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

[gynvael]

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! ))

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[gynvael]

[ He keeps at what he's doing without turning around, but he isn't telling the man to fuck off yet, so consider it an invitation that he can stay. For now. He flips the blade in his hands, running his thumb over the pendant. ]

They're only a symbol. I didn't choose them.

[ He doesn't clarify what he means by that. He had not, in truth, ever expected to see his medallion again. That Yennefer held retrieved it (from a certain Ronan, according to Jaskier) and held onto it says something he's not certain he wants to address just now. He needs more time before he decides how he feels about Yennefer altogether.

He finally looks over his shoulder, sliding some coins over to the blacksmith as he does. ] Do you want something or are you simply bored?

[priestified]

[ Maxwell is still standing there, smiling like the most benign of idiots. Like he hasn't been watching Geralt's every move, very interested to know what a unique gentleman like him is up to in the Free Cities.

Either it's something important enough to have dragged a half-dead man out of bed to retrieve it, or this man's a fool. Does he even feel human pain? ]

Shame you didn't pick 'em. I've known you for 30 seconds and I can already tell it suits you.

[gynvael]

[ He doesn't, actually, which is a part of it. His tolerance for pain is notably higher, though it isn't as though it doesn't fucking hurt. He's just restless, and he sleeps even more like shit than usual. His injuries are the least of what's bothering him.

The complete avoidance of his question goes noticed, but remains unremarked upon. In return, Geralt chooses not to answer until he's fully satisfied with the workmanship on his blade. He slips it inside the thick leather case that obscures most of the weapon, other than a glimpse of its pommel—though despite the strap that's clearly meant to sling over his shoulder, Geralt simply carries it at his side. ]

If you mean to follow me home, just know I don't feed strays.

[priestified]

Heh, you get followed a lot?

[ That would track with Geralt's... everything. Who wouldn't want to trail this lone wolf home and figure out his deal? (Sensible people, perhaps.) But this wouldn't be the first deeply-in-trouble superhuman type Maxwell has made acquaintance with, which is perhaps the other thing that keeps him lingering here like a well-meaning pest.

Besides that, he can appreciate a man who allows him to be evasive.

Maxwell has been running his hands over the blacksmith's various tools while Geralt inspects his blade for workmanship, apparently more interested in whatever miscellany the craftsmen have left out than in pursuing any of their services. Occasionally, he picks one up to hold it against the light, inspecting the details while he manipulates each one to see what it does and how it works. He couldn't have asked for a more perfect opportunity to be a little nosy -

An opportunity which abruptly comes to a close when Geralt concludes his business and a gruff voice barks at him to keep his paws to himself. Maxwell's hands return to his coat. ]

Guess we better scram before I wear out my welcome, huh?

[ Yes, he said 'we.' ]

[gynvael]

[ A lot by multiple people? Not exactly. A lot by one person? That's another matter. Perhaps at this point, he should be used to someone who is neither sensible nor chooses to leave him the hell alone.

There's only a raise of an eyebrow in the other man's direction before he turns away, letting the blacksmith deal with the handsy customer. He doesn't know what his new friend is doing, and he'd rather not be involved in whatever it might be, even if it's pilfering something small. He's got plenty to deal with as it is.

He turns a corner, taking a path up the winding cobblestone roads. He's limping, a little, and truthfully doesn't care enough to hide it. He's tired. He wants some sleep that he knows he will not get. ]

We is a bold choice, considering I haven't even got your name. [ This should be the cue for Geralt to offer his name in return. He does not. ]

[priestified]

[ Maxwell only slips the other man a brief grin, as they make eye contact and Geralt raises a brow, that suggests he knows that Geralt knows. But, Maxwell has completed enough laps around the Earth (metaphorically) to know the signs of a man who has enough business of his own that he won't go sticking his nose into others'.

Unlike - he is aware - yours truly.

The sound of his heavy boots crunching along the cobblestone follows Geralt's somewhat unsteady walk home. His eyes are on the other man's gait, surmising what his injuries might be based on how it's affected his walk. ]

Now there's a problem that's easy to fix.

[ Does it bother him that Geralt demands credentials before sharing his own? Nope. Unfortunately. ]

Been called a lot of things by a lot of people over the years, heh, but lately it's been Father Maxwell. Not sure the title counts for anything here, or if I'll ever see the church again, but that's what I'll answer to.

[gynvael]

[ Since Maxwell does not demand credentials in return, Geralt simply doesn't give it. His gaze does shift over, though, for the first time. He looks the man over before glancing away again. ]

You're a priest. [ Some curiosity is there, but no judgment. Priests and priestesses on the Continent are of a varying sort; piousness is not an expected quality. But it is interesting. ] I suppose one could argue the gods can follow you across worlds.

[ He places little thought in faith himself. He spent his time at the temples, he's studied under a priestess, and he has taken the lessons he learned that matter to heart—but at the end of the day, there are other forces that spur him onward than a distant deity. ]

[priestified]

[ Maxwell's brows quirk upwards as Geralt gives him that brief once-over (a show of interest which will only encourage this chatty tag-along), but he only shrugs as if to say 'you got me' when asked about his profession.

That next bit, though - that makes him laugh out loud. It isn't a humorless laugh; quite the contrary. It's full of good humor. Just... the morbid kind. ]

God would have to be one salty bastard to follow my ass here.

[gynvael]

[ God he says, as if that is the name of his faith altogether (or the lack of it, as it were), and it reminds him of how Julie says it, too. It's often struck him as strange. To leave your god unnamed. You'd think the least they'd be granted was a name. ]

One could also argue most of the gods are bastards.

[ Gods, Destiny. Whatever you want to call it. It's said casually, though: a simple remark not meant to hold any deeper meaning. ]

What did you do to piss yours off? [ Or should he ask, what didn't he do? ]

[priestified]

[ He laughs, with not an ounce less of that dark humor. ]

Question is, what haven't I done. [ Right on the money, Geralt. ]
Catholics got a lot of rules.