ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇs ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
righteously) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2022-05-23 07:34 pm
righteously) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-05-23 07:34 pm
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.
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
paingravy for anything you need any time.
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
no subject
You hit the colored balls with this white ball, which you hit... with this rod?
[ listen. knife throwing games at least make sense. ]
And you just try to get all the balls in the holes?
Are we both trying to hit the white ball at the same time? How many times are you allowed to prod the white ball, just once?
[ this is nonsense!! ]
Geralt. That can't be right.
no subject
So when his mental CB radio switches over to the Witcher channel and he hears an incredulous sink them, he double-takes and tunes in properly.
Neither of them notice his face, probably, though he is absolutely not hiding the fact that he's staring at them. Just. Absolutely grossed out by this defiling of the most sacred tabletop game known to mankind. That expression shifts between variants of appalled and disappointed and incredulous and affronted, and-
Nope. No. Can't do it. He cannot stand here and just let all this happen.
So there he is out of fucking nowhere, interjecting himself like he's been involved all along. )
First of all- ( He points at Ciri. ) Don't knock it 'til you try it, Judge Judy.
( Then a swivel to Geralt, a beat, and a gravely serious: )
I am so disappointed in you. I raised you better than this.
no subject
As an example.
Somehow, he is unsurprised Dean's been summoned. Geralt leans on the rod and lifts an eyebrow. ] The only thing you raised that day was the ale.
[ Well. Both of them.
He tosses over the stick. Dean's obviously here to set the rules straight for them; may as well. Not as though any of them have anything better to do—this is a rare case where Geralt is solely here for the company and nothing else. ]
no subject
Okay.
Explain.
no subject
He catches the pool stick like he was friggin' expecting it — with business to take care of over here. )
Alright, kiddos, take notes because there will be a quiz.
( The disturbed balls get plunked back into the slightly distorted triangle. )
This... is the sacred game we know as Pool. It can make or break friendships almost as much as it can make or break your coin purse.
( He plunks the cue ball down on the table. Lines up his stick, and breaks. Balls scatter, two solid colored balls immediately dropping into pockets. He migrates around the table, following the cue ball. )
Rules are simple. Somebody breaks. First ball that lands in a pocket, solid or stripes, that's their half. Other team gets the opposite. You hit the cue ball with the stick. Use it to knock yours in. You miss, your turn's over. You knock the wrong kind in on accident, your turn's over. You knock the cue ball into a pocket, your turn's over.
( He lines up another shot — by showing off. Bouncing the cue ball off one, two, three walls, to knock into a stripe, that in turn knocks into a solid that rolls neatly into a hole.
He straightens up again. )
Eight ball's the kicker. You only go for that one after all your other balls are off the table. Knock it in before that, you lose. Knock the cue ball in while you're trying to get it, you lose.
( He offers the stick over to Ciri. Let her give it a whack, instead of him just absolutely dominating this shit without either of them getting a chance. )
Questions?
no subject
He's just unsure of the amount of passion Dean seems to have for it. Are they not in essence merely knocking balls together at angles? It does actually appear to be a form of trick shots. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised this is the game of choice for hunters like Dean.
He glances over at Ciri when Dean hands over the stick. A tilt of his head that suggests they may as well go along. Besides, he's well aware of Ciri's competitive nature. ]
What exactly is it a pool of?
[ Is he asking out of genuine curiosity? Because he's giving Dean shit? It's hard to say. His expression definitely never changes. ]
no subject
She watches the way Dean aims, leaned low over the table, the way he holds the stick. ]
Do the numbers mean anything? Besides eight.
[ She walks around to a good angle for the white ball. They're not playing yet. She just aims for whatever is nearby to get a feel for it, trying to copy Dean's form. ]
no subject
It's a pool of shut the hell up.
( Congrats, they're on that level, you stoic son of a bitch. Not to mention four years of a best friend with the face of a permanently constipated if slightly confused rock.
It's casual, said practically immediately, definitely dismissively, a lower priority thought than Ciri's actual, legitimate, non-trolling question. )
Not really. At least, not in your standard fare 8-ball pool. There are some different way less awesome games that practically nobody gives a crap about that use the numbers.
( He gives her a pointed head nod Geralt's direction. That mindless aim did a good job of getting the cue ball to line up and solidly smack into a striped ball, but not quite enough attention for a full-on pocket. Might as well give the other noob a shot before he takes the stick back. )
no subject
But the undeniably paternal instinct in him wants to see Ciri give Dean a run for his coin.
He takes the stick from Ciri and lines himself up in much the same manner. His aim is impeccable, but beyond that, he's never had much reason to give any deep consideration to the angle of ricocheting projectiles. Not really a factor that helps him kill monsters. Similar to Ciri, it's a casual shot—one that errs on the side of caution, so he doesn't, mm. Send the balls flying wholly off the table. Or lamp their designated instructor in the head. ]
no subject
So you only play with two people, or do we just pass the stick around? There are just the two types of balls though.
[ She wanders over to the table nearby with their drinks to grab her bottle, considering the table. ]
This game needs so much... very specific equipment.
no subject
( He shrugs, bringing his own beer to his lips to take a drink as he watches Geralt line up his shot. The balls clack together promisingly — maybe neither of those two white-haired nerds are actually sinking them yet, but they're doing a hell of a lot better than most beginners would on their very first baby step attempts.
He holds his hand out for the stick again. )
For our purposes, we're calling you two a team. Witcher v. Winchester. But yeah, generally speaking you wanna keep the numbers even for trading off.
( He banks three or so more simple shots. Keeps it easy, so they can see how he's doing it — the cue ball bouncing off a wall, or the ball it hits knocking into another one to send it rolling into a pocket. Lead by example a little. )
It ain't exactly a game you can pick up and play in the middle of the woods, no, but where I'm from you're hard-pressed to find a bar that doesn't have a couple pool tables around. It's just... you know. A thing. If you get good enough at pretending you suck, you can make some damn good money hustling at bars. Paid for half my meals that way growin' up, easy.
( After he got his fake ID, anyway.
He passes the stick. )
no subject
The pole makes its way around. Geralt takes his next shot. He's a quick mimic, after years of sword training, and it means that while he's not quite at the level of making the game his own, he can copy what Dean's demonstrating well. ]
You were taught to hunt monsters, [ the balls clatter, ] but not to hunt your own food?
[ The curiosity is genuine. No one's explained to him this aspect of the modern world. In Geralt's mind, if you can track and shoot a vampire, you can track and shoot a deer. Hunting is surviving. You can't have one without the other. Not where he's from. ]
no subject
( Comes the immediate protest, because- hold on a second, there, sport. )
I can skin a deer, okay, I learned to hunt food. It's just different. Look- Where I'm from...
( How the hell does he even explain this?
He fumbles, and then digs around abruptly in his pocket to pull out his cellphone. That's right. A got damn cell phone.
He rounds the table Geralt's direction, bringing up Google Maps as he goes. How the hell does that work in the Horizon? Don't ask him, he just works here, man. On comes a street-view image of a house in Lawrence, Kansas. )
Check it out. This is your standard, basic house back on my planet, right?
( He zooms out. )
Street.
( Out. )
Neighborhood.
( Out. )
County.
( Out. )
City. You see a ton of forest in this forty-mile radius? Not exactly the kind of place where a kid can just pop out into the woods and hunt a squirrel. Just 'cause you can doesn't always mean you can.
( Pause. )
Did you stay with me on this or did I lose you the second I pulled out the phone?
no subject
He lifts an eyebrow. Waits patiently until Dean is finished. ]
I know what a phone is. [ Can't spend that much time with Julie without having been introduced one. (He actually doesn't much understand it, but he's aware it contains a variety of photos, little squares, and occasionally a tiny...moving picture. Now a map, apparently.) ] Hadn't thought you spent much time in the cities. Most monsters nest off the main roads where we're from.
[ It isn't as though folk in Oxenfurt are being chewed up left and right by woodland beasts.
It is also clear that Geralt sees nothing unusual about a child being raised almost exclusively in the wilds. Frankly, it never occurred to him Dean may have had any other existence as a hunter. That aspect is so ingrained as a part of the life, he's simply—assumed it held true across worlds. ]
no subject
The 'phone' is a concept Julie has introduced Ciri to as well, though she understands it even less than the 'TV' so she spares Dean a glance and a raised eyebrow. Since they're not technically playing yet, she's not giving the stick back. ]
Forty-mile radius, no trees? Sounds about as barren a place as the desert.
no subject
Half of his attention's devoted to Ciri and the shots she's lining up — which are getting progressively better at a surprising rate. He probably should've guessed that. )
There are trees. They're just- less.
( He considers for about two seconds explaining the concept of yuppie sidewalk trees and parks and all that crap, but ultimately writes it off. Who cares? Why complicate things?
Anyway, to answer that non-question- )
Monsters adapted. I mentioned before, most of 'em figured out how to look human to blend in. They slip into small towns, sometimes big cities. Easier access to the food source. Don't get me wrong, a few species keep to themselves in the middle of nowhere, but... those tend to leave a smaller body count. They don't get as much attention, so they're harder to catch.