ᴀʟʟ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟɪғᴇ's ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ (open.)

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester & Others.
When: Post-Event.
Where: Cadens, the Horizon, Nocwich.
What: A catch-all of open & closed starters.
Warnings: A little grief, a little alcoholism, probably canon-typical violence and suicidal ideation. Mentions of fruit turbo-hell.

I ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ sᴇᴇᴋɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Nᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴀᴍɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
I ɢᴏᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs sᴜᴄʜ I ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Aʟʟ I ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ɪs ʙᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ
ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.

Comments

[righteously]

( His lips twitch up as best they can, a forced smile he shoots Geralt's direction. He appreciates it. The sentiment behind it, the lightness of it, the attempt at good humor to peel him back from his internal downward spiral.

Veering him away from a mental catastrophe, and back on a path to the present moment.

The weight feels too heavy on his chest, hard to breathe through, so he shifts the spotlight away from himself for just a minute to recover. )

So how'd you kick it? Did she mention? You go down fighting a Balrog after all?

[gynvael]

[ Now that's a question. Geralt huffs, brushing away sawdust. ]

A rabble in the streets. A mob of humans that didn't appreciate the rest of us who were not.

[ Same old song. He didn't ask Ciri for the particulars; telling him was difficult enough, and he saw no reason to make her recount every detail. The hands of some human tells him plenty. And what would have been the alternative? Alone in a bog to a water hag? He was never destined to leave this life in glory. He isn't sure he'd have wanted to.

At least Ciri knew what happened to him. He didn't simply...fail to return home one day. ]

You? Any better than speared by a peasant's son?

[righteously]

( A rabble in the streets; a mob of literal peasants. This is not at all an appropriate response, but despite the heaviness of the conversation so far and the grim subject matter, Dean's face breaks out into a dumb grin.

Man, is he glad Geralt's death wasn't cool. If this man died single-handedly beating freakin Smaug or some shit and saving the kingdom and Dean had to stand here telling his own stupid death story, he'd die a second time on the spot.

As it stands: )

A rabble in a barn. Some low-level who-cares vampire shoved me onto a freakin' nail. I got rebarred in the back. I went out like a human coat rack.

( So, no. Definitely not better than a peasant's son. Two peas in a stupid, stupid pod Gerald. )

[gynvael]

[ His eyebrow lifts, less offended, more curious what that reaction is about.

Mm. So that's what it's about. Funny. What decides an eternal rest for a man like Dean? When the forces around him grow tired of intervening? What made this death different from the others?

Nothing, possibly. Maybe it's a case of time catching up to all of them. He'd been done, as well. By the time they were at that market square, it was over. And he wonders if Destiny decided his path simply ran out of road. That he had given all there was to give to his daughter.

But she had looked for him, anyway, and found him here. So perhaps none of it means fuck all.

He looks thoughtful for a moment before shrugging it off. ]

I met a knight once who died taking a shit in the woods.

[ Always some unfortunate bastard who had it worse, at least. ]

[righteously]

( He shouldn't say it. He knows he shouldn't say it. It's inappropriate. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong tone. They're doing some very serious bonding over here. A man is dead. Technically, three men are dead.

The very, very pregnant pause displays just the pure lengths of the struggle goes through, mouth twitching between a smirk and then muscled back down to serious, only to twitch again.

And then he loses the battle, and blurts out: )

Sounds like a shitty night.

( )