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

[ofthesword]

[Thank fucking god. That's what he talks about. He hops back up, shuffling back and forth on both feet as he punches the air. Warming up. Goliath gives another insult -- insignificant insects, squashed like bugs, yadda yadda -- as Nero gives her a grin.]

Abso-fuckin'-lutely.

[Lone wolf or not, he's been dyin' to hunt. Something. Anything. Solvunn makes him feel like he's sitting around waiting for something to happen, which isn't him. He finds demons. He doesn't wait for them to come to him.

Besides. Practice and all. He mosies back up to Ciri's side, his own sword materializing: the Red Queen, all of her regal glory, and the roar of her engine as he twists the ignition. Fuel drips down her blade, lighting up in sparks. He gives a look at Ciri's blade, noting the different shape. Way less curved than his own. More like one of the Order's. Still a beauty, though.

Good to see some things don't change across worlds.]

On three. I'll go high.

[He doesn't elaborate. His eyes light up with the thrill he knows is comin'. It doesn't feel like he needs to control this thing. This thing, as far as it knows, is Goliath. And it'll act like it, too.]

One. [He steels his body.] Two. Three!

[He jets straight for Goliath, jumping on his huge, clawed foot and running straight up his leg like it's nothing. He jumps to the other leg to avoid a swipe from a large, stinky claw, dodging the toothy mouth tummy to shove his sword into a -- oh god, is that a nipple?

Goliath roars, bending forward and then pushing his stomach out; the mouth there, lined with teeth, opens with a screech. The air grows tight as the stomach begins sucking in everything around them -- and luckily, there's not much -- but chunks of ground (sorry Dean) get swallowed, and that's enough for fire to ignite, bubbling out in dribbling magna between Goliath's feet -- aiming the fire he's about to launch straight for her.]