[ Julie's room is the one place he almost never enters without her present in the club somewhere. In part, it's because when he comes looking for her she tends to know, shows up to greet him. The other side of it is that as a deeply private man, there are certain things he considers off-limits unless told otherwise. Personal rooms are one such thing. Especially those constructed out of one's thoughts and memories.
But all that is irrelevant in the face of her disappearance. He walks up the stairs, listening for movement, anything. The door opens under a light push. Her little creatures are there, alive but with a listless sort of aura. Like they either understand she is absent or her absence is dulling their usual vibrancy.
He peers into doors, closets, dressers. Wondering what kind of trail he'll find in a space that isn't in the real world. This is nothing like tracking out there. Everything inside the Horizon is mutable, ungrounded. He searches, anyway, even knowing he will find nothing. It's frustration and dread rolled into one when he slams one of her drawers shut, hard enough to tip a glass over. Fuck.
He crouches down to pick up the shards. The gold dragon peers around a chair leg. Geralt holds out a hand, letting it crawl into his palm. The infinite wisdom of Villentretenmerth, hm? Not as chatty as the actual dragon himself.
He sighs at it. (A stubborn part of him that refuses to acknowledge she may be gone. She isn't. It'd feel different if she were. He knows she's here somewhere.) ] Are you going to tell me where the fuck she went?
no subject
But all that is irrelevant in the face of her disappearance. He walks up the stairs, listening for movement, anything. The door opens under a light push. Her little creatures are there, alive but with a listless sort of aura. Like they either understand she is absent or her absence is dulling their usual vibrancy.
He peers into doors, closets, dressers. Wondering what kind of trail he'll find in a space that isn't in the real world. This is nothing like tracking out there. Everything inside the Horizon is mutable, ungrounded. He searches, anyway, even knowing he will find nothing. It's frustration and dread rolled into one when he slams one of her drawers shut, hard enough to tip a glass over. Fuck.
He crouches down to pick up the shards. The gold dragon peers around a chair leg. Geralt holds out a hand, letting it crawl into his palm. The infinite wisdom of Villentretenmerth, hm? Not as chatty as the actual dragon himself.
He sighs at it. (A stubborn part of him that refuses to acknowledge she may be gone. She isn't. It'd feel different if she were. He knows she's here somewhere.) ] Are you going to tell me where the fuck she went?