[ CLOSED ] the feeling never dies in your eyes

[gynvael]

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 discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

Comments

[righteously]

( We're sparring.

Well, that seems to cut through his less than charitable attitude. It earns Geralt a quick look, surprised and a little confused, but not dissenting. It immediately holds a hell of a lot more appeal than just screwing up on repeat. Getting it wrong on an endless loop is exactly the right way for him to make zero progress and walk away frustrated.

Sparring, on the other hand? Well, if nothing else it's an opportunity to get some of that frustration out — maybe even distract himself enough that he isn't mentally ready to fail before he even throws the damn sign. Not that this occurs to him.

God damn genius move, Geralt.

He takes the sword. Gives the guy an unnecessary moment to make sure he's ready, and once he's sure he's got the go-ahead, he launches into it.

Holding back in a way that's probably visible and also completely unnecessary, but cut him some slack. It's instinct to be cautious if you're concerned about the guy you're swinging a weapon at. )

[gynvael]

[ That look is all he needs to know this might go better than their last rounds.

Dean might be holding back; Geralt is not by near as much—the only indication that he is being that Dean isn't cleaved in half a few strikes in. He's not worried about his ability to pull back before any contact is made. The purpose is to give Dean a reason to cast Quen, anyhow.

He starts light, at least, testing to make sure he's not pushing too hard. It isn't long before he picks up the pace—drives forward with enough pressure to force an opening. His blade swings down. Quick, but not so quick it can't be blocked. ]

[righteously]

( To absolutely nobody's surprise, Geralt is good with a blade. Good enough, in fact, that he manipulates Dean's position perfectly — catches him after a swing when there's no way in hell he'd be able to get his sword back up in time, and too off-center to dodge it fast enough. No chance to think, and no other alternatives. Only enough room for reaction.

It happens so fast, he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Pure lizard-brained reflex, because it doesn't matter how logically he knows the dude could stop himself the moment before he did any serious damage, lizard-brain only sees you're about to get cleaved by a god damn sword.

And he is. He totally is. He's braced for it, it's totally gonna happen.

Any second now, it's totally-

-not happening.

It takes him about two stupid blinks to realize he's got the damn shield up, two more to process the fact that it's still up, and Geralt's sword is bearing down but not breaking through it.

Wait. )

Holy shit.

( It freaking worked. )

[gynvael]

[ He's ready to stop short before Dean loses a Horizon-made arm—but then there's the telltale bounce against his blade off a barrier. It's the first time the shield holds for longer than half a second.

Geralt lowers his sword. That's it. That's what he wanted. ] There we are.

[ If he sounds pleased, it's because he is. Like most things with him, it's subdued, but it's there: a mix of Hadn't I said? and I knew you could. Perhaps some satisfaction with himself, as well. The student's only half the picture; the other half's on him as the instructor. Good to know he can teach someone their Signs, too. Despite not being a priestess.

But he wants to see the same result more than once. He takes a step back. ] Again. Don't stop this time.

[righteously]

( There we are; Dean exhales one soft, short sound. Not a laugh, a little too stunned for that, but it's close. Same neighborhood, same family tree.

This genuinely might be the most visibly pleased Dean's ever seen the guy — stack that on top of the pile of stuff it takes him a few too many seconds to wrap his head around. That probably shouldn't so satisfying, but damn if it doesn't. )

Alright, don't get all smug about it, bitch.

( Later on when he replays this, it might occur to him who he sounds like right then. That he's been on the receiving end of exactly this brand of playful ingratitude, with the same appreciation not-so-subtly beneath it.

He sounds like Sam.

My, how the turntables — and how freaking weird is it to be on this side of the equation?

He can try and downplay it all he wants, though, there's no denying the fact that this just practically eviscerated any remainder of his bad mood.

They go again. He gets it right again, and then again, and he doesn't stop.

Congrats, Geralt. You cracked the code. Maybe all he needed was to get it right once to prove to himself he could do it, maybe it's just that he learns better with practical application, or maybe it's the approval that does actually cement it. Whatever the case, by the time they wrap up Dean's finally got a solid hold on one whole ass witcher sign. )