blake is too...emotionally charged, he agrees with one point: should they vanish from this world, they cannot leave it in a state where its people are dependent upon the Summoned to survive. ]

[ the shake of geralt's head does help mitigate that growing concern in his his chest, letting sam return to the spices and the pig. it's the name itself that has sam pausing again, glancing back to geralt. ]

John Blake? [ sam does know the name, though not very well. one of those summoned he's seen around more than gotten to know. he probably could have done a better job there, but sam's come to realize that the feeling of could have done a better job at knowing all the summoned in cadens is a feeling that he's never going to beat. so instead of worrying about that, he focuses on the task itself. the mention of viktor. ]

What's his concern? [ and then, at the i don't normally give a fuck, sam can't help but snort, nod. he does know what he means, because this also isn't the first time they've talked about it. it stands very firmly in the list of things they both disagree on, but respect the other enough to not to argue. the fact that geralt is coming to him at all about this is interesting though somehow, at the same time, not surprising.

it would ben difficult for anyone to go out and spend time with the miners and children and not come back with some distinct opinions, but the fact it seems to be through someone else... ]

I'm guessing he came in a bit hot, then? [ he is still working on the pig, having finished mixing the seasonings and starting to rub into the skin. he'll need to get this done sooner rather than later if they're going to have it done in time, but as it is with most things, this conversation is easier with something for both of their hands to do. ] Was he out there working off jail time too? I've seen the guy around but I don't know him well, though it's not that surprising that people are getting more up in arms about the whole thing.

[ A quiet scoff. ] He came to talk to me.

[ Blake took the roundabout path of determining where Geralt was on top of that. He still hasn't a fucking idea why Blake sought Jaskier instead of simply asking the Witcher, but he can't deny the decision is in line with what he knows about the man.

His brows draw together. The answer to Sam's question is multilayered. There's what Blake said, what Blake seemingly wants, and what Blake thinks they should all be doing. As for Geralt, how he feels things should ideally be is a different matter than what he believes they can be or should be, given the reality. ]

He believes there aren't enough precautions in place. To ensure Viktor's inventions will not backfire on the workers. [ His tone is ambivalent at best. Passing on a message more than anything. ] He left before imparting further details.

[ Geralt does not specify what caused Blake to leave abruptly, but Sam can make his inferences. ]

I mean yeah, you're super welcoming and definitely a beacon of Free Cities political issues.

[ it's a joke - a bit of an obvious one, but sam chuckles a bit to himself anyway as he finishes up with the pig and moves to wash his hands and then mess with the retro style oven situation that jesper had gone out of his way to set up for him.

he doesn't really stop anything he's doing - pausing once he's got the stove set to seat up to help organize the bags of wood to make geralt's chopping a bit more efficient - as geralt explains. his brow furrows a bit as he listens, because really, it's a pretty valid concern. especially coming from someone who may or may not know viktor, who may even have his own personal attachment to the situation.

everything that is happening with the mines sits pretty heavily in the back of sam's mind, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he feels this way about a lot of things. a lot of cadens things. and that's not even broaching the topic of the war, of the efforts, of the factions in their entirety. he lets out a very quiet sigh and shakes his head. ]

There probably aren't, honestly. We're talking about a pre-industrial revolution kinda city. They're a far cry from unions. [ and then, when he has a moment to realize half of what he's said probably isn't at all recognizable to geralt, sam tries again. ] Viktor's still in the process of his work, last I checked, but I'm sure getting it all implemented will take some political dance moves. Do you think he wants to get involved?

You wound me.

[ Amusement colours his tone. Blake had approached not only Geralt, but Dean, too. Another beacon of Free Cities diplomacy. Between the two of them, it's no surprise the conversation was less than productive, though some of that responsibility lies on Blake's obstinate shoulders.

Geralt sweeps the carrots into a bowl and takes the next thing that Sam pushes towards him. His culinary expertise is limited, but he's efficient with a knife. ]

You can't expect a gaggle of orphans to form a guild. [ Or unions, as Sam calls them. Besides, a guild was as much in service of the men who ran the trade as the workers who laboured—if not more. It's hardly a revolutionary solution.

As for Viktor, from how Blake spoke, it sounds as if the man is already involved. But that isn't a fact Geralt's confirmed, so he shakes his head. ] You'll have to speak to Viktor yourself. Our previous conversations have been...complicated.

You just need to work on your broody glare. You're slacking.

[ it's too easy to toss back, easy to keep the joke going. geralt's amused and sam is entertained and while sam knows situation is much more serious than that, is much more important, he knows geralt won't fault him for the back and forth.

he can't help but let his mind wander - no, they can't expect a bunch of orphans to form a guild, or union, and they can't assume workers who have never known anything else to think in that way. but also...god, he isn't built for this, is he? it's not like he's got any first hand experience with this sort of thing beyond whatever hellscape the va had been back in dc.

he organizes out the veggies - pausing briefly to point out to geralt which ones need to be chopped in which way and in which bowls, before he's back to the oven. the pig. or at least, he's about to when he he hears you'll have to speak to viktor yourself and complicated and can't help but look over - one brow up. ]

Complicated...how, exactly? [ he knows geralt won't say much more if he doesn't feel comfortable enough to do so, but they've been friends for long enough that sam does feel like he can ask. ]

[ A faint smirk graces his lips. He works in silence for a few minutes, letting Sam mull over the situation. Beyond what he told Sam, Geralt hasn't given it more thought than that. He intends to visit the children when he's in the area, as he does with the orphanages. Perhaps bring them a few toys. Some food.

Seeking social improvement for a centuries-long establishment, however, is not under his purview.

Viktor, on the other hand. That is...hm.

He takes his time answering. He will not deny some of his feelings are strictly personal; he has little room in his life for those who will make presumptions about how he raises his daughter. Especially not in response to a discussion about her safety. But it's more than a singular conversation that left him uncertain. ]

I've known men like him. [ He sweeps the onions into the waiting bowl. ] I've seldom found them to have much restraint when they believe they're accomplishing something greater than themselves.

[ Did Sam speak to Viktor after Jayce's disappearance? Sam must've. He imagines Sam went to Viktor to look in on him. Geralt had done the same. They may not have seen eye to eye, but it doesn't mean he'd wished ill on Viktor. And it was that exchange which lingered on his mind since. ]

[ sam takes that as a win, even though he's well aware that isn't how this works. it's well enough for now, his mind already having moved on to the kids, to the mines, to thoughts he's been volleying back and forth for ages and ideas he is caught somewhere between 'aren't good enough' and 'should have acted on them before now.

geralt seems content to mull the question over, and sam is fine with the time as well, his thoughts circling and spreading out - working on the pig, going down the list for the party, bouncing back and forth between i need to remember to do this tonight and after the party is over i will reach out for that.

they work in comfortable silence for the span that geralt takes to consider his words, with sam moving around the new kitchen - brief moments where he pauses, has to remind himself where the new placement for everything goes. it's a few moments later when geralt speaks up again and sam refcuses, bringing his attention back to geralt directly.

i've known men like him.

sam blinks and he sees tony, he sees suits of iron and steel, he sees ultron. but then sam blinks again and the visions are gone, replaced with everything else, everything that follows. he knows what geralt means, what he is trying to say, and the frown that pulls at sam's mouth should tell geralt all he really needs to know about it - that sam agrees, in some ways. but then it brings in the larger question: where, if at all, the line should be drawn. sam rubs at his chin for a moment. ]

You said your conversations have been complicated. That makes me think he's said, or done, something already that you're worried about. Or- not worried, but not happy with.

[ sam did go and see viktor, had checked in during those between months - not right after, but soon enough. viktor had been grieving just as sam had been expecting of him, but their conversation had brought up...

well, if sam's being honest, that exact feeling. i've seldom found them to have much restraint. ]

Anything I should know about?

[ Not happy with is more accurate, if he's being truthful. His concerns are...minimal if he's to go by what has objectively occurred. As far as he knows, Viktor has done little more than invent a music device for Jaskier and whatever he gave Hilda that lets her stamp little crystals on everything. But the feeling he gets—it pricks at him. At something that runs deeper.

He sighs. ] When we last spoke, he asked me what I would do if Ciri were to vanish from this sphere. [ That is, obviously, not the entire story—though the question Viktor asked alone sets the tone for the point he wishes to make. ] Our previous conversation, however...did you ever wonder how Ciri wound up on that island? When she was forewarned?

[ He'd trained her. She would not have been so easily taken, knowing the dangers that were out there. He would not have been taken if he wasn't protecting Rinwell. Regardless of Sam's response, he continues. ]

She came searching for me, carrying a tracker that Viktor gave her. [ He pauses. ] Don't misunderstand me. I know full well how hardheaded Ciri is. Her decisions are her own. But Viktor is aware of Ciri's...uniqueness. What it might mean should she fall into the wrong hands. And after our talks, I'm not certain I trust he's capable of placing her wellbeing over his own endeavours.

[ Not deliberately, not like that. He doesn't believe Viktor has any intention of putting anyone in harm's way. Ciri and Viktor are friends. There's a reason he's avoided interfering beyond keeping a close eye on the situation. Intentions are one thing, though. Consequences are another. Add in the complications of grief and loss, and that creates a picture Geralt cannot say he likes looking at. ]

Edited 2024-01-13 04:36 (UTC)

[ sam's learned, over the years of them knowing each other, that geralt's feelings tend to be enough of a reason to do just about anything. his gut has kept him alive for all the decades, centuries, whatever that he was alive back in his home world. and now here, it has been proven to sam again and again.

which is why, when geralt sighs, sam's brows lift just a bit. when he first speaks, sam waits for him to continue, knowing there is more to what he's saying.

what he learns is not what he expects, specifically at carrying a tracker that viktor gave her. sam's first thoughts are, of course, immediately addressed by geralt, so all sam really does is cross his arms over his chest and listen. and what he hears doesn't make him feel any better. he only (relatively) recently learned of ciri's own 'uniqueness', as geralt puts it - but even then, he can see exactly what it is that geralt is alluding to. how viktor wouldn't hesitate, in these sorts of situations. ]

It's a dangerous combo- the two of them, I mean. Especially if Ciri's willing to dive into those situations, Viktor's only gonna support her. [ and maybe complicated is exactly the word for it. because he agrees, viktor isn't the kind of person who would intentionally do anything malicious, not like that and definitely not towards ciri. but if put in a situation like what happened with the pit, he doesn't see viktor or ciri making another decision. ]

When I saw him, he asked me if I had the chance to go back, if I'd take it. I told him it'd depend on how. By what means. [ now it's sam's turn to sigh, shake his head. ] The worst part about all this is that he could easily be the one who figures it all out and lets people go home. But how he gets there...

[ sam swallows down a kind of weight in his throat. he likes viktor, he really really does. he's just not sure if he can trust him, and that's hard. really hard. he lets out another breath. ]

Yeah- I'll talk to him. About the miners, and the robot and all that.

[ Geralt knows Ciri. She'd have found a way with or without Viktor. It's less about the outcome and more about Viktor's unyielding stance that because he was the one who pursued the task, it was unwise to question his success. As if one man could faultlessly calculate every whim of the universe. He'd have walked away from the conversation with fewer concerns had Viktor simply acknowledged they'd been reckless and moved on.

Setting down his knife, he leans back against the counter to watch Sam finish stuffing the boar. His arms fold across his chest. ] Those doors will not open without consequences.

[ They both know this to be true. Staying here has its set of consequences, too; he won't deny that. And yet—

The weight feels much heavier when it comes to the idea that the Singularity may one day be a threshold they can freely pass in and out of. That is a reshaping of the foundations of multiple worlds. Not merely this one. He's seen what only a fraction of that could do on the Continent, and he cannot imagine it will lead to anything except greater bloodshed.

Geralt remains in thought for a moment longer. ] He needs someone he might care to listen to. Should things become...difficult.

[ And while he can offer his version of guidance, he's aware it is not the sort that will make a difference. Not here, not for this. Should it come to that, Geralt has one solution, and talking is not a part of it. Sam will make better headway. If nothing else, he'll know Sam is watching the situation closely. ]

[ no, they won't. both geralt and sam understand that, and sam has seen his fair share of consequences to know just how poorly this could go. but in that same thought, he can't say no when viktor might be able to do it, when he has just as much of a chance to understand the singularity and open a door for everyone who wants to take it.

it's always been about choice, in the end. about there being an option when kids, or those with families, or even just for those who didn't want to undergo what abraxas tends to do to them.

he knows it's dangerous, they both know it's dangerous, but sam can't quite let go of the thought that viktor - at least right now - is going to be their best option for really getting it figured out. sam finishes with the pig, ties it off and checks to make sure it looks done before turning to wash his hands. with geralt's help, most of the prep is nearly done - now it's just a matter of the cooking. with a rag in hand, he turns back to where geralt's sitting and shrugs, once. ]

I make no promises that he'll listen. But I'll try. Here- you done with that?

[ he walks over to the table, reaching for the finished product of geralt's knife skills, checking them briefly (not that he needs to) before it's time to go throw them in some kind of pot or pan. ]

Edited 2024-01-22 15:19 (UTC)

[ Though Geralt seldom lingers in his domain long, he has a habit of visiting more often in the winter months simply so he can experience something resembling winter. The hot desert sands do not suffice.

The snow falls thicker over the Blue Mountains. The weather never turns into a storm, though—despite the frosty temperatures, the air is pleasant and the thick white blanket on the ground is always freshly powdered. Beneath the snow, bones whitened from age can be seen, left there long ago.

You can occasionally find him atop the training posts, but often, he isn't there at all. Don't worry—stay long enough, and he'll eventually peer out from where he's been inside Kaer Morhen or he'll ride through the front entrance on Roach. In the meantime, you can keep company with the white wolf that wanders the exterior. It's more wild than not, so chances are, it won't be too friendly...but it can be bribed with meat. If you're lucky (or on good terms with Geralt), it may even allow you to pet it.

The truly impatient—or bold—can simply knock on the heavy wooden doors to the fortress itself. Who can say? Geralt might let you in. ]

Edited 2023-12-07 23:55 (UTC)

[There's a keep on a mountain, Geralt had said. Come at sundown. If you can't find it, follow the wolf. Dress warm.

Being a man of few words, that had been the extent of the message. And given how the rest of their conversation had gone... Well, John had not been keen on digging too much further, when he had already dug enough for himself. But in retrospect, he should have realized that when he'd been told to dress warm, for a mountain, that that would mean snow.

Fortunately for John, he does wear boots on the regular. Unfortunately for him, they aren't specifically designed with a slippery tread in mind.

He wonders if it's possible for wolves to find amusement in another's misfortune. This one seems perfectly content to sit back and watch him struggle his way up the slope toward the front door of the keep, anyway.

He's just about made it when the massive wooden doors creak their way open and John just about leaps out of his skin, pressing a hand to his chest as he recognizes the face that peers out at him.]

Jesus-- [He does his best to collect himself, flashing the other man an embarrassed smile. His cheeks are bright pink with the cold and his embarrassment and there is snow collecting on his jacket and in his hair.] This is... Quite the establishment you have here.

[ John, Geralt is expecting. They'd made the arrangement three weeks ago, and Geralt is here as promised—now released back to his home in Cadens. Despite the curt words Geralt extended when they wrote each other, his greeting is a friendly enough tilt of his head—and an amused raise of his eyebrow. ]

Apologies. Didn't intend to startle you. [ He steps back, an implicit invitation for John to come inside. ] It serves its purpose. You'll have to excuse the draft.

[ It comes from the cracks in the walls and holes in the ceiling. Above where the gnarled medallion tree rises, snow continues to drift down through an opening in the roof that was never repaired.

Still, the braziers and cooking fire blaze, keeping the worst of the frost at bay. benches and long tables fill the main hall. Platters of simple bread and cheese sit atop. Geralt is the only one here, but the place is clearly made with many in mind. ]

Drink?

It certainly that, and then some.

[John steps forward across the threshold (doing his best to ignore the other man's amusement at his moment of surprise, excuse you Geralt!), glancing around the inside of the building with wonder.

There is an age to this place. It is there in the cracks in the walls, of course, but also in the stone itself. The tree is a unique feature to the hall, and it's clear that there is meaning in it. It's clear that there is a meaning and significance to this place beyond a simple gathering hall, at that, although knowing Geralt -- even as briefly as he has -- he has to wonder how much of it he will admit to readily. Serves its purpose indeed.

He glances back to the other man at the question, before inclining his head with a smile.]

Yes, please.

[ Though John may not know it, it's unusual for Geralt to invite another without purpose. He usually has a subject to discuss, a part of them he wishes to know better for strategic reasons, information he requires. John is simply...

Company. That he's agreed to meet again.

John's polite demeanour is starkly out of place. When was the last time any of his brothers uttered please? ]

It isn't as plush as yours. [ The furnishings, that is. Geralt swings one leg over a bench and picks up a jug. In a distant corner, the scrabble of a rat can be heard. ] But it's home.

[ Is, was. It still is, he thinks. He's simply made another home elsewhere, too. He accepted a long time ago he will not see the real Kaer Morhen again.

He holds out a mug to John. The ale isn't fancy, but it's strong. If there's one thing Witchers know how to do—killing aside—it's drink. ]

[John offers a smile as he reaches out to take the mug from the other man. There's something about John's presence here in these surroundings that makes Geralt self-conscious about them, or at least conscious enough about them to comment on them. John is charmed, honestly. As much by the surroundings as Geralt's gruff way of introducing him to this place. By Geralt himself.]

A home does not need all the trappings of a palace to make it precious. Indeed, some of the most unhappy of places I have been have been the most extravagant.

[John has not been invited, but Geralt is sitting himself, and he is trying to prove a point that he may be nobility but he is not so fancy that he does not belong here too. So after a moment, John swings a leg over the bench to join him on the bench.]

Does it have a name?

[The hall. Not the drink.]

No. [ Geralt agrees easily. Kaer Morhen is crumbling, and he doesn't pretend otherwise, but it's theirs. The scars that mark it have been inextricably intertwined with what it means to him. From the attacks, sure—but from his brothers, too. Gouges in tables and cracked bowls from too many brawls to count (over inconsequential shit). He's recreated it stone by missing stone for a reason—even down to the rats that occupy the warmest rooms.

Wouldn't be the same without them.

He places the mug between his legs on the bench. ] Kaer Morhen. [ Or Caer a'Muirehen, as the elves once called it. ] It's well-hidden on the Continent, but here...

[ He gives a shrug. Makes no difference here. The path up the mountain has been significantly shortened, a hike that takes minutes as opposed to weeks. ]

[With the attention to detail that has been paid, it is difficult to remember that this is not in fact the real place but a recreation of the hall that Geralt has done himself.

Kaer Morhen. The name on its own means nothing to John, but the look of the place.

He glances around, taking in the sight of it with what little information he has been given. A keep, well hidden up the side of a snowy mountain, it seems both fortress and -- well. A home, as Geralt had described. These tables they sit at seem well-used, in the same way the chairs in the Beefsteak's library do. Perhaps not in quite the same manner, judging by the gouges here and there, but. John cannot help but wonder about the nature of the place and its specific significance to the man who sits before him...]

There is no need for nearly as much protection, in this place?

[John hazards. After all, in his domain, if Geralt does not wish for guests or visitors, there are other ways to ward them off, besides making the environs inhospitable for all.]

[ His lips curl wryly. ] Not nearly.

[ He made this place to take visitors. After he fled Thorne, there were more than a handful of others he separated from, people he wanted to look in on again after all they went through together. Most of whom are now gone.

There are new faces, always.

For a moment, he's quiet. He's learned more about John since they last spoke, though he isn't certain how much of it John would have wanted him to learn. He leaves the matter alone for now, tilting his head towards the general expanse of the hall. John shared something of himself during their previous encounter. Geralt is not a sharer, but he supposes there's no reason to avoid stating what this place stands for. ]

This is where Witchers are forged.

[ In blood and steel and magic. He's sealed some of his darker memories away at last—the cellar below is now a pleasant temple in spring—but they'll always be a part of the keep. ]

[Forged.

John is an observant man, and he understands that it is a deliberate choice of wording. Geralt is not a man for idle words, after all. He has not explained what a Witcher is, for instance, although this being a place of significance to him, his home, John may be able to hazard a guess.

It does create some questions, but sitting across from him on this bench, gazing into Geralt's golden eyes, John does not press. There is something about the other man's general reticence that reminds him of the halls around them. The walls stand strong and silent around them, but here and there a gouge or break in the stonework tells the tale of damage done long ago.

Taking in a quiet breath, John nods, before offering a tentative:]

And where they sit and share a drink with a friend?

[ Were John to ask, Geralt would have answered. John does not, so he allows what questions have arisen in the silence to lapse. Instead, he watches John in return. He is curious, a bit, about this soldier born into nobility and yet seemingly without much taste for fighting or finery.

Perhaps he's equally interested in John's apparent curiosity about him. He can't help sensing it extends beyond mere novelty.

A friend. Geralt is not as quick to call others a friend, but he does not deny the assertion. ]

Hm. [ He tilts his mug towards John's. ] We don't invite unwanted men into our halls.

[ And John is, after all, here with an invitation. ]

Cheers.

[John's lips quirk up into a smile at the other man's response, and he raises his mug toward Geralt's in return, before he raises it to take a sip. The drink is strong, but John has spent time stationed abroad in Prussia. So long as Geralt isn't planning on challenging him to any sort of contest, he can handle himself.

His gaze lingers on his companion as he lowers his mug once more. It is true, he has indeed received an invitation. One that John will do his best not to take advantage of. He gets the feeling that such things are not extended idly. Not from this man. This Witcher. The White Wolf. Is that not how he had first introduced himself, at the masquerade?]

It is... A brotherhood. Is it not.

[Equal parts question and statement. From the well-worn, well-loved look of the tables in the hall, to what sentimentality Geralt has shown for it thus far, that is how this place feels to John at any rate. And who is he to judge? He has dedicated most of his own life enlisted in a brotherhood of his own, of a sort.]

[ Geralt confirms the observation with a tip of his head. ] We were brought here as boys. Raised and trained together.

[ To do what? is the natural question, but Geralt does not specify. There is nothing in the fortress that suggests an organized army once occupied these tables. There are no uniforms anywhere, no sense of standard, really. Even the medallions that hang on the tree are unique, each one shaped and engraved according to their wearer's preferences.

And the claw marks in some of the walls or floors suggest more than mere men once stormed the place.

But Geralt does not let the topic simmer for long. He seldom likes discussing himself at length. ]

I spoke to your... [ He weighs the next word. ] Friend. Claire. Your name came up.

[It is the natural question, but again John does not pry. The words that Geralt keeps choosing to use for this -- brought. Forged. It does not seem like a particularly pleasant experience. John may not be able to relate entirely, but his own experience of the army had been something of the sort. Before earning his commission, when Hal had "let" him come along with the 46th -- to Cullodden. If only they had known...

Instead, he allows Geralt to move the conversation along himself, although the new topic of choice surprises him. He raises his eyebrows, a new sort of smile twisting its way across his lips as he replies.]

Only good things, I hope?

[It is a tease, but -- Claire is the one person here who could share some of his deeper, darker secrets if she so chose.]

[ His time at Kaer Morhen was complicated at best, and his feelings to this day reflect that. He sees no reason to pretend otherwise, but he equally has little desire to dig deeply into it.

His lips twitch. Mm. ] She said you married her.

[ That phrasing, too, is particular. They had married, but it's clear from Claire's explanation that the circumstances were not for love. Not a romantic love, in any case. She'd said much more than just that, but.

Hm. He has to wonder if John did not disclose the information for Claire's privacy or his own. Both? Claire has told him easily enough, but he'd stumbled upon her in...a unique situation. ]

[ There will in fact be a knock at the door of Kaer Morhen. When/if Geralt ever does answer the door all he'll find a pile of twigs left in a heap on his doorstep. There's no one else in sight and no note accompanying them.

How strange! What a mystery! Or maybe it's just a pile of twigs. ]

[ Geralt...does not know why there are fucking twigs on his doorstep, but he brings the bundle in and uses it for kindling. It's quite helpful. ]

( Urianger has made a habit of dressing poorly for the weather. When the Scions were based at the Waking Sands in Ul'dah his clothing of choice was a heavy, layered robe with a cowl that covered the majority of his face; then later, when they set up their camp in the snowy wastes of Garlamald, he would glide around with his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling in the thin, backless attire gifted to him by the Pixies.

Today, in Geralt's corner of the Horizon, Urianger is has landed somewhere between the two: the cold nips at his fingers and his ankles as he moves through the snow-covered landscape towards the keep, ever impressed by the thrust of seemingly impenetrable stone as it rises up the side of the mountain.

As he approaches, he cannot help but wonder what this place is to the other man. His home, perhaps? A base of his own for whatever operations he conducted upon his own Star? The shape of a person's Horizon is deeply telling of who they are as a person, after all, and Urianger can't help but see echoes of the sturty remoteness of the place in the man who is slowly becoming a friend.

He spots his host in the midst of what appears to be an involved training routine atop wooden posts. Instead of interrupting him, Urianger waits patiently for him to finish, and pulls the heavy midlight blue of his long cloak around himself a little closer for warmth as he settles in to watch. )

[ The crunch of feet on snow draws his attention, though Geralt doesn't pause until he hears the footsteps stop beneath the wooden posts. He glances down, sword extended, and spots a familiar face he's not seen in several months. Not that he'd been concerned; he speaks with Himeka and Thancred regularly enough that he assumes they'll tell him if anything happened to their friend.

Still. It's good to see the elf again. Last they met, Urianger had much shadowing him after their escape from their abductors. Curious, then, what brought Urianger to Kaer Morhen. Social call, or is something on his mind?

He drops from the post onto the beam beneath, then once more to reach the ground. ]

Dressed for the weather, I see. [ He sounds vaguely amused. Urianger has evidently decided not to conjure something warmer, and Geralt will not question that choice. He lets the sword hang loosely by his side. ] Come inside.

[ He imagines Urianger didn't come here to stare at him in the snow. ]

( It's true, he didn't come to watch Geralt train in such crisp conditions, but then he's always enjoyed watching his companions hone their skills. If nothing else it's always fascinating to see what people can do — for someone who spends so much time among his books, watching an expert trianing sessions is akin to a trip to the circus. )

I shall not allow the weather to dictate how I choose to present myself.

( He replies, amusement curving his lips as he moves to follow Geralt back to the keep. He's teasing, obviously, although there must be at least some smattering of truth to his words since he's choosing shivering over sense. They fall into step together as they leave the training posts behind: )

'Tis good to see thee well, Geralt. I confess, was not certain I would find thee here today, but it gladdens me that I have.

[ Seems not. He makes a soft noise as they walk up the sloping path. The fortress looms ahead through the falling snow. ]

You came for a reason?

[ Nothing troubling, he hopes. He and Urianger are not the closest of friends, but he does consider them friends rather than mere acquaintances.

He pushes open the heavy wooden doors. Kaer Morhen has not changed since they last met here together. Thick trees, blazing fires within, a permanent chill in the air. Geralt finds his seat at the table, offering Urianger a mug filled with ale by default. ]

( Stubborn as he is, Urianger is nevertheless extremely grateful for the warmth of Kaer Morhen when they arrive. His sigh is relief-adjacent; his shoulders drop a little as he loosens his grip on his cloak, then reaches out to take the proffered mug as he settles at the table. )

Thy hospitality is most appreciated.

( He replies, allowing himself a tiny sip of the mug of ale he plans to nurse for a long time. Urianger's inability to handle his drink is a running joke among the Scions, and Thancred isn't here to drag him back to his own domain for a rest.

Easy does it. )

I came for a reason, aye, and here he sits before me.

( Urianger indicates Geralt withh a flourish of his free hand. )

It has been some time since last we saw one another, and I ... value both thy company and thy cousel. I had hoped to touch on the matter we last discussed.

[ Mm. Geralt leans forward, elbows resting loosely on his thighs. He recalls that conversation. He isn't sure how much of what he said helped, but he hopes the elf has been doing better since. Difficult, he thinks, when not all of the answers have been found. What was that flash of vision they witnessed? What did they leave behind in that cave?

A part of him wonders if even Josselyn recognized the full extent of what she was doing.

Geralt, too, leaves his drink mostly untouched. Pouring one is more a habit than anything. ]

You're still troubled.

[ It's hardly been a year. He isn't surprised to hear Urianger has not yet found his measure of peace. ]

( A shadow of a smile flits across Urianger's expression as he curls both hands around the mug, his fingers flexing and curling just the once as he exhales a soft sigh. )

Aye. I am still troubled.

( A frown creases his brow for a moment as he looks up to Geralt again, this time with a hint of apology on his lips. Part of him feels somewhat shamed by the fact that he's waited so long to reach out to Geralt again; they faced the same horrors in the Pit, after all, and chances are Urianger isn't the only one with the memories of it all weighing on his mind. )

... Forgive me, 'tis not mine intent to call upon thee only when I am in need, and yet—

( He shakes his head with a wry huff of laughter, then takes a sip of the ale. )

And yet here I am.

Edited 2023-12-30 23:54 (UTC)

[ His expression turns wry. ] Folk in need is how I make my coin.

[ He isn't bothered. He and Urianger may not be close, but the elf has never been anything except courteous to him. More than that, he understands how things...can weigh upon you. Things that you did not choose to happen.

They both endured that place together. ]

You can tell me.

[ Urianger had spoken of having control of his mind taken from him. Geralt can understand. He'd experienced something different under the ritual's influence, but—he'd lost himself, too. ]

That may be so, and yet no coin hath exchanged hands.

( Urianger replies, although there's a curl of amusement at the corners of his lips that might not have been there before. Perhaps there's something else he could do for Geralt to express his gratititude ... but those are thoughts for later. For now, there is only the conversation. )

I am unsettled, by my thoughts of late. The Pit and all who suffered it all bear scars from the experience in one way or another, and yet ... I fear I am remembering more of the period in which my mind was not mine own. ( A furrow creases Urianger's brow for just a moment. ) I recall a man. And — it frustrates me, that I cannot know for certain whether he was truly there or whether he was simply a figment of mine imagination.

( His shoulders twitch minutely, as though trying to downplay the shiver that rolls its way from the back of his neck to the base of his spine. )

It frustrates me that I know not what I must do to protect myself from such an attack again. The Anomalous Beasts, I—

( But all of a sudden Urianger looks deeply ashamed, as though he hadn't intended to speak about that at all. He turns his face away for a moment as he remembers the destruction he wought upon Borrel; remembers the way it fell to Thancred to bear the worst of his attacks and pull him back into himself again. )

... My role has ever been to support my companions. Himeka, Thancred — all that I have to give, I give to them most willingly.

( Golden eyes look to Geralt's again, his expression deeply pained. )

I cannot be the threat, Geralt. I cannot.

[ A man. Yes. Geralt doesn't know if his experience will help much—he could have easily seen a figment, too—but Urianger is at least not alone in having witnessed the vision. ]

I saw him, too. A dark figure.

[ The figure is only a part of this, though. He hears beasts, and understands, as well. He'd been gripped by one just the same. When he was with Ciri, no less, something he never wants to happen again. But it does and it can. He knows that.

He leans forward. ] I could suggest you work on your mental fortitude. In Thorne, I have no doubt you've plenty of mages to consult. [ Istredd, Yennefer. Stephen. He doesn't think that's the answer, though. Not really. Not at the crux of the matter. ] But sooner or later, you will stumble again. And the more you spend your days worrying about when that might next be, the less you can be there for your companions.

[ He understands. He does. The times he lost Ciri, the times he let her down. It's taken him...much to learn that he can't let himself be consumed by his failures. ]

( But sooner or later, you will stumble again.

And there it is. Urianger looks away at Geralt's statement, momentarily shamed by the lengths he's gone to in order to ignore something the other man knows to be inevitable fact. That he knows so be inevitable fact, for all he's tried his best to convince himself otherwise. He leans back in his seat, his expression unreadable as he closes his eyes for a short moment: )

... I am unused to this manner of inevitability.

( His lips lift into a tight smile. )

Upon my home Star, I—

( He sighs into a humourless chuckle. )

For so long I considered it my duty to pave a path of light from my place in the shadows, that Himeka might walk it unburdened of the knowledge of what each flagstone truly cost. My life has been one of ... orchestrating, some might say. To find myself at the mercy of the orchestrations of others is — most unsettling.

[ Perhaps that's where the difference between them lies. Geralt's life is something of the opposite. He's no one's puppet—not near it—but there are always forces pushing him one way or another. People, kingdoms, Destiny herself.

His entire life has been about steering his course in spite of those who would take his choices from him. ]

I don't profess to know Himeka as well as you do, but...I doubt she gives a shit about you carrying her burdens. I think she'd rather have you as a friend than a martyr.

[ Does he understand where Urianger is coming from? Sure. He's not unsympathetic; his frankness isn't meant to be dismissive, though Geralt's never been particularly soft with his words, either.

There's only so much wallowing one can do. Eventually, you have to move on. Or the world moves on without you. This, the weight on Urianger's shoulders, it isn't something that anyone can lift except Urianger himself. That is a decision the elf will have to make on his own. For himself and no one else. ]

... I am not unaware.

( Urianger sags a little, as more uncomfortable realisations begin to stir up into his chest. It's difficult to admit that part of the problem is feeling at a loss of how to be part of a close friendship: he loves his friends deeply, of course he does, but Urianger has ever occupied a position that sets him apart from the rest of the group. He is a core member of the Scions and yet he arranges his work that he might achieve it all alone — even upon the First, he took up residence in a region populated by Pixies, not by mortals.

His thumb and forefinger pinch at the bridge of his nose, then rub over his eyes, before he lifts his cup to take another sip of his drink. )

It is difficult, to know that one's insecurities reflect the worst parts of oneself.

( But at the very least, he does smile at that. )

As difficult as it is important, I should add.

Mm.

[ That it is. Geralt's not of the belief he's saying anything Urianger hasn't thought himself already, but perhaps the elf simply needed another to speak it out loud. Whichever the case may be, he hopes Urianger will find himself some measure of peace. Eventually. ]

Our worst parts are only so if you let them fester. [ They all have them. ] Have you considered speaking to Himeka?

[ It's a gentle suggestion. To have a close friend from one's sphere is a rare thing. Not always a desired aspect, but he has learnt through his own experiences that it...helps. To not be alone. And though he may not have known Himeka from before this world, they've been friends for a time. Long enough that he can say that she is a grounding presence for troubled minds. ]

[ OPEN / CLOSED ] adieu to all the faceless things

— ◈ sam.

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wrap soon? 🎀

sounds good to me! c:

OTA — ◈ horizon.

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drive by i'm not here 👻

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So sorry for the lateness! December do be like that 8')

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wrap soon? 🎀