[ 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! ))

Comments

[gynvael]

[ 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. ]

[baltimores]

[ 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. ]

[gynvael]

[ 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.

[baltimores]

[ 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.

[gynvael]

[ 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. ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos nods. Checks the chamber, ensures it's empty. He's got an infinite source of ammo here, anyway, but he'll be stocked up for when he next goes over to Hunter's, full-sized shotgun and all.

(If people ever wanted to accuse Amos of starting shit, that's their business. If they want to push him into causing shit, sure, he'll do that too. Not really his problem if anyone wants to make him theirs. Sure as hell helps when you've got the dual threats of being stronger than just about everyone you come across and lacking a conscience to really give a fuck about the damage you might do too, though.)

He looks up when Geralt stands back up, cracks a grin at the mention of the sword he now has, courtesy of a mutual friend. ​]

Sure thing. Got two hands, and all that. [ Though they're both sizeable weapons, considering, but he'll figure it out. Could cheat here, but where's the fun in that? ] I'll see you, same ol' time and place.

[ Right back to normal, like nothing ever happened. ]