Geralt z Rivii (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abraxaslogs2022-09-01 08:42 pm
gynvael) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-09-01 08:42 pm
[ CLOSED ] the feeling never dies in your eyes
Who: Geralt + Various
When: September
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Libertas
What: thisisfine.jpg
Warnings: Blanket for Witcher canon, destruction/war imagery and related topics, etc., references to child death, NSFW marked
(( starters in the comments below. find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))
When: September
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Libertas
What: thisisfine.jpg
Warnings: Blanket for Witcher canon, destruction/war imagery and related topics, etc., references to child death, NSFW marked
(( starters in the comments below. find me at
no subject
He hums. Joke or not, it raises a good question: is it even possible? The domains sort of ring the crater around the Singularity. He doesn't think anything can be built by the crater, though he's certainly walked to it and around it. It is the only structure he feels sort of...is retained from the physical world. Like a link. His medallion, even in here, reacts to it differently.
His gaze shifts towards the east. Yeah. Height isn't ever a problem in the Horizon. As deep or tall as one desires. ]
There. [ He indicates towards a fading thicket of trees where a small farmhouse once sat. He only visited once, and he can tell it's no longer occupied by the way it's steadily being swallowed up. May as well fill it with something else.
As for racing—he isn't an expert in vehicles by any means. But he can tell between a racing horse and a horse built for hauling. The same principle applies.
The lift of his eyebrows is skeptical. ] In that?
no subject
Worrisome. But a topic for another time.
Nero's grin is almost childish in its confidence. He pats the door of the van, which gives a metallic ring. A blast of black smoke blows out the tailpipe as the engine growls.]
Don't judge a book by its cover, old man. Afraid you're gonna lose? Nothin' beats ol'... ol van.
[No, he never named it. Don't think Nico did, either.]
no subject
[ Several things, actually. Not that it matters in the Horizon. Speed is speed, and these things are powered by one's mind.
He doesn't give a shit about racing, but he didn't grow up surrounded by brothers for nothing. If he's agreeing to compete, he's in it to the finish. His only answer to the challenge is a rev of the bike's engine—greeted by more black smoke that sputters from the van's pipe.
Then they're off. The road builds and falls as they fly across the plane. The behemoth of a vehicle next to him is fucking ridiculous. But as Nero insisted, it chugs along. He can practically hear the sign slapped on it rattling, even over the roar of his motorbike—and is that damn giant cat still there clinging on?
They never agreed on a precise finish line. Geralt arrives all the same, wheels sliding onto the grass of the now disintegrating fields. ]
no subject
[The van roars in protests. Great, now Geralt's gonna piss Nico off, and he'll get shit for it. Good thing the race'll be distracting enough, anyway. She'd never turn down a challenge.
Nero grins. He sees Geralt's not gonna turn him down. He knows the look.]
Knew you weren't that boring. [He pulls himself back and leans over the driver's seat out the other window.] Hey! Get goin' or you'll be left behind!
[The panther picks up its head and yawns at him. As Nero moves back inside the van, falling into the passenger's seat, the van revs its engine. Soon the cabin's filled with cigarette smoke, pouring out the windows. Horizon magic -- or Nero's insistence he doesn't leave that shit behind -- has got the phone booth strapped to the top of the van precariously with ropes, the stretching panther on top.
It gives a roar.
Good as a gunshot.
The van roars as it drives, the Devil May Cry sign rattling against the wall as the speedometer creeps up. It doesn't surprise Nero at all to hear the jukebox shuffling, all the windows rolling down as music pours out of the van. Road slaps itself down in front of them, stretching as far as they need it. He doesn't touch the wheel. Doesn't need to. Neither of them ever said that Nero had to drive it himself.
Don't need a finish line, really. They both have a place in mind. And as the van screeches, Nero whooping, the panther doing some sort of horrible cat-screech, the phone booth snaps the ropes holding it down and flies just over Geralt's head, missing it by mere inches, until it crashes into the ground, skidding across dirt and mud, to a fire-filled explosion.
Nero kicks the door open and hops out, grinning ear to ear.] Now that's what I call a race! [He might stink of cigarettes and be down a phone booth, but that was awesome. The panther snarls from where she'd embedded her claws into the top of the van.] Oh, whatever. Don't listen to her. We totally won.
no subject
How the fuck. What was that thing made of? Combustible steel? What—
(It has not escaped him, either, that Nero came out of the passenger door. Which means, he was not driving. Which also means this van, whatever it is, has a ghost of someone powering it. A Nico he has yet to ask about.) ]
Uh-huh. [ Geralt kicks down the stand and climbs off his bike. Nero absolutely did not win, but he isn't here to argue about it. (His tone suggests he is arguing about it.) ] Is that what the Horizon conjured for you? Your first win?
[ He sounds more amused than anything. Flaming phone booth notwithstanding, the place is suitable. He hasn't a clue what Nero's planned tower is meant to look like. Supposes he'll find out in the next minute or so. Geralt walks around the place, ignoring the fact that he knows who it belongs to, that he was here some months ago. It isn't important. They only spoke once. So it goes.
He gestures at the trees remaining. All yours. ]
no subject
[But he's still grinning, walking over to give Geralt a clap on the shoulder. Nero's pumped enough that in the moment he doesn't have to think about his tail, and how the spiked tip of it is wagging back and forth with the adrenaline running through him.
The panther that stalks him hops off the van looking very rustled and annoyed with this whole thing, ears peeled back as she glares the two of them down, sitting with her tail curled around her feet. Even a stupid, impromptu race can't get rid of her, apparently.]
So this is it, huh? [He turns back to the space in front of them. Well. Get it nice and even first. The fire from the phone booth spreads, burning the trees down to nothing but ash. The ground levels itself out, until it's nothing but a blank canvas. As he looks up, the sun -- or what they perceive as being a sun -- turns red, hanging lower in the sky. The ground oozes into something like hardened lava, pouring out into a circular shape as crystal formations shoot out of the ground like swords through butter.]
Gotta make it look intimidating. I don't want some rando wandering in here and getting their legs ripped off.
no subject
Hm. That's new. Did growing back an arm bring a tail with it? ]
You'd be surprised. [ Intimidating or not, some fool will wander through and lose only a leg if they're lucky. It's the Horizon, though. Nothing here's real. (Except the pain, perhaps.)
He steps forward over the red ooze. Same as that pulsating ground and spiralling tree root. Nero's world just looks a certain way, he's learned. He doesn't craft anything of his own, not yet—but he does watch Nero build the blackened rocks, the jagged platforms. That's when he crouches down. Studies a vague point in the distance for a moment.
A splitting roar echoes. A spindly limb appears, then another. The myriapod, much larger than the miniature he showed Nero before, crashes into view. It snarls at the panther—but that's all it does.
So it works. He's never made something that large before. Not living. Good to know he can keep it from tearing anyone's head off if he chooses. He'd not been sure about that. (It's fine. Nero can regenerate his arms.) ]
no subject
[But probably not too surprised. Look, they probably won't die out there if they die in here. Right? Okay, to be honest, he didn't think about it too much. He'll hang up a sign to avoid any blame: Abandon all liability claims, ye who enter here.
Yeah. Like he's had insurance in his life.
Nero's working on how to make the demons that'll be filling up the place, but he's decided overthinking anything here just makes it harder. And so a Baphomet -- a floating, goat-like demon with long, spindly limbs -- crawls out of a crack that splits the ground in front of them, lifting and lifting until magic takes it airborne. Just like home. Magic hums around it, blue as ice... which is exactly which starts forming in the air around it.
And then Geralt's buddy comes out of fuckin' nowhere, crawling and dragging itself into the arena with a stinking roar and one ugly mug.] Huh. Hell of a different impression when it's not crawling across a bar table. [He leaves his Baphomet behind to approach the myriapod, smacking one of its very-human-looking arms away.] Impressive, old man. Should I give you a hand? [He spins around to clap, giving a cheeky smile.] Maybe we should throw these boys up a few levels. I'm pretty sure your guy is gonna off any newbie in a few seconds.
no subject
He prods at one of the wiggling limbs. It's different, that's all, to stand in front of a creature that he'd normally not be able to without losing several limbs. Different impression is right. Uglier, for one. ]
Still prettier than you. [ There's no bite to the remark. He waves a hand, indicating that Nero can put the monster where he wishes. There are others he can contribute, from leshy to bruxa to striga, but those bring with them memories he'd rather not address at this moment. The myriapod is less...
Fraught. With connections. Somewhat.
Who knew he'd find himself here, making mind monsters for a part-demon to slaughter. New experiences after so many decades. There are worse things to be doing, he supposes. ]
no subject
[He socks Geralt in the arm as he passes by, the Red Queen materializing on his back. His tail whips from side to side, marking the ground where the spiked tip slams into it. It's totally unconscious, the movement stemming from the adrenaline already beginning to pump through his veins. Oh, yeah. He's got an idea.]
Time to test this baby out.
[He whips Red Queen out and drives her into the ground, revving her motor as she sparks and roars. The Baphomet begins to chant, pulling magic to it, as the air around them begins to drop in temperature, until Nero's breath comes out in a cloud.
Nero drags his sword behind him as he runs at the myriadpod. Unleashed, both demon and monster come at him simultaneously. Red Queen roars, spitting flames as he strokes her up through the air, a cloud of ignited fuel splattering the Baphomet. It screams as the fire burns through its fur, its horn, and even louder as his next hit impales Red right through its chest.
The myriadpod grabs Nero by the leg and slams him into the ground, but the only damage it seems to do is leave a Nero-shaped indentation on the ground. By the time the fight's over, both of Nero's wings have burst from his back, the claws at the joint and his face, chest and hands covered in sticky, dripping centipede (millipede?) blood.
Nero thinks he hears Geralt laugh. He makes sure to lug a big ball of bug gore at his back, just to teach him a lesson.]
no subject
He isn't even going to ask. Just stands to the side and watches as Nero slices open both monsters with...he doesn't want to say no effort. The myriapod crushes him at one point with enough force to smash every bone. Nero gets up like it's nothing. True, it's the Horizon. He doesn't think that's what's happening here, though. He's fairly certain this is exactly how Nero handles being crushed in the physical world.
Too bad they're on opposite sides of the continent. Be useful in a hunt.
It's close to a laugh, one of those quiet amused huffs. He leans to the side to avoid the glob of intestines launched his direction and steps forward to nudge the mangled insect with his boot.
He claps Nero on the shoulder as he walks past out of the domain's borders. Seems his job's done here. He'll return afterwards to see what's become of this place. ] Try not to leave a fucking mess.
feel free to wrap up whenever!
And whatever it means, the hand on his shoulder feels. Good. (It feels great, actually. Reminds him of someone. White hair. Stupid. Seems like it all fits together again.) It's a hell of a thing to feel like someone... approves.]
It's not fun unless there's a mess!
[And maybe he's gonna install some showers nearby. You know. Might as well.]