abraxaslogs | [ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

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[ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

Who: Geralt + Various
When: December
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: Some catching up now that he's home
Warnings: Discussion of trauma; nsfw marked

(( placing starters in the comments below. find me at

discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ His eyes roam over the sparse interior. Everything is smooth, shiny. There's distant recognition as to what makes it a ship, even if it's not one meant to cross water, including the tight quarters. He lays a hand on the steel railing to peer down at Amos.

He hums without commenting further. He knows what Amos means. He feels the same about Kaer Morhen, where nothing needs taking care of. No repairs or cleaning or sharpening of the swords. If he does it, it's only to keep busy, for something familiar to do even if it means nothing. Probably the same reason Amos is breaking apart whatever that equipment is in his hands. He thinks he's seen it before, or something like it: Mal had carried one up to his cabin that first trip in. ]

Better. I found myself back where we started. [ Thorne. Dungeons. Good times. He doesn't add much more; there's obviously something that happened beyond that, but it's not relevant as to why he'd been gone. ] Needed a week or two, returning. Jaskier tells me you helped him look.

[ Which he appreciates. He's realizing a number of people stepped out of their way because of him—for him—and it's a fact he's still coming around to accepting. He's not usually so easily missed, nor do most care when he is. ]

[ A chill comes over Amos when Geralt mentions the dungeons, albeit abstractly. He can connect the dots well enough, combine them with his current appearance. That fucking hellhole. He'd never been hurt there, somehow. Not physically. So, seeing what they apparently do to their prisoners now. It's not great.

He expels the feeling, and it's like it was never there. ]

Yeah. Guy was kinda freaking out. Seemed like the thing to do. [ He cocks his head. ] Said he was your best friend. I believed him because in my experience, nobody gets that worried over somebody they aren't close to. How's he doing?

[ Not like it occurred to Amos to inquire about Jaskier's wellbeing, but now that he's been brought up... shit, maybe he should've. Better late than never. Right? ]

[ He's silent for a moment, watching Amos. Only a handful of them remain, those who had been there from the start who were also locked up, and Amos is one. When Amos moves past it, so does he. He doesn't quite go down the ladder, but in the small opening where it leads to the level beneath, he ends up sitting down, one foot resting on a rung.

He's aware, what the two of them found at the bottom of the keep. Hard to say he's surprised; there's a reason he's been so cautious about what he creates in the Horizon because apparently given half the chance, his consciousness likes to take matters into its own hands. However he might feel about it, he also can't begrudge either of them for entering. They couldn't have known. And in truth, it is not a room kept hidden away in their home proper. Like the bones that lay scattered in the yard, it's a part of their history. It's just not one those on the outside are ever meant to witness, never mind set foot in. More than anything, he regrets it was sprung onto Amos out of nowhere. Jaskier had not said much, likely out of respect for the other man, but he'd said enough. ]

We've known each other a long time. [ A couple of decades—even for Geralt, that's awhile. He almost never keeps people in his life that long. Or they don't stay in his. ] He's been... [ He pauses. Saying Jaskier is okay is not quite accurate. ] Gardening.

[ So to speak. Growing his plants out of magic is not gardening in the most typical sense, but there's an excess number of potted herbs around their home and he suspects it's Jaskier's way of relieving stress. Mildly concerning, but not destructive, so Geralt's not said anything about it. Probably more ideal than Geralt's own tendency to sit alone in a tavern. ]

You? [ A general question. Amos can answer it how he likes, if he wants to complain about being surrounded by endless sheep or something more. He's little interest in prying into Amos' complicated past. He thinks, if Amos is anything like him, it only matters the person he is now. ]

[ Amos hums at Geralt's mention of gardening, a pleased little sound, and turns back to the table before him. With one hand, he picks his rag back up; with the other, another part of the shotgun to clean, and gets back to work on that. ]

Knew a plant guy back home. He'd have fucking loved this world. All the space and no limitations to grow whatever kind of crops he'd want to; shit, it'd be beyond his wildest dreams.

[ There's a cheerful lilt to his voice as he borderline ignores the question Geralt's asked him. Amos brings the part he'd been working on up to his face, rotating it, inspecting it. Then he nods to himself, sets it down, and picks up another one, keeps working. ]

Me? I been worse. [ Not too long ago, as a matter of fact. There's also the part where he's slowly losing his grip on how he should be existing out in the real world. One can't live off of coming to this space alone, and he can tell it's getting to be a problem. It's like he's watching a ship crash in slow motion, and he's also the pilot. Which, come on, that's not in his skill set. He shouldn't be doing that. ] Been better, too, but that probably goes without saying. You know out there ain't nothing like where I come from.

[ Case in point: their present surroundings. Amos continues to clean. ]

You think Thorne's an active threat, or was this a one-off?

[ In other words: do I gotta watch my back. The other shit — however he's going to feel about returning to Geralt's domain for whenever they resume his lessons — that, he can control. A kingdom that previously imprisoned him, left him helpless and without agency for months? A little less so, so that's a much, much bigger concern. ]

[ A plant guy Amos says, and Geralt raises an eyebrow. He's had hints about what Amos' world looks like, but it's beyond his grasp to imagine a place that hasn't got room for crops or a few plants. Even the most infertile land on the Continent can grow something, even if it may not be lucrative.

He doesn't press. Amos' answer—or lack of one, really—tells him everything he needs to know, so he glides past it like he's not heard anything at all about what happened. It's for the best. He doesn't want to get into it for himself, either. Maybe before all this, he might've been more willing, when the memories had been put away for nearly a century, quietly dealt with. But lately, they feel too fresh. ]

This is your home? [ He raps gently on the metal around them. Do these metal ships just float around in space, like little cabins? It's oddly confining. And unusually built out of what is, to Geralt, an expensive and limited material. Steel and iron can only be mined and forged by hand.

When the question comes, there's a beat. ]

It was the queen. [ He rarely separates a state from the crown that rules it, but the secrecy tells him the queen is either planning something she wants not even her people to know or is expanding her reach beneath the king's nose. If she trusted her close council so little as to hide things from them, it'd be easy for her to rid of them as a monarch. She sure as hell had good cause to oust the High Mage, after the debacle of prisoners escaping. So there's a reason she can't, or has chosen not to. ] I had ties to Thorne. Someone in her court.

[ At this point, it's no longer a secret, that he and Yennefer at least know each other, are from the same world. As long as the queen doesn't believe Yennefer will let it stand in the way of her loyalties, what role Yennefer plays in his life matters none. This was never about him in the first place. He's already fled to the enemy, as far as Thorne is concerned. Regardless, Amos likely doesn't have the same ties. Less to be concerned about. ]

[ He turns to look back at Geralt at the question. His expression remains neutral, but there's the idea of a smile there; his voice is warm. ]

Sure is. Welcome aboard the Rocinante.

[ And then his focus is back on the part he's polishing. He remains completely at ease, completely at home in this space. Like there's nowhere else he's supposed to be. It's still kinda hard to reconcile that with the fact that he'll never be back on the real one ever again, but he gets by.

This one's done. Amos puts it back on the table, picks up the last part that needs cleaning as Geralt answers him. ]

Huh. So the rest of us are probably fine, then. At least as fine as possible. I dunno what that actually is, but it's been a few months, and sounds like this is the only time that's happened. Unless you were just a trial run. [ He's just musing out loud, calm and collected. They're talking shop. It's all hypothetical until it's not, anyway. And the one time it wasn't? That's over now. That's why Hunter is here.

And then, idly, ] Someone should probably kill the queen, though.

[ He's not offering, at least not from his present situation. It's not very likely he willingly puts himself in the same room as anyone from that fucking castle anytime soon. Still, if he fell into the opportunity? He would. Whatever happened to Geralt there, he was gone for weeks and came out worse for the wear. Someone who has the potential to do that is a threat. Better to just take them out at first opportunity and be done with it. ]

[ Hm. He gets that. The hint of fondness. Guess they both miss their version of home. There's interest in his eyes, how he watches what Amos is doing, even if he doesn't disrupt their present conversation to ask just yet. It resembles a weapon and the only weapon Amos has ever spoken of is what he calls a gun. He can put it together, a little, and part of him is already considering how all the pieces are meant to work. It isn't anything he's ever seen before. Not even close. ]

Their reach goes far. But I doubt they want to declare war outright. [ One captured summoned is not the same as going after several of them in targeted attacks. Especially not the ones the Free Cities have specifically summoned of their own accord. No. He imagines the others are...not safe, but not in any more or less danger than they always were.

He makes a quiet noise, contemplative. He should want that, shouldn't he? But thoughts of vengeance or destabilizing the monarchy are far from what he's after. ] If anyone gets to her, it'll be someone in Thorne.

[ Nothing like a pit of vipers to devour their own. His tone suggests he's ambivalent at best about the idea. He's no lost love for the queen, but he knows better, too. No matter what happens, whether the queen remains on her throne or one of the other mages undermine her or she chokes on poisoned wine, it'll only end in chaos. And something tells him it will not be a good thing, for the one kingdom keeping the Free Cities in check to crumble under a coup. ]

Edited 2021-12-12 06:40 (UTC)

Picking a couple of us off at a time isn't war. Especially if they're able to do it spread out. Could take a while before anyone notices a pattern, makes the connection. Except by then it might be too late for us.

[ He sets the rag down on the table and inspects the final part. Keeps talking as he does so. ]

It's not like we're anyone's people here, anyway. Nobody from the outside world would really miss any of us if we were to suddenly go missing. Maybe one or two people, like your friend, but that don't exactly count for much in the grand scheme of things. Definitely wouldn't mean war.

[ It doesn't even occur to him that others might have begun to set down roots where they are, might have integrated themselves into society because, well. He hasn't. As far as any natives to Solvunn are probably concerned, Amos is just a weird loner who keeps to himself in a half-built shack not too far from the shores of the Hydra Gulf. He doesn't care about any of them. They probably don't care about him. Just the way these kinds of things work.

Every part is clean and polished now, so Amos sets about putting his shotgun back together while listening to Geralt. His hands make quick work of reassembly, practised with the ease and deftness of someone who's been doing stuff like this for at least a couple of decades. Turns out he's still got it. Doesn't intend to lose it. ]

Yeah, probably. Your tie to her court capable of that?

[ Amos reads the ambivalence just fine, just without the understanding as to why Geralt's ambivalent. He doesn't really care either way. Nobody would ever accuse him of playing political games, is the thing. You have a problem? Kill it. That creates another problem? Kill that one, too. Eventually you'll stop having problems. Simple. ]

[ For a second, Geralt doesn't answer. Prior to those newly displaced, he'd have agreed. When it'd been only those who fled. Since then...he suspects it may a matter of where they each are—that Solvunn has perhaps tried to be more subtle—but in the Free Cities? No. The ones who came later, in particular, the ones where effort was made to retrieve them: he's almost certain every one has been marked and recorded. They're not encouraged to remain in the barracks for no reason. Sam has relayed his conversation with Marlo to him. He can't say he buys that these are merely accidental arrivals. Magic of this kind doesn't work accidentally. ]

Not people. Property. Cadens holds those they summoned under the eyes of its army.

[ He'd rather no one give a fuck. More and more, he's beginning to think that isn't the case. They are something. A resource. An asset. Fodder. It all gives him a headache.

His fingers curl around the steel railing. His tie. There's a tension in him that wasn't present earlier. Yennefer is more than capable. But he knows her pieces are nowhere near in place for that, if it's even what she has in mind. He wishes he didn't care, but he does, because it's her. And because she's the fucking reason he even found himself in Thorne in the first place with his head split open, flooded with long buried memories he didn't ask to see. He wants to be angry about it and maybe he is, somewhere, but mostly he just wants one good night's sleep. He wants to forget.

It'd be simpler if this were about the queen, about Thorne. It's not. This is much closer to home. ] We haven't spoken.

[ Amos doesn't look up, but there's a twitch of a frown at property. Can't say he isn't familiar with that. ]

So, in another life, I was what you'd call muscle. I mean, I still kinda am, but that's by choice now. Back then, you didn't really have any other options. I'd get sent out to do basic shit. Enforce debt collection, protect assets, that kinda thing. Last job I had there was to kill someone who'd become inconvenient. [ He smiles, and there's a sharp huff, like he's just said something funny. His hands continue making work of the reassembly. They're broad and calloused and made for this kind of thing and little else. ] It's not a great gig. You fuck up, and that's a bullet in your brain. Unless you're quicker. Stronger.

[ This is the first he's hearing of a downside to the Free Cities. Up until now it's just seemed like a paradise where there's actual shit to do and at least some form of technology. Nothing close to the shotgun he's almost got put back together, but something, at least. ]

Point is, I think I got some idea of what's going on there. You wanna start amassing bodies before the churn comes. Can't say I like it, but can't say I blame them either. It's kinda SOP.

[ Something settles in him. The calm that exists before a storm. It's familiar, routine. The shit out in the world, with magic and farms and what-the-fuck-ever? That's unfamiliar. People scaling up for a war? That's not so far from home.

He puts the final parts back in their place, looks at the assembled shotgun laid out on the table before him, and sighs longingly. A sword's okay, he figures, but can't compare to this.

Amos finally looks back up at Geralt then, sees the shift in demeanour. He takes him in silently, and when he speaks, his voice is still easy, conversational. ] That bad, huh. [ He still looks even worse for the wear than he did before, and maybe that's emphasized by the agitation, the exhaustion he can read in the man. Cocks his head. ] Is that a thing you want to do? Talk to them?

[ He'd not meant it quite in that sense—only that he believes the Cities considers the summoned valuable, not because they give a fuck about any of them as people but as useful things; that Thorne plucking from their pool of the displaced would not go unnoticed—but when Amos speaks, he does not interrupt. It's not something he'd have guessed, though nor does it surprise him to hear it. Indentured servitude is hardly uncommon in any sphere.

And plenty of children were bartered, sold, to the Witchers. As repayment, for a life saved, or sometimes just for coin. Too many mouths to feed. It happens. Geralt makes no comment, but an understanding crosses his expression. Yeah. He gets it. Doing things you didn't ask to be made to do. ]

I imagine Solvunn has their own reasons for amassing the same. [ They've appeared in all places. Geralt does not particularly believe in altruism anywhere. If they're summoning people, it's for their own benefit, whatever that may be. At the moment, he can only begin to guess.

His gaze flickers. That bad. Understated, to say the least. He loosens his grip. The answer that comes is honest. It's simpler, as always, to talk to Amos who rarely seems invested in much of anything. ] I don't know. I'm not certain it matters what I want.

[ They'd been avoiding each other before this. Yennefer may continue to avoid him. Maybe that's what he'd prefer. Maybe he never wants to see her again. (He wants to see her again.) At the moment, he's just been...putting himself back together. Getting on his feet so he isn't trapped in the city, so he can actually get on his horse, find work once more. The rest has been swallowed down, pushed aside. ]

[ He keeps the stool swivelled in Geralt's direction. Sitting upright, hands haphazardly resting between his knees, Amos looks for what constitutes as upwards here for a moment, as if in thought. Back at Geralt. ]

Yeah, probably. I don't really know anything about that. I've been camped out in the boonies pretty much ever since I got here. It's boring as fuck, but it's easier.

[ Easier than trying to immerse himself into a community where everyone's friendly, religious, looks out for each other to the extent that they do — it's a tough sell for him. He really did fuck up coming here. At least being drafted into an army or whatever makes sense; he has no clue what it is Solvunn is actually doing. It's never gonna make sense to him.

Amos watches the way Geralt's eyes flicker, how he seems to relax slightly. Or maybe turn a little more inwards, who knows. ]

'course it matters what you want. [ He's a little more engaged, now, as he takes in Geralt. Guy really did get fucked up, huh. ] What's the plan otherwise, be a human punching bag? Something tells me you're not the kind of guy who'll take to that. You just gotta figure it out first. Can't do anything until you do that.

[ He peers at Amos. Hm. He remembers Amos not wanting to...what. Be a danger? It adds up, that the man would simply tuck away somewhere at the edges of a farm, the woods. Frankly, that sounds appealing right now. Being in the middle of nowhere. He misses that.

His head cants to the side. The sincerity is almost surprising. It's also—he knows Amos can't realize what he means because Geralt has never mentioned, exactly, who is there in Thorne. What she is to him, with nearly a decade of history there and too much said. Yennefer is almost an entirely separate matter from Thorne, from the queen. If she'd not been there, if she had not seen what she was never supposed to see, none of this would be so difficult to navigate. ]

It isn't that. [ He thinks it will not be hard to grasp what he's referring to when he says, ] It's complicated. With her.

[ Yeah. He knows. He knows how that sounds. He's rarely spoken of his relationship with Yennefer to anyone. They've woven in and out of each other's lives for years. And he can't decide why he's talking about it now, except that Amos is just removed enough from the situation that it doesn't feel so weighted.

He releases a breath. Fuck. He does need to talk to her, he knows. He just can't think of what he even wants to say. What he wants to hear from her, if anything.

He lets the quiet linger for a bit before turning the topic back to earlier. ] It's that shit for you out there?

[ His brows furrow at complicated, raise at her. For all of the similarities he knows the two of them share, here's a substantial deviation. He doesn't get shit like that. Has never been in that kind of situation. Never will be. So this is a weird one. ]

So uncomplicate it. [ As if things are that simple is. Thing is, he says it with full sincerity, because to him, they are. ] Cap has this go-to move where he'll lay all the cards out on the table. Seems to work with one-on-one things, at least. [ A beat. ] 'course, he's more charismatic. Maybe that's got something to do with it. I just know he and Naomi have been together for years, rough patches and all, so he's probably doing something right.

[ Because Geralt definitely knows who people from his home are. Doesn't really matter to Amos either way; he figures the general point has been made. Do something or expect nothing.

Which, huh, that kinda ties back to his current situation, don't it. Amos blinks in response. Hadn't been expecting that. And then, a shrug. ]

Not the worst place I've ever been. Not the best, either. Some things are alright. It'd be better if I had a clue what to do with that much empty land. [ Or if he gave a shit about anything out there. That'd probably help, too. ] I get by okay, though. Can't really complain.

[ He hums, noncommittal, acknowledging. It is absolutely not that simple, but he says nothing more on it beyond a lightly deadpan, ] Are you saying I lack charm?

[ It'd be nice to know what the hell to do, but this is a personal matter and it isn't for anyone else to sort it out on his behalf. He'll make a decision, down the line. When he has a clearer head.

He turns his attention to Amos instead. Or more specifically, his place in Solvunn. He's never questioned it, what Amos was doing over there—the man can more than take care of himself—but ever since Thorne, he's been thinking more and more about those spread across the continent. The scattering of the summoned feels vulnerable. Not that he expects them to band together—far from it; people are who they are—but of those he's come to trust? He can't deny he'd rather have them nearby, on hand, than accessible only through some ethereal plane.

He's not here to herd folk about. Still, he studies Amos for a second. ] If you ever find cause to complain, there's room in Cadens.

[ It's a standing offer, that's all, one he makes casually. Amos can take it or leave it as he likes. ]

[ Amos tilts his head, leans into the deadpan. ] I'm sure you do alright. We all got our strengths.

[ Just isn't something he's ever really had to consider. He's content to drop it there, though, if Geralt is. Not like it's any of his business. Not like he'd be able to help in any meaningful way if it was.

That's kind of a continuing theme, with him out in the middle of nowhere, separated from pretty much everyone he's started to trust. He meets Geralt's gaze head-on, wonders if they're thinking the same thing. Judging by what he says, maybe. ]

Seems like the place to be, don't it. [ Geralt's there. It clearly hadn't mattered, since he's okay now — relatively speaking — but Amos might've been more useful to Jaskier if they'd lived in the same city, too. Sam.

Himeka's here, though. Or at least nearby. And. He's not sure how he feels about that anymore.

He sighs. ]

I probably got more out there than I do here. Only I don't really got all that much there, either. [ A small handful of people he doesn't know that well, though that's kind of his standard. There's few he knows well, and none of them are here at all. ] Guess I'll have to keep that in mind. In case there's ever anything to complain about.

[ He says it with a shrug in his voice; there isn't. It's boring, but boring isn't all that bad. There's always potential for things to be way worse — and he's not inclined to tempt that particular fate. ]

[ There's a faintest curl to his lips before he turns thoughtful. He senses the ambivalence, if that sigh is anything to go by. In a way, he understands. None of them have asked to be in this sphere. None of them want to be here. Makes it difficult to think of it in terms of where they should be, because the answer is home. But they aren't. They may never be. Between what he's learned from Ciri and his own grasp on things, he's never been entirely certain if there's a going back. Even if the doors were to open again, something tells him there is only moving forward, in whatever state the world they're returning to has become.

On fire, probably. ]

Hasn't got to be much, for it to be important.

[ There's something of a shrug in his statement, too. He suspects Amos already knows this. Neither of them have particularly got much, here or there or back home. He can see that in these tight quarters and sparse rooms. The emptiness outside. In the spaces between the words Amos has not said out loud.

A moment of consideration passes before he adds, ] I'll return to the usual, in three weeks. If you're around.

[ He leaves room for Amos to turn him down—if Amos decides he'd rather not set foot near the fortress again. It's a different thing for Geralt. That room, that place—it exists, remains existing, despite what it once held. He can fix it, when he has a mind to. Turn it into...how it should be. Less stained with recent blood; still scattered with pieces of old memories and rusted chains. But he knows not everyone has made a home out of their scars. He doesn't expect Amos to find it an easy place to be, having seen its depths. ]

[ That first statement gets as open an expression Amos is capable of giving. He stares up at Geralt, eyes focused, serious, honest. Like he's taking what Geralt is saying to heart. It became clear, early on, that the two had some kind of connection, an understanding of one another. (It's unfortunate that Amos now has all too clear an idea as to why, but that's in the past.)

He feels how empty the machine shop is. How empty the entire Roci is, really. Amos lays a hand on the worktable that feels so solid here, like he focused on bringing every atom that composes it into existence. How none of it is real. ]

No. No, it doesn't.

[ Speaking of things being in the past, he's living in it. Isn't inclined to let this particular part of it go. Not just yet, anyway. He's got nothing to replace it with.

The suggestion of a return to a normal routine, though, like nothing had ever happened to disrupt it... ]

Yeah, sure thing. [ That's plenty easy to commit to. If Geralt's fine, he's fine. Not like he hadn't returned to Baltimore; not like he hadn't ventured further into Ilus' depths. Once it's over, it's over. Whatever is up with that basement in Geralt's place — it's over with. ] Your friend told me to take a sword, last time I saw him. I keep it up in my cabin now. It's kinda cool, having one. Might have to get a real one sooner or later. [ Just for the hell of it. Amos sighs, lays a hand on the body of his reassembled shotgun. ] 'specially since I can't bring this bad boy out into the real world.

[ He looks right back, no longer surprised by Amos' oddly intense sincerity towards the things he says. He's learned Amos has a certain way of moving through the world; it isn't something he entirely understands yet, but the longer he spends with the man, the more he wonders if Amos is truly content to drift where the current takes him or if there's more to it. He's never asked. Doesn't plan to, either. It's not his place, and he's not altogether certain Amos has an answer, even if Amos were inclined to give one.

He nods. Settled. Simple enough. They needn't talk of it and he can appreciate that. He would not, frankly, know where to begin in the first place to explain a damn thing.

Jaskier, huh. Leave it to the bard to give away shit from someone else's home. Not that he especially minds; it's only a sword off the rack and not even a real one. ]

When you do, tell me. Can't trust every smith out there. [ And a sword is a personal thing. Having one that suits is as important as knowing how to use it. He tips his head towards the weapon laid across the table. Now that it's put together, he can recognize a trigger mechanism on it. It appears long enough to hold a bolt, but he can't quite tell how it's meant to function. ] That's yours from home?

[ Amos calmly looks back at Geralt, takes the nod. There's something nice to having someone around who just instinctually gets it. He hasn't really had anyone like that before. Sure, he'd reached an understanding with his people back home relatively quick, but there was still that initial gap period. With Geralt it's just kinda been there from the beginning. Makes things a hell of a lot easier, at least. Cleaner.

Hadn't really thought about the quality of sword he'd get in the real world, so that does give him a moment of pause. Of course, the likelihood of finding something out in the real world as good as what Geralt's got — here, where he can craft things to perfection, create them exactly like he wants — isn't nearly as great. Would have to be taken into consideration. And it's not like it's something easily modified; not like what Amos is used to, at least.

Though he could probably learn how to make his own sword, if he was so inclined. Just that he doesn't have the same affinity — they're more a novelty to him, albeit a useful one — so it doesn't seem likely. ]

I'll do that. You're the expert.

[ A well-meaning acknowledgment. Amos figures he's coming along alright, but he's unlikely to ever reach Geralt's level. Only makes sense, considering where they come from, how much more natural it is for him. He's fine with that.

Grins, and hoists his shotgun up, finger nowhere near the trigger, not even taking the chance of accidentally shooting something — even though it's not loaded, even though nothing here is real. ] Yup. Martians know how to build good shit, I'll give them that. Modded it a little, but nowhere near as much as I'd do for what I had to work with back in Baltimore. Things are cleaner up here than they were down there. Fewer distractions. 's way easier. [ He pauses, thinking. ] Swords're even easier than that, though. I don't mean in wielding one, more in. You know. You kinda know what to expect from someone who's got one. I like that part about them.

[ Martians. Has he heard that word from somewhere before? Julie, perhaps. His gaze is curious as he leans forward. It looks, to him, bulky and unwieldy, but if it's something Amos favours, it must have its use.

He nods at the weapon. ] And what should one expect from that?

[ He can grasp what Amos means by modded at least; Geralt is not so different. The sword he's been training Amos in is standard, but his own is not—forged in its length and design specifically for his own handling. It's the reason it took some time for him to find a blacksmith in Cadens he was satisfied enough with to commission.

Either way, he understands: a weapon is an intimate thing. You know it inside out—feels out of sorts when it isn't with you. He's found himself in a world where it wasn't impossible to replicate his sword. Must be strange, to come from a sphere where what you know best simply doesn't exist in the same capacity. ]

[ Amos blinks, comes back to himself. Right. If Hunter's so good with a sword, then it makes sense that he wouldn't be familiar with a gun. (Why master swords at all if you have guns available to you?)

He gets up from the stool, coming over to the stairs where Geralt is, and indicates each point on the gun as he talks about it. ]

Well, first, you gotta load it. Kinda helps to have shells in. Pull the trigger, and it'll shoot out the projectile at whatever it is you're pointing at, faster than the speed of sound. That'll do some damage. Not to the ship, [ and he indicates the walls surrounding them, ] because the material's too strong. That's when you gotta worry about ricochet. But meat sacks like us? [ And he indicates his chest. ] It'll tear a hole right through you. You hit a vital organ, or let 'em bleed out, and it's lights out. Just gotta have good aim, which can be easier said than done sometimes. But I don't gotta be close enough to see the whites of someone's eyes to kill 'em, either.

[ He'll let Geralt take the shotgun for himself to inspect it, if he wants. Not like there's any danger here, where things aren't real. ]

[ A pause, before he reaches out to take the weapon. There's a weight to it, but a balance, too, as he feels it out. ]

We have crossbows. [ That's the closest thing he can relate to what Amos is describing. Though who the hell knows if Amos has ever seen a crossbow in his life. Perhaps his world has moved past them, too, as they've moved past the need for a blade. (He does not, exactly, grasp what the speed of sound genuinely means.) ] But they're not worth much up close.

[ It doesn't sound as though Amos has much concern about that, though. He hands the weapon back. There's obviously no way to demonstrate here in this tiny space nor outside in the blackness, but: ]

You'll need to show me some time.

[ There's a distinctly amused air to Amos at the mention of crossbows. ]

Gun's a bit more versatile than one of those. Deadlier, too. That'd be a hell of a way to kill someone in my day. Attract more attention that it'd be worth. I could take this, [ and he takes the gun back, handles it with care, ensuring there's no chance it could go off even accidentally. Amos has had plenty of respect for his sword since starting to train with Geralt. The respect for a weapon is intensified here, ] shorten the barrel. You lose some of the range, but it's easier to conceal.

[ He's speaking from experience, too — this may be a re-creation of his favoured weapon, which is pretty much impossible to hide, but there was a time keeping things hidden was prudent. ]

Next time I'm at your place, I can show you. Set some bottles up on a ledge or something. Do some target practice. Not a bad way to pass the time.

[ That is of interest. That it can be concealed. No bow can ever be concealed and still retain any sort of range at all. Not that Geralt is particularly concerned about that, but even he often carries his swords off his back: usually tucked on his horse or slung over his shoulder in a way that makes him appear less armed, just so he can get a room for the night without folk thinking he's arrived to start shit. ]

Do that. I'd like to see. [ Sure. He'll take the offer. He wants to see how it works. Won't hurt to learn something new. Besides, he's ready to find his footing again. Try to leave behind what keeps bothering him. Amos has been a steady routine for the past couple of months; seems like a good place to start returning to form.

He draws his legs back up the platform, standing with one hand on the railing to help. He only came here to look in on the man. Not much seems to have changed, which is all that matters. At least he can leave here with one less thing on his mind. ] Bring your sword, too.

[ You know. Now that he's got one of his own, courtesy of one bard. ]

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baltimores - 2022-01-05 09:14 (UTC) - Expand

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