Hunters Anonymous (OPEN)

[righteously]

WHO: Dean & Open - Mingle it up!
WHEN: late May
WHERE: the Horizon - Roadhouse Edition
WHAT: Starting a Hunters Anonymous Support Group
WARNINGS: drinking and murder, mostly.

( It starts out with just a couple of people. Dean, obviously, because it's his bar. Eventually Geralt, followed by one of Geralt's other hunting buddies — and then another, and then before you know it there's a handful of hunters all swapping stories about the crap they've seen out in the wilds.

It's about the time Dean makes to take out a notebook and honest to god start writing some of this crap down that two things hit him — First, this is actually really freakin' useful. Second, it feels right. The Roadhouse here may be fake, but this is what the real one would've been like. This is what it was meant for. This is the most real this place has been since he got here.

So he runs it by Geralt, and puts out an APB.

Harvelle's Roadhouse is officially open for business — and not just of the drinking variety.

Mind the jukebox. )

NOTES: This is an open mingle, so feel free to top-level below! The idea here is to open up the Roadhouse for hunter-types to use as a central meeting place or base of operations for anyone who desires to, so feel free to use it as a backdrop for any threads whenever. Obviously non-hunter people are welcome to see the message and wander in whenever they want, too! Info on the Roadhouse can be found here. Hit me up at paingravy for anything you need any time.

Comments

Dᴇᴀɴ → Oᴘᴇɴ

[righteously]

( He's not exactly a hard person to hunt down, considering he's manning the bar for the most part unless someone drags him away for a few minutes. He does it with an ease and efficiency that suggests it's definitely not his first time playing bartender, and this might just be his element. Wander up to ask for a drink and he'll make it happen — unless you ask for something with six pretentious adjectives, in which case he'll thunk down a shot of tequila and lime, congratulations it's close enough to whatever hipster crap you just tried to order.

The flat screen TV above the bar plays the music video for whatever song is currently on the jukebox, and he will not be changing it. Feel free to ask. Good luck.

He'll also weigh in to discussions on monster sightings near Cadens, or any talk about what your typical variety of monsters are like back where he's from. Vampires, werewolves, demons, he'll chime in about any of them.

He can also be baited into a game of pool, darts, or Knife Chess if you ask him the right way. )

[shadowthief]

Impressive. [She says from just behind him, watching the arc of the knife in the air as it lands on the board across from him. She takes slow, measured steps until she stops beside him. She glances at him and smirks.] But I think I could do better.

[She doesn't bother waiting before demonstrating. It's a quick and fluid motion from the knife at her hip, landing with a soft, steady thunk into the wood. Dead center of a black square.]

[righteously]

( Dean's seen her around, of course he has. Had a few drinks, if not with her, then at least in her vicinity. He's a good study of people, he has intuition bordering on uncanny at times. Easy to peg her as not just a civilian — but then again, who among the summoned is? Which is why he isn't exactly shocked when she totally Mr. & Mrs. Smiths that freakin' knife like it's nothing.

Surprised, yes, but not shocked. He tilts his head, lips pulling down, telegraphing that he's impressed by the shot. )

Huh.

( That's some Hawkeye shit. )

Something tells me we're gonna have to up the difficulty rating on Knife Chess. You got any suggestions?

[shadowthief]

[She laughs softly.]

Only if you think you could wire-walk or do an aerial silks routine. [There's a grin on her lips at that. Yes, those are actual skills she has in her arsenal.]

[itookashot]

[ Jesper isn't a hunter by choice, and by that, it means that he thought about being a hunter to make money, was told he'd die most certainly, and chose life instead. But he's still a mercenary with a perfect shot, even if he hasn't gotten to do any fun adventures lately. He did make his money either way, but the revolvers he wears now in Cadens isn't the pearl-handled ones beauties he sported back home. Alas. At least in the Horizon he can carry them along with his favorite green suits and fashionable attire.

At the moment he is staring openly at the flat-screen TV, which he's gotten a little more used to in the Horizons he's been to, but he's never seen one that goes with the music playing. How bizarre. It's almost like going to a bard show, like with Jaskier, only it's recorded and on one of these screens. He's enraptured by television, either way. ]

I don't think I understand why some of these videos match up with the songs and some of them have nothing to do with the songs. Aren't there any rules?

[righteously]

( The green suit's a questionable choice to Mr. Denim Is Formalwear, but more importantly, he clocks the holstered guns — way more interesting, way more approval on this end. It earns Jesper a drink without him even asking. The dude looks pretty young, but definitely drinking age in England levels, and Dean started sneaking his dad's whiskey before he was a preteen. No room to decide the official drinking age here.

Still, he splits the moral difference and slides the kid a pint of beer in a frosty glass rather than the hard stuff.

His lips quirk up at the question. )

Music videos are art, man. Art's free rein. Plus, the people that make 'em are usually on so many drugs at the time they probably forget what song they're even making the video for.

( Barely a beat passes before he nods his head at one of Jesper's holsters. )

Nice piece.

( He reaches back behind his waistband to pull out his own preferred pistol — pearl handled is obviously the peak of gun taste. )

[dirtytrenchcoat]

It's a good turnout.

[Castiel has been at the roadhouse most of the night, watching the place go from somewhat empty to bustling and full. He's seen those he knows, and some he didn't know and has regarded the patrons with about as much concern as he typically did. Hardly any.

His focus instead has been on Dean, and from time to time the flat-screen television overhead. Especially when a song he's familiar with starts to play.] How are you feeling?

[righteously]

( Dean's finally in a place where he doesn't feel the need to be a host. Where he can let go of his projected extroversion to fall back into his more genuine, subdued self, and just watch. Just sit back and enjoy the sight of friends or his people mingling in his space. Happy, content, safe, alive.

That's what makes him whole. That's what brings him energy. Not extroversion, not being social, but bringing a select few to him. Bringing them into his introversion and just surrounding himself with them.

Especially Cas.

There's a soft, quiet little piece of him that recognizes the absence of one person in particular, though. )

I'm good. ( He says, and means it — but there's an obvious caveat. One he admits after a beat, still smiling, but slightly sadder. ) Man, I wish Sam could see this.

geralt ( open).

[gynvael]

[ They were always going to inevitably wind up finding each other, he supposes. He can't say it's unwelcome. Geralt was never the only Witcher on the Continent, but it often felt so on the Path when it was him, his horse, and the unending road ahead.

Here, it's different. Here, he's found people—not other Witchers, but close. Close enough he feels a familiarity in what they speak of, the things they find amusing, the way they pass the time.

Certainly the way they drink.

(It isn't home. It isn't his brothers. He is not looking to replace them. But it is something that feels equally important, something he will not yet acknowledge out loud.)

You can find Geralt a bit off to the side, but not lurking in a corner like he tends to in other settings. He's obviously much more at ease. Might even catch a shadow of a smile on him. He rotates from bottle to bottle; now and then can be found alongside someone else with several blades buried into a checkered wood board. Maybe that someone else is actually you—you'll find his aim is nearly unerringly pinpoint, but it's more than likely yours is, too. Hence the additional set of rules.

If you want to know about the desert or the monsters lurking, this is one of the rare occasions he's willing to share. He practically lives out there half the time. If it's been crawling around, he's likely killed it at least once. ]

[ofthesword]

[It doesn't entirely surprise Nero that his attempts to find Dante -- or the guy who apparently smells like him -- are failures. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, believing some random weird dude on a mountain. A guy who, he emphasizes, indicated familial relations by how he smells.

Weird shit.

The lack of movement on whatever clue that was supposed to be leaves some sort of pit in his chest, where a ball of emotions rings around it like a coin funnel. Is it better he isn't here? Or is he, and he just doesn't bring his ass into the Horizon? Jetting over to Thorne might've been an option in the past, but something keeps him uneasy about trying. Not just leaving Himeka and Wanda in the dust, but the emphasis on how no one crosses over. Not between here and Thorne, not between here and the Free Cities. Not like getting shot outta the sky is a big threat, but he's also not getting his ass magically fried on a vague hint.

So Nero keeps trying the Horizon. Between work that he's distracted by, by these bouts of -- of things he doesn't even have names for, rising up in him. Some sick cocktail of anger and grief that he hasn't ever had a place to throw; he's just been swallowing it down for weeks.

And yeah, there's the mind messages, whatever the fuck those are. Whatever they are, Nero is not throwing one into the wind to try to grab Dante. It just doesn't sit with him. Wanda's bad enoughm, telling him plants have thoughts. What gets into your head when you throw your shit out like that based on the good will of a giant rock?

It's weird enough he gets one himself, but at least this one's got the keyword -- demons.

Nero might work alone, but it's not like the Order was the only demon slayers around.

So he finds the bar. Sort of run-down. Old. A shiny black car sitting outside. He walks in with a swagger, only because if he belongs anywhere, it's gotta be here.

And there he is. Mountain Hermit himself. Nero doesn't waste time walking over, donned in the outfit he'd left behind at home: worn sweater (sewed up by Kyrie several times), boots, blue coat, necklace swinging with his movements. The coat's hood is pulled up over his head.

He collapses into a seat across from Geralt, feet thumping down on the floor from the impact.] I'm startin' to think you led me on a wild goose chase, gramps.

[The question of what kind of hunter he is pops up in Nero's head, considering he's here. It's not exactly the most surprising news -- guy's stacked, got gold fucking eyes, and didn't blink when Nero tore part of the booth clean off. Course, it could just be Horizon bravado, but he doesn't get that feeling.

It's too still. All of him. Like an undisturbed pond.]

[gynvael]

[ When Dean brought up the idea of feeling out other hunters, Geralt had only shrugged. This is Dean's tavern. For Geralt—the concept has its appeal, in theory. In reality, he doesn't know how much Dean's stipulation that not every feculent idiot with a roughly hewn sword and an ego try to bullhead their way into getting themselves and everyone else killed will hold water.

Still. Easy enough to throw people like that out. So.

Geralt is being an undisturbed pond at a table near the bar. His feet are propped up on the seat beside him. Nero flops down on the other remaining seat. True to form, Geralt just sort of looks up and over. His gaze roams Nero head to toe. Then he goes back to drinking. ]

I didn't. [ He'd have not doubted himself even without having met Dante a second time. As it is, Geralt did. Specifically told Dante Nero's name. The connection is no longer speculation.

He's no interest in arguing about this, though. He just wants to unwind. So he pushes a bottle of something at Nero. Gin, probably. Half-human, but not bothered by walking into a place full of hunters. That says something. Geralt isn't human at all, obviously—but he'd hardly expect Alucard to show his face here, for one. ]

Where's your phone booth?

[itookashot]

[ Jesper takes very quick advantage of any offer he gets, so as soon as he got any kind of blessing to show up here, show up he did. It's exciting for someone who lacks technology, the jukebox and TV screen continuously catch his eye. They're shiny, so. He has a gambling den and series of games in his own Horizon, but he might have to add one of these pool tables in there, he likes them.

Since Geralt more or less invited him, of course he ended up slinking up to the side of Dad the witcher who isn't hiding in a corner for once. It's nice to see, actually, he seems at ease. Jesper doesn't look that different in the Horizon as he does in real life, still tall and ridiculously skinny, but his pearl-handed revolvers are very unique and his bright green clothes actually look like they were made for them here. Which they are, obviously.

He is mostly trying to figure out the checkered wood board, arms crossed as he tilts his head and repeats the rules in his head. Jesper did claim to be an expert shot, which he is of course, eerily perfect at anything involving aim. It is true he can cheat, but the interesting part is that 95% of the time his aim is genuinely that good.]

Okay but what does it mean by spin? Spin the board? We spin?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt did indeed invite Jesper. At the end of the day, it's also a place to drink and throw a few knives. (Possibly more than a few; last time he and Dean partook, the board filled up quickly.) And he can admit he's a bit curious about Jesper's skill. There's a difference between knowing how to aim and knowing how to slay a monster, but he always finds it worth knowing what someone can do.

Unlike Jesper, Geralt looks exactly as he does out in the world. Less dust in his hair, maybe.

He shifts in his seat when Jesper speaks up from by the wall. Good question. It's a game he introduced to Dean, but one born of decades wintering inside a decrepit fortress with a lot of men trained to kill and thrice as many blades.

Geralt picks up one throwing knife and lets it loose. It flies straight, without rotating through the air, and pierces a black square. ] No spin. [ The second knife to white makes a half-rotation before it hits its mark. ] Half spin.

[ Simple, until you're a few bottles in and start running out of room on the board. Because no: the knives also do not come out once they go in. Aiming between the growing chaos is part of it. The Horizon grants infinite knives. May as well take advantage. ]

Gideon - open

[frontlinetitties]

[Hunter isn't precisely the role that had featured so heavily in her girlhood fantasies, nor the one that had got her through those dark and solitary days where she'd been left raw and aching with loneliness. Yet it's the one she's fallen into since settling in Cadens. It's the one which is fast becoming a source of pride for her, and of purpose. Sure, it means she still spends a good deal of her time alone out roaming the wastes on some contract or another, but she's found a wild bright freedom in that. In doing shit she chooses, whilst continuing to serve her necromancer in the way she considers most useful. Someone's gotta be the bread winner, right?

She begins frequenting the Roadhouse after seeing the anonymous message. Kinda tentative at first despite all her bravado, still never quite certain - even after almost a year here - whether she'll receive the wide and distrustful berth she elicited everywhere else. Early on she can be found on the edges, more watchful than participatory. Eyeing the jukebox with evident interest, or quietly drinking something hard and cheap at a corner table.

She's swift to sink into it though - it's just not in her nature to stay quiet for long, or to cut herself off when she could be revelling in the company of others. She'll always be quick to take up a game of knife-chess once she's figured out how it's played, and she continues to think the jukebox is cool as fuck (Back in Black and Barracuda may be somewhat overplayed whilst she's around).

Gideon is always more than happy to engage in monster hunting talk, and whilst eager to regale others with her own tales, she's keener still to be regaled. Can’t beat a good battle story!]

[itookashot]

Gids!

[ Jesper yells from the other side of the room as he strolls in, deliberately looking for her. He promised after all! He doesn't look that different in the Horizon as he does in Cadens, still ridiculously tall and skinny, the only obvious differences are that his green clothes are shinier and clearly made for him rather than found in Cadens, and he has a pair of pearl-handed revolvers hanging off his belt. He recently bought new guns for himself, but they'll always be a pale imitation of these.

It's not as if it's hard to find the giant red-haired woman with biceps twice the size of his skinny limbs and he brightly smiles at her, crossing over to the jukebox where she's stationed at the moment. Jesper isn't entirely certain he understands how this works. He's only just started to put together that the screen shows videos of the music being played, which seems wild to him, but he is new to the music. And used to flutes and violins and typical bard fare. Not classic rock, which is a real shame. ]

So fun story, when I first came here, I planned on becoming a hunter, but when I was told I would probably die, I said alright I choose life. But I'm still in a hunter bar months later, so I feel like I won where it mattered.

[frontlinetitties]

[She looks up from selecting Back in Black for what is, quite possibly, the ninth time tonight, and on seeing Jesper she flashes a crooked-pin smile. Dressed much the same as usual herself, she turns to face him more fully. Eyes grazing the pearlescent gleam of the weapons at his hips with unconcealed interest. Guns just weren't a thing back on the Ninth, she can't say she's ever beheld one close up before.]

I mean, you do kiiiiinda look as though a monster could snap you in half without breaking a sweat. No offence. So maybe you made the right choice.

[Maybe. Because if one has to die, it may as well be whilst having a good time. Not to mention her necromancer closely resembles a sharpened stick but could take down just about anything the desert has to throw at her with an idle flick of the wrist. One should not judge based on appearances.]

And if you get to enjoy the bar without the death then all the better, right?

[northerndragon]

[Jon is inclined to keep to himself, but eventually, he does seek the place, and he does turn up. It is vaguely recognizable as some sort of tavern, though not like a tavern at home. In coming to that conclusion, he is then forced to admit to himself that he is not in the habit of frequenting taverns at home.

When he sees Gideon for the first time, he thinks that he sees a tall lad with red hair. Strong. Then he looks again, and regrets his mistake: this is no lad. A girl, like his sister’s lady knight. She sits at a corner table, alone, looking as uncertain as he feels. There’s a bottle in her hand. The sight of her makes him miss a great many things: Winterfell as it had been years ago, his sister now, all the lads he had known in his early days of the Night’s Watch.

He acquires some ale, then approaches.]

Are you drinking alone, my lady? I don’t wish to trouble you.

[frontlinetitties]

Huh?

[She eloquently declares at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, looking up to see some guy she's definitely never met before standing in close proximity. It's hard not to feel both startled and kinda tickled by someone referring to her as my lady (like, what the fuck?), and so uncertain as she may be, she winds up cracking a grin.

With conversation initiated by an outside force, it's easy enough to slip back into bravado territory.]

Nah. I mean, yeah, I guess I was drinking alone. But drinking's the kinda thing best done in company right? Pull up a chair.

Ciri; open to all, and feel free to threadjack.

[wiedzminka]

[ If it had just been the message sent to everyone, which she had promptly ignored (honestly, she hates the ones aimed at everyone; they're so distracting), Ciri would have either wandered in by accident or never have bothered. But Geralt had mentioned the place, and that's enough to have her curious.

She showed up one day to take a look, have a drink, and ended up... liking it. Between Julie's and Sam's places, she's grown more familiar with certain items (like the TV) that don't exist in her sphere, but the quality of this bar even with its similarities to Julie's give the sense of something worn and lived-in, none of the shiny counters and brightly-colored lights. In a way, it feels more natural. More like a tavern back home, despite the completely different music. It's not a bad idea from a practical perspective, either.

Ciri spends some time with the information board, curious if anyone's put down much info on beasts and monsters found outside Cadens, those she's less familiar with. For her part, she has little to add at the moment that Geralt or Dean hasn't already, but it's good to have the info up anyway. Instead, she starts another list off to the side for folks in Cadens who might be looking for upgrades to their weapons or armor, with notes on certain merchants and smiths who are reliable, and a couple of Summoned (Viktor and Jayce, specifically) that have that sort of expertise as well.

She can also, naturally, be found at the bar drinking whatever she's been offered or otherwise just some ale. It's easy to challenge her to a drinking contest, possibly at your own risk. She's also very into the games, especially darts and knife chess. Anyone up for a few rounds?

Or perhaps you find her in front of the pool table, one pool cue in each hand, squinting at it uncertainly. Are you supposed to joust with these things or what? ]

[ofthesword]

[After a look round the inside, it's no surprise Nero ends up at the wall that's slowly being swallowed up by notes, sketches, and maps with vague locations circled, or scribbled out. Cute. Even a kill count at the bottom.

He stiffens up when a woman comes up beside him to inspect it. Yeah, he belongs here, same as any devil hunter -- but fuck, for him, there hadn't been many to shop talk with. Nico, mostly, and the lion's share of that was whatever info she was interested in combing for new mats or ideas for the next invention. Dante was... well, Dante, and he was picky as hell on the hunt.

Nero picked up what was there. Plenty of stragglers in Fortuna, but with most of the Order's knights gone... it was mostly just him. A one-man, one-armed army.

Now he's back to two. (Still feels weird, by the way. He'd just gotten used to having one.)

He glances at her. Impossible to miss the scar on her face. Something big would've needed to do it, he thinks. Or it was from a really ill-advised knife trick.

But -- Fuck's sake. They just give anyone white hair around here, huh? Some stupid god out there was laughing at him.]

Free Cities get all the fun, huh? [He starts, a little stiffly, tapping on a hastily sketched howler.] Seriously, what is this thing? Looks like someone dropped a box of nails on a turtle.

[Suffice to say, Nero probably did not impress his girlfriend on their first date with his sense of humor.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Nero gets lucky; Ciri's in a good mood. She's got a bottle of beer in her hand, dressed casually in a loose blouse and high-waisted trousers more in a style popular in Cadens than her usual leathers in the Horizon. The medallion resting beneath the curve of her collar bone used to be engraved with her arcanum before, but now, it matches the one she's got out in the physical realm: a silver round, with a relief of a wolf's head encircled by vines and flowers. The Devil sign is embroidered on the collar of her shirt instead.

The delivery needs a little work, but the joke itself is pretty funny. She laughs. ]

Howler. Makes a horrible noise. And an even worse pet.

[ A joke of her own. Since they're being quippy. ]

[gynvael]

[ Sooner or later, when there's a quieter gap, Geralt finds his way to Ciri. It hasn't been easy, exactly, in their emptier home. But they're getting by. He knows, between Julie and Jaskier, that she at least enjoyed her time by the coast. And a cake.

It does stir a warmth inside him every time he sees the medallion resting against her.

He'd taken her on a little trip after he returned as promised. Showed her the desiccated bone hand with its metal plates that Sam's friend is looking into. But since he's leaving soon, once more, he wants to spend some time with her again. That's the only thing—with Jaskier, everyone else, he's used to parting from them. Ciri, he only has memories of searching and searching for her and then he almost never left her side. Ever since Rinwell vanished, then those bursts of memories, he feels—

But that's not why he's come over.

He joins her by the pool table. Dean has explained to him, very roughly and following multiple bottles of liquor, what this is, which means Geralt has an exceptionally limited grasp on how this game is meant to be played. He peers down at the green fabric laid along the wood surface. Picks up one of the smooth shiny balls. ]

I'm told you...sink the balls. [ He is very much saying this like he's quoting the phrase rather than imparting any true knowledge. ] Seems a good way to lose an eye.

[ Why are those rods so. Lengthy. ]

[wiedzminka]

...sink them?

[ Ciri frowns, looking again at the stick in her hand, then the colorful balls all set up in strict triangle formation, like they're getting ready to go into battle. ]

Into the little holes on the side? Using these poles?

I'm intrigued, but I'm not quite following. You know how to play?

diana prince | open

[monomachy]

[Diana isn't a hunter (yet), but she had seen the notice about this "Roadhouse" and decides is a good opportunity to meet more people from other worlds. And she will know at least one person there (looking at you, Geralt), which is really all the more reason to go. She remains dressed as she would in her own domain: a short white chiton, leather baldric with The Empress insignia stamped across it, and sturdy leather sandals. She sees no reason to wear armor to an informal gathering like this. But perhaps she should have, considering the crowd.

She will start at the bar, knowing from experience that it is one of the best places to meet people and start a conversation. Which she would do, if there weren't so many bottles of what she assumes is alcohol on the wall behind the bartop. She can't help but stare, never having seen so many options in her life. Amazons stick to the classics: wine, beer, and occasionally mead. She doesn't really know how to choose a distilled liquor to drink, or even what all of them are. She picks a bottle at random, reading the label aloud (Tequila) as if that will demystify it. She tries saying it with the inflection of a few different languages, eventually landing on the right one, though she doesn't know it. She'd be grateful to anyone who could help her make a decision that isn't "one of everything."

When she gets around to seeing the knife chess rules on the wall, her eyes light up. This being the Horizon, it's easy enough for her to summon a few of the knives favored by her people, short, unadorned weapons, the blade much wider at one end than the other. She'll take on anyone who cares to challenge her, and perhaps make a few unbidden challenges of her own. She'd be happy to play any of the other games available, but be prepared to teach her the rules.

If asked about monsters she knows, Diana will launch into detailed stories from Greek myth, including those about harpies, chimera, the Minotaur, the Colchian Dragon, and even uncle Hades' Cerberus. Has she ever actually faced any of these creatures? Nope. But her accounts are still incredibly detailed, and she's more than willing to recount them.

When not locked in conversation with anyone, she'll park herself at the bar, happy to watch others chat and compete while she nurses a glass of whatever the current bartender gave her.]

Inej Ghafa | OTA

[shadowthief]

[Jesper had informed Inej of this little gathering, but the part that interested her the most? The idea of knife chess is what ultimately pulls her in.

As soon as she steps inside The Roadhouse, she likes it. Feels like the Crow Club, in a way. It's the kind of place built on knuckles and teeth and blood and that feels right in her bones, true to the knives slotted in place at her sides. Not nearly as many as she used to have, but never unarmed no matter where she goes.

The music that fills the place is nothing she recognizes, but it fits the feel of the place all the same, somehow.

Inej may be found at the bar, perched on a stool and observing. Listening. She seems innocent enough sitting there nursing a glass of whisky she seems to have more for the social aspect of it than bothering getting drunk. One might also find her squinting at the rules of knife chess, she'll even play a round or two with anyone who seems interested. Her aim is impeccable, be warned.

But, if someone were to ask her about monsters, she'd only say: ]

The only monsters I know are men with more money and power than they have sense or morals.