abraxaslogs | Hunters Anonymous (OPEN)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( He pulls a face, flat and utterly deadpan. )

Yeah, no, my- uh- aerial silks routine's a little rusty.

( Is he in great shape? Absolutely. Does he have the flexibility for even the mildest yoga? Not in a million years.

He plucks up another knife — no reason not to keep playing the game while they chat — and throws it with a clean, solid thunk into a square. )

So. Where'd you learn?

( Might as well just get the obvious question out first. )

The knives, or the silks?

[She asks, throwing another knife into the board.

The answer is very different, depending on which thing he means, actually. They come from two completely different parts of her life, that really feel more like two whole, separate lifetimes altogether.]

Yes.

( He says pointedly, a little wryly — as in, both. One's bound to be as interesting a story as the other, neither's exactly what you'd call an everyday skill.

She lands her shot, so he takes his obligatory drink. Not that he needed a reason.

He takes his time on his own, half his attention devoted to her expression. Waits until she starts her explanation to peel his eyes away and throw.

Bang on the money. Thank god, that'd be embarrassing otherwise. )

[She laughs softly, and takes the drink she owes him, now, too.]

I grew up in a circus. [She pauses there, just to see the reaction to that small statement, but she does continue.] My main act was the high-wire, much to my parents' vexation, but I liked the art of the silks, so even though it was never my focus, I learned anyway. Just for fun.

[And though it might be an easy leap to assume the knives also tied into living the life of a circus performer, she adds: ] The knives came later, out of necessity, not entertainment.

[Another knife appears from somewhere on her person and lands on the board again.]

( Skrrt. Rewind. Hold up. He stares at her like she just told him she grew up on the freakin' moon. )

A circus. ( He echoes incredulously. ) As in, a circus circus. Tents, elephants, rings of fire, circus? You grew up in a circus.

( Okay, amazing, first of all. Literally a fantasy he had at six years old for a hot minute. He takes a second to process it, metabolize it, and finally visibly shake it off to move onto part two of this whole convo. )

Where'd the necessity part come in?

[The incredulity has her eyebrows arching high near her hairline. She mistakes it as something negative.

At least for a second.

Then, she recognizes it for what it is: Delight. The sort of doubt that was borne from amazement rather than true disbelief.

She laughs, then, her head tilted back in her merriment in the moment.]

Yes, as in tents and elephants and gravity-defying feats. [There's a thread of amusement still woven in her voice as she explains: ] It's common for the Suli. It's one of the main ways we make our living.

[But the other end. The necessity. It sobers that previous amusement.]

It isn't safe in The Barrel. Gangs. Lechers. [Her lip curls slightly in digust at the thought.] I had to protect myself.

( Gangs. Lechers. His eyebrows raise a little, and it's with some dry humor that he points out the obvious: )

Sounds like a rough neighborhood.

( Deliberate understatement. His condolences.

He'll keep his commentary there, surface level, but his deeper instinct says there's more to it. It's just...

He's been to Detroit. He's been to the Bronx. He's been to literally anywhere in the state of Florida. Met hundreds of people from gang-filled lecher-populated neighborhoods.

Can't say he's met any non-hunters that learned how to throw knives like this as a result. That's a skillset that requires a lifetime of consistent practice. Hell, maybe it's a circus thing, but she'd probably have mentioned that if it were the case. The conversation bits and pieces imply that it's a whole separate source.

Maybe she can pick up on that light ghost of skepticism. If she can, she can probably also pick up on the fact that if he's right about it he's not gonna call her out on it, nor judge her for keeping her truth to herself. It's none of his business. They're not exactly on That Level.

A small truth can be a deep, messy can of worms. )

To say the least.

[It's easy to catch that he's being purposefully obtuse, so she doesn't take it as the lightened edge of misunderstanding the gravity of it all.

But she also will not divulge the darker truths of her time in Ketterdam to a man she just met. Especially under perfectly banal circumstances and. not some Singularity-fueled nonsense. More people than she'd have liked saw the slavers and the Heleen in her memories, shared unwittingly and unwarranted even to utter strangers.

So? She doesn't say anything else at all. She can be a woman of very few words when she decides to be.]

( Nary so much as a falter from him as the wall goes up. It's like it didn't even happen, no bump in the road. He just picks back up cracking a joke. )

Well, I wouldn't wanna meet you in a dark alley, that's for damn sure.

( The lechers must have been terrified.

As he says it, a knife leaves his hand and thunks perfectly into a square. It's followed by an immediate, triumphant: )

Ha. ( He points at her, and decrees an order: ) Drink.

( Them's the rules.

And that's how light he'll keep it for the rest of their game. Easy, friendly, fun, but surface level. )

[He doesn’t press. That’s the first thing she notices. He just skips the desire to string more information from her, or perhaps doesn’t have it at all in the first place, and sidesteps back into the ease and lightness meant for the evening.

A smirk crossed her features at what is clearly geared as a compliment.

The smile only turns into a laugh at his exclamation for her to drink.

Delighted to have a night like that, Inej soaks up all of that lighthearted fun he throws her way.]

Hunters Anonymous (OPEN)

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