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

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?

[ofthesword]

[Nero returns the gaze. Watches him with a sharp angle to his brows, rolling I didn't through his mind. Just that. Not a lick of reassurance. But it's also not the first time Nero's not been able to fucking find Dante, because he goes where he wants and does what he wants, and hell, he doesn't even know Nero's here, does he?

(And a part of him doesn't want him here. Someone's got to be there. Home. Even if it's the fucking underworld of home.)

His hand clenches on the table, then lets go. Dante bein' here or not bein' here doesn't change shit. Nero's still here. And he's not where he's supposed to be.

Nero's gaze moves to the bottle. He picks it up, sniffs it, then wrinkles his nose. Yeah, no thanks.] Anyone ever tell you you're hilarious? Seriously. Laughs a mile a minute. [He pushes the bottle back. He's figured it out, thanks. And no one needs to talk about that whole ordeal. Anyway, it's gone for now. Nero's not a clue if or when it's coming back. But if it does, like Nico, he suspects it's gonna smash into him outta nowhere.] Got a new stalker now.

[He jerks his thumb towards the front window of the joint. Two glowing red eyes in a black feline face gaze back at them.] Don't suppose you're a big cat hunter, huh?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt takes the bottle back without hesitation. If Nero isn't here to drink, that's not his concern. He says nothing more about Dante, either. Like he told Nero: it isn't his business. Dante knows Nero is here. If they haven't found each other, it may be because one of them doesn't want to be found. ]

Every day. [ Deadpan. He lifts the bottle to his lips. A pause. His eyes shift to the windows. A large black wildcat lurks outside. Glowing red eyes. He raises an eyebrow. ]

Friendly. [ There's maybe a visible understanding, if you squint, when Geralt looks back at Nero. ] Some things spawn in here against your best intentions. You learn to live with it.

[ Or you bury it down a spiralling set of stairs, deep underground, then lock the doors. Either way—Nero is hardly the only one here who's manifested unwanted creatures and places. ]

[ofthesword]

[Nero's whole body shifts, adjusting in his chair as he places a foot on the opposite knee. Like he's getting comfortable, not like the words pinged through him in all the wrong ways.

He's not a see-through guy. Least he doesn't think of himself that way. But lately, everything's really getting underneath the skin.

Or maybe Geralt's got eyes. Could be that simple.

No one knows anything about V here. The guy might as well not have existed. Unless Dante is -- but at this point, Nero's not sure he'd ever want to ask. V was there, then he wasn't. Urizen was there, then it wasn't. It was like the shittiest combo of peanut butter and jelly.]

You catch on quick. [Is all the confirmation he suspects Geralt needs. But he's not lingering on it. Not lingering why that thin, of all things, is what his head creates. That thing, and a brown book labeled only as "V," tucked away where no one's finding it.] Anyway, seriously. What do you hunt? I got the feeling everyone's bags aren't the ones I go after.

[Way more interesting topics than why a giant black panther is following him around. Which there is absolutely no reason for.]

[gynvael]

[ It's truly not that difficult to put together when the man showed up complaining of a phone booth that won't behave nor was created by him on purpose, and now a cat that's stalking him. Half the people in the Horizon have some bullshit they can't get rid of. Those things just tend to be hidden inside the walls of their domain.

He is most certainly not referring to his.

Geralt doesn't linger on it, either. He hasn't any need to know what the wildcat means or why it's spawned in place of the phone booth. At least it isn't the shadowy form of his own fucking child. ]

Monsters. [ The reply is flat. Geralt raises an eyebrow. What else does Nero expect the answer to be? ] Deer, on occasion, if I'm hungry.

[ofthesword]

[Nero's gaze back at him is level.] Yeah, I could've guessed that.

[Everyone around here's such a sorry sack about it. Come on, this place at least needs a fighting ring or something. Not with each other, obviously. Like -- you know, a couple of Empusas at least. An Empusa Queen. Put up a fence around her.

Maybe he's really just losing his mind out in the sticks.

Nero wrinkles his nose as if the idea of eating what he hunts has never occurred to him. Which it hasn't. Have you seen demons? Probably ninety percent of them have some kind of ooze.] I mean what kind. You can create anything here, right? Show me yours, I'll show you mine. Swap notes or something. Seriously, I'm bored as hell out there. You kid about deer, but the only thing they got out in Solvunn is giant boars. Not much of a hunt, offing some random pig just minding his business.

[gynvael]

[ What kind? All kinds. Is there a particular kind others only hunt? Monsters are monsters. (Usually.) If it's got teeth and claws and a habit of chewing on villagers, he knows how to kill it. 

He finishes taking a long drink before he gestures his mug at the board on the opposite wall. Less full of confusing scribbles than the one that Sam keeps. Horizon magic helps. Some sketches of common beasts in the desert are pinned up, with weak spots marked and parts often in demand for a variety of apothecaries. Useful items, originally meant for Dean. ]

Not even a deadly forest ram? [ He hadn't known exactly what he was in for when he stepped through that portal into the Free Cities. His ability to continue hunting has been...one stroke of fortune, he supposes. 

As for a beast from home. Hm. He sets his drink aside. Cups his hands. When he opens them up again, they reveal a miniature myriapod skittering along. It rears up with its tiny legs, eerily human-like hands waving in the air, and gives the smallest roar—bouncing off an invisible wall that keeps it from running right off the table. Almost rather charming, at this size. Almost. ]

Your turn. [ If Nero can. Has he learned to create yet? ]

[ofthesword]

[He snorts. Oh, what do you know. The guy got a laugh out of him.] Deadly to your average cattle farmer, sure.

[Still not much of a fight to him. One swing of a sword (shit, he really needs to get a sword, huh?) and the thing's dead. Then what's he got? A giant dead goat. It's not really impressing anyone, and -- wait, do people around here even eat goats? Fuck. He should ask.

He does look to the board, and it's cool and all -- the first of its kind he's really seen besides the notes Nico loves writing, actually -- but it's not like, the real thing. It doesn't have weight. A picture's a picture.

Nero turns back to Geralt to the guy cupping his hands, and for a second he's about to make a joke -- you gonna bum off me already? Don't think you need to pay for drinks here -- until what looks like a fucked up centipede appears over his hands.]

Whoa! Hey, check that little guy out. [He laughs. There's something sort of hilarious about it. Of course Geralt's not fighting something this fucking size, but -- now he's kind of imagining it. Aw, look. It's even got fucked up human-looking arms. Nico would love it.]

I got a friend who'd be gnawing at the bit to pawn off one of those mandibles. Kinda reminds me of home.

[Can he create? He's. Been practicing. Sort of. Once V's book dropped out of nowhere and landed on the phone booth, Nero did want to figure out what was making this shit happen. Like. Yeah, he missed home, but that couldn't be it. (Yeah, he was haunted by that book. Maybe Shadow, too.) If what he missed just appeared, then where was Kyrie?

(Nothing could be her except the real deal.)

But he'd made other things. The Red Queen. An honest-to-god replica of the girl, beautiful and sharp and roaring like a tiger.

Nero lays out a hand and gives his offering: out of a puff of smoke stalks a nasty-looking empusa queen, raising a distinctly skull-like face to give a small, piercing screech. The boils of blood in its bloated abdomen light up like Christmas lights as it makes a lunge for Geralt's little beastie -- but hits a similar invisible wall, which it scratches at desperately.] Not bad, huh? [For the creating, he means.] Must be a family resemblance. [The joke comes out a little edged.] It's always bugs. Why's so many things gotta look like bugs?

[It's not that he's creeped out by them -- he isn't -- but where's the variety? The inspiration? At least half the damn underworld's gotta be teeming with bugs at this point. And lizards.]

[gynvael]

[ Look at that. He did amuse the little brat. (Nero is not, technically speaking, little, in either age nor stature, but in Geralt's mind, the man simply registers as such. Geralt will not be convinced otherwise.)

He can admit, he's rarely seen anyone outside of his own kind so delighted to look upon a monster before. It makes him raise an eyebrow. Reminds him of winter nights around the table, arguing about whose wyvern nest was bigger. He prods the small creature until it skitters back towards him and clamps down on his finger as hard as it can. Which is just about hard enough to leave a small imprint from its mandibles.

It's joined by Nero's tiny creature not longer after. Glowing abdomen, carapace thorax. He studies it, tilting his head to look under it as though he's already trying to determine its weak points. Its oddly human face matches the strange human-like hands on the myriapod. The resemblance is, indeed, a bit striking. ]

You learned. [ It is said with a sense that Geralt always assumed he would, in time. Creation magic, that is. The Horizon finds its to speak to everyone sooner or later, it seems. What that means, he doesn't know, but. They're all here, all making use of it. Feels impossible to separate the Summoned from this place now.

He looks back up. The myriapod charges at the other creature and slams into it with a tiny hiss. Nero is not, he knows, asking genuinely, but Geralt answers, anyway. ] They evolve quicker. Hundreds of eggs. Some manage to interbreed. Though this one was...new. At the time. Hadn't seen one quite like it before.

[ofthesword]

I messed around a bit, sure. Could even say you inspired me.

[He jokes, except the wheels on the phone booth are mostly gone. However (when the thing shows up again), it does seem to smoothly roll around without any issues. It's basically rolling on Heelys now.

Besides, he's got a witch for a friend. Like he needs to give Wanda another reason to insult him. What'd she call him if he didn't get better? Creatively bankrupt? Constipated imagination? Excuse him for being new to astral planes, thanks.]

Whoa. [His brows raise, sort of impressed, as the monsters get into it. The queen's not about to be bullied, and she starts sawing off some of those human arms with the scythes she's got for her own arms. She hisses back, the crystallized boils on her body beginning to thump with red light.] Seems like you would've before. You got the smell of grizzled, experienced old man all over you. [No, he doesn't have anything close to Geralt's nose, but. Look, he knows the business.]

Mutation, maybe? Something new cooked up? [He pokes at the empusa's engorged abdomen as she gobbles up one of those dismembered arms.] These babies suck up blood from anything around them and go berserker mode after. Probably lay eggs all over the place. I haven't sat back and watched. Pretty easy to get them to slice up their own buddies, though. Always fun when the trash takes itself out.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt gives Nero a look. It is not a wrong assessment. ]

Another realm. [ He doesn't explain it further. Back home, this would be a ridiculous statement to make. An impossible thought. Here, between all the Summoned, it's, mm. Not common, but apparently not unusual, either, for things to simply come through from another world. ] Subspecies of myriapods. Or the originating species.

[ Which came first? Hard to say.

He watches the other insect tear the arms off and gorge on them. It never occurred to him until now, that he could simply make some monsters and observe them. Could be a worthwhile method of training or examining a new creature.

He takes a drink, ignoring the mini splatters of blood. Instead, his eyes are on Nero as he sits back. ] How did you fall into the work?

[ There's always a story. Colour him curious. There are two kinds of hunters to him: ones who picked it up because they're good at killing and there isn't much else to use that skillset on in this world, or because like him, it is what they know—what they perhaps only know. A way of being that they live and breathe. Nero strikes him as the latter. ]

[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. ]

[itookashot]

[ Jesper's skills are ones he boasts about often, but he doesn't exactly have an opportunity to show off the physical ones as much here. He's been using his magic so frequently these days, for work and for gifts, but he loves the option of getting to let loose on this again. Some day Geralt will have to come to Jesper's Horizon where he has an entire shooting range in the fancy part with a mountain of different weapons, and the Crow Club with its many card games and darts and knives.

He watches Geralt throw and yes, now it makes more sense! He is much more of an observer than anything else, so most instructions aren't as helpful as witnessing. He grins and flips a knife up, doing the opposite of Geralt. A half-spin to the white, and no-spin to the black, and both of them hit barely an inch away from Geralt's own. In these cases, he doesn't need his powers at all. He has a very easy flick of the wrist. ]

I grew up with the best shot and hunter in our area, my mother.

[ It used to be the very thought of talking about his mother was too painful, Jesper never did, not even to the people he loved most. But if there was anything good about the memory experience, it was that being forced to address the subject of his mother over and over again meant that dam broke. ]

I was hunting and skinning by age five, shooting by age six.

[ His hand unconsciously moves to touch his revolvers, he does it a lot as a reminder it's his real ones here, and he inherited them from her. After she died Jesper didn't stop; he only did it more, now with him having to do much of it since his father was not really the type. Which he didn't mind. Jesper only got better at it with time to the point he is now, as good as she was once. ]

Not monsters, obviously, so still not one of you.

[gynvael]

[ He leans back on one hand, bottle in the other as he watches Jesper take his turn. The boy is good, he'll give him that. He takes a drink, as required, though he isn't especially playing for competition. A way to kill the time, more than anything. What the fuck else is there to do when a handful of hunters congregate?

Hunters and hunters-adjacent, so to speak.

A thoughtful noise. Geralt takes another sip. He does not miss Jesper's hands shifting to his weapons. He makes no comment on it. ] No one should desire to be one of us.

[ The remark is wry, casual. There are a small handful who hunt because it's the simplest way to utilize their skills here, in this world. Not much different than hunting a bear or a wolf. They know how to kill fine, but they don't know the life and all it truly entails. Then there are people like him and Dean. Raised so deep in it, they can't imagine being anything else whether they asked for it or not. When he says us, that's who he means.

He throws the next blade. ] What was your first?

[ First kill, first hunt. Everyone recalls their first. ]

[itookashot]

At least it's sometimes exciting. I haven't felt adrenaline in months, and it's my favorite feeling.

[ Seriously, Jesper would take it over almost anything else. Probably the only exception is lust, but it's close. It's what led him to the life he led back home, and while he was preparing for a less interesting life with Wylan, he knew he could always go running back to Kaz for occasional jobs when he was feeling restless. Here there is no real end to that restless feeling. At least it isn't for the same reason as before, his addictions soothed enough to be manageable. But he's a man of action.

He is making enough coin now it's not about that. Although he can always, always find more reasons for coin. Greed is a favorite sin, but it's from this feeling that he'll never have enough to be safe. Never enough to end up on the street again, humiliated and lost. But generally. He's making plenty of money here.

Jesper throws the next blade, asssuming they're taking turns. ]

Rabbit. That's what Mum started me on. Felt pretty bad, hit it in the wrong place that first time, so it suffered.

[ The rabbit didn't have to suffer long, they were pretty quick, but young Jesper took it to heart. Jesper may be a killer, and he is one despite his light demeanor, but he does not enjoy suffering of anyone. Not even his enemies, he's not Kaz Brekker, who would make then die slowly. He'd shoot them in the head and be done with it, quick and easy. ]

After that, I always went for the head.

[ He glances over at Geralt. ]

And you?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt only shakes his head at that. The thing he desires the most when he's working is the lack of excitement. A couple of days watching a nest under the blazing sun, split the giant bird or lizard in two when it shows. Take the eggs for the evening's dinner, if there are any. Remove any parts he thinks will fetch good coin at the shops. It's routine and that's how he prefers it.

He's too old for adrenaline. ]

No one's first kill is clean. [ He's no longer thinking of rabbits and deer precisely. His expression is contemplative for a moment before he seems to put aside what was on his mind.

He flips the knife in his hand while he waits for Jesper to finish his turn. ] A boar. Decent game in winter. Pain to carry the fucking thing up a mountain slope, though. It was nearly bigger than I was.

[ Then he still had to skin and butcher it when he was home. Fairly certain his fingers nearly froze off. Maybe they would've if he'd been human. ]

[itookashot]

[ Jesper gets that same contemplative expression, briefly, a little more obvious on his face as he's expressive. He's thinking about his first human kill, a few years ago. It was clean, in terms of how fast and easy it had been, but not in terms of how he necessarily felt about it. And then the numbers went up so he learned to live with it. Now he'd even call it desensitized. He would kill someone tomorrow if he had to. ]

My father is the opposite of her, he hates violence of any kind. I'd do all the hunting, skinning, cooking. Not everyone has the stomach for it.

[ He learned that much, at age seven, when she died. Colm Fahey is a good man in a lot of ways, and a complicated man in many others. He still doesn't have the stomach for any of it, and while he understands his son better now, he still will never really know the extent of what he's capable of. And that's for the best.

Jesper flips the knife easily and raises an eyebrow at him curiously.]

Up a mountain? You lived on a mountain? A snowy one at that? Saints I hate snow.

[gynvael]

[ Hm. There are a lot of questions he's not yet asked. In some ways, he isn't certain he needs to know. But he wonders suddenly if Jesper's parents are aware of what he does. The truth is, the thought of Jesper's family never quite crossed his mind until Jesper brought it up. Some part of him, he realizes now, had assumed Jesper was orphaned like so many who take a certain path in life are. ]

Not everyone. [ Perhaps that's for the best.

He throws his blade, where it pierces the wood board, dotted with marks from use. His smile is wry. ]

The entire Continent is northern. No place it doesn't snow. [ This? The desert, the heat, in Cadens? That's completely foreign to him. It's taken him awhile to adapt. He no longer hates it, now that he knows how to work with the land and what he has, but he misses snow. Cold. Hot springs and easily finding rushing streams and lakes. Trees that reach the skies. ] In the winters, the lakes would freeze over. Made for good sliding.

[itookashot]

[ Jesper's father only recently found out what he does, and to say he was displeased is an understatement. It's a point of serious contention with them right now. They're working through it, but he really thought Jesper was at the university, becoming some great thinker who would do great things, when he was running the streets shooting his way out of trouble. He's a soft-hearted man, and that is not something Jesper wanted to change. Disillusionment can be very difficult. ]

That's probably for the best. The whole world can't be fighters or it's all we'd do.

[ It's what they already usually do! He does the half-spin one, it's probably his favorite since it's showy and Jesper is very dramatic like that. He'd probably love a three spin just to show off. ]

No thank you. Not long before I came here, my crew and I had to break into an ice prison. I thought I'd never be warm again.

[ Fjerda's so cold, no wonder they want to take over the rest of the world, maybe to feel warm for five actual minutes. He used to joke that he could see what Matthias would be so serious, he had ice in his veins from birth. At one point they also were naked and he had deep concerns about his important body parts. ]

We're a port city, it gets cold with the sea wind, but rarely that cold. Though there's very little green in a port. A middle ground wouldn't be so bad, that's what I grew up in.

[ But he's always hated being cold. Yuck. ]

So did you grow up a hunter?

[gynvael]

[ Ice prison, is it. Geralt lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn't ask. He's gathered Jesper appears to have spent most of his life getting into trouble, which surprises him exactly zero amounts.

Port city reminds him of Gors Velen. It's true it's warmer there, where they're closer to the sea. Winters not quite so harsh. One day, Jesper might stumble onto his mountains in the Horizon and see exactly what he means.

Geralt pauses the game to take a drink, setting the blade beside him point-down into a hunk of wood. ]

Mm-hmm. Witchers start as boys. Or we did. There aren't any more being made.

[ He's one of the last. Mostly, he thinks that's for the best, too. The price for more of them is too high. And the world does not need them. It doesn't. That's been true for a long time. ]

[itookashot]

[ Getting into trouble is one of his best skills! Or it was, until he came here and he's been squeaky clean since. So embarrassing. Jesper's been all level-headed and normal, what a disaster. Being here only makes him wish he could get out there more, be in the action, the way the hunters are. This feels closer to what he's used to than Cadens has been, with the every day hundrum. ]

Being made? So you weren't born this way?

[ Jesper knows that Geralt has supernatural gifts himself, not that he's come out and talked about it much. Maybe because he respects his privacy, or maybe it just hasn't been a good segway conversation yet. He does sound surprised though, he thought he was born different, like the Grisha. He wonders if people would make more Grisha if they could. Certainly the Ravkans would, to get more power to their army, he wonders how long before the Fjerdans did too to have their own supernatural force. ]

If you could change it, would yoU?

[gynvael]

Mages created an alchemical process to mutate us. It's been lost since.

[ It's less a matter of secrecy, and more a matter of complication. The history of the Witchers is a long one, as is the history of the Continent itself. Mostly, Geralt hasn't much cause to get into it. Most people know at a glance he isn't human, or else he tells them fairly quickly. It is not something he wishes to be mistaken for. Beyond that, the details are unimportant.

He finally throws the dagger. Jesper is not the first to land on that question. Geralt gives a dismissive glance over his shoulder before he takes another drink. ]

It can't be changed. What I would or wouldn't want makes no difference.