[ CLOSED ] on the ice i'm afraid

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: November
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Nocwich
What: after the old gods, life goes on.
Warnings: Blanket for Witcher canon and general fuckery; nsfw marked



(( starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

Comments

[gynvael]

[ Mm. Actually—

Geralt straightens up without a word and holds out his hand before Dean finishes his little speech. For once in what feels like much too long, there's the faintest quirk to his lips.

That's effectively what he was meaning to ask for next. The damn book itself. One theology lesson with Dean was plenty.

He prefers their bonding be done over smashing pieces of his home to bits. Which, they did succeed at. Later, he'll realize it's the first time since he created Kaer Morhen that he's been able to just stand down here. He doesn't think it'd have happened without Dean. ]

[righteously]

( Dean pulls a face at that open hand, an exaggerated telegraphed annoyance he doesn't actually feel — there isn't enough room for it among everything else going on under the surface, all the actual legitimate feelings churning around between the significance of what they've been doing today and the heaviness that comes with any discussion about the Mark. Still, it's habit to put on a token bitchface, for posterity.

He reaches into his duffel bag — don't ask him why. He could absolutely manifest that thing in his hand directly, but for whatever reason it's more natural for him to reach into something and pull out a book that definitely didn't exist there a second ago than it is to just... already be holding it.

And thus, he blesses Geralt with a thick leather-bound tome, the full unabridged old and new testament in all its glory.

Along with it comes the necessary disclaimer: )

It's not a hundred percent accurate. This is the watered-down, mass-produced version they stuff down the throat of like... half the world's population the second they walk out of the womb, practically, but it's good enough to get you the basics. Frankly, most of the hyper-devout jackasses that live and die for this crap never bother to actually read the thing cover to cover, so you'll probably be ahead of the curve.

[gynvael]

[ All right. Significantly thicker in volume than he was anticipating. Geralt releases another sigh, closing his hand around the offering. It is not that he is unused to studying. He just hasn't needed to do this shit for a long time. He's a hundred years old, in the same profession he's been in since childhood. What has he left to study?

This, apparently. Never let it be said he doesn't do a damn thing for his friends. Especially friends afflicted with unknown curses. ]

You couldn't page mark the relevant sections?

[ He's only griping for the sake of it. He'll read it end to end, and then some. Geralt, too, does not like to have things appearing and disappearing out of thin air. The tome is given to his wolf just outside the doorway, which dutifully takes it in its mouth and carries it off. He sweeps aside some broken planks with his boot. ]

I'll clean up from here. [ It doesn't feel so stifling to be in this place anymore. ] And. Thank you. For...

[ He lifts his hand to indicate the torn down room. That. Coming by, even when Dean's had a hell of a lot more on his mind than a piece of the past that'll not let go. ]

[righteously]

( You couldn't mark the page is answered with an immediate, utterly flat: )

No.

( Read the whole thing, jackass. Get on his level. You either get the book or you get Dean's recount, pick a lane. This is the consequence of not appreciating his hand-written summarized version of events.

Don't get him started on the fact that Geralt immediately hands the bible off to a god damn wolf that just carries it away into the great wide yonder. God, this place is freaking weird.

Any thought of bitching is swept gently away at that expression of gratitude. He doesn't feel like he's done that much to earn it, all he did was show up with some tools and spend a few hours smashing things up. Wasn't exactly rocket surgery. Hell, it wasn't even technically real manual labor. Just time spent — time he'd probably spend with the guy anyway, just in another room with lot more beer.

Rather than putting that to words, he opts to gently dismiss it with a mild, facetious: )

Yeah, well. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya.

( Tossed out absently, slightly strained, to the tune of an out of shape forty year old barbecue dad as he stands and dusts his hands off in that classic wellp, I'mma head out fashion.

What he means is you're welcome, any time, seriously, but he's pretty sure Geralt knows that. He doesn't need to say it. )