middaeg | Intro Log: July, Overflow

[ Stiles is the first person he's spoken to here who seems to know exactly what Geralt is referring to. It draws a look of interest. That and...he doesn't sound concerned about them. Does he know one? They're complicated creatures. Some can be cured, others live with it as a curse in isolation, and more commonly, they're simply killed. ]

You study them? [ Geralt's going to go out on a limb and say Stiles doesn't hunt them, so that's his next best guess. Common folk aren't so familiar with those terms. Though there's obviously something more to it, something Stiles isn't saying.

He bends to idly adjust the bandage on his leg while they walk. A what? (Does he give off a bear-like aura?) ]

A wolf. [ He's not going to get into the sheer coincidence of it, though Stiles might catch on from the medallion around his neck, shaped like the head of a wolf. ] The changes were more rapid last time. [ An instability of the mirrors, perhaps. ]

[ When Geralt bends down to adjust the bandage – an injury? – the movement disturbs the medallion around his neck, the moonlight bouncing off it catching his eye. Well, it seems like there’s some kind of connection between the big guy and wolves. Unsurprisingly, that just makes him that much more interesting to Stiles. He’ll need to ask about that, preferably in a tactful way (if he can somehow manage it). ]

I’m friends with them, [ he replies after a prolonged pause, his gaze sliding thoughtfully to the oversized sword Geralt carries around. ] So I don’t study them in any clinical sense.

[ Tactful. Tactful. Be tactful, goddammit, don’t you dare – ]

So, what’s with the necklace? You associated with wolves or something?

[ Nailed it. ]

[ Friends? Geralt gives Stiles a glance. He's been around long enough not to rule out fringe cases, but how readily Stiles admits it at all is startling on its own. ]

Them. You're not one? [ Making friends with werewolves is uncommon for humans. (An understatement.) Geralt considers it for a moment, the idea of it, if only because he's seen the way monsters operate here. Perhaps in the boy's sphere, they're better integrated. Besides, there might be those he's unaware of, too. He's under no illusion folks would ever be keen to alert a witcher of the rare werewolf or so that might be peacefully living in their village.

His hand goes instinctively to the medallion. Luckily for Stiles, it's not a mark he has any qualms about; it's meant to identify what he is. ] A guild. Our symbol. [ Does he want to bother? Geralt's never hidden what he is—the distinct yellow of his eyes makes it impossible to, for one, and it's how he makes his living for another—but he's come to gather the circumstances make it more complicated here to explain. He also knows Stiles will likely ask whether he brings it up himself or not. ] We hunt monsters.

[ Geralt leaves that statement there with all the questions and irony that might be attached to it—including the strange fucking feeling that it is here, with the monster designation pushed upon him where he's grown used to being called such back home, that he's been more simply welcomed than he has been elsewhere. ]

[ The medallion shifts from being an item of curiosity to a distasteful symbol for Stiles, who eyes it guardedly once he hears what it represents. It isn’t entirely a surprise, given the impressive weaponry Geralt wields, but his feelings on the topic are more than just a little complicated. Though he usually isn’t so charitable, he decides to give the man the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise; maybe Geralt is more like Chris Argent than Kate Argent. ]

A hunter, [ he echoes, tone cool now. ] We talking like, all creatures in general or just the nasty ones?

[ After a moment, he belatedly remembers to answer the initial question. ]

And I’m human. Was human, I guess.

[ The chill in the air is a long time coming. Geralt says nothing about it and outwardly seems to not pay it much mind at all. Only the faintest shift in his expression suggests otherwise. Whether he's opened this door up precisely for this reaction or not, it's hard to say.

(He can say he's much more used to this than any kind of friendly reception. This, he understands how to navigate easily.) ]

Not all creatures are monsters. [ And not all men were not. He decides not to mention it. A young man who considers werewolves his friends isn't someone he wants to have a long conversation with about the nature of men and monsters. To most of the world, his existence is as simple as he's making it sound: he hunts for coin, no more no less. He has no intention of changing that, whether he's in a new land or not. ] I kill when I'm paid.

[ He leaves it at that, acknowledging Stiles' clarification with a hum. He's glimpsed the boy's changes. It's been a long time since he's aligned himself with humans—long enough he prefers to simply say he never has—but he can't deny he knows what it is to have once been one and then suddenly not. ] At least you've company here.

[ Where Geralt may wish to leave the topic at that, Stiles is the kind of young man to dig – even when he doesn’t necessarily want to hear the answer that he already suspects. Jogging a few steps, he circles around so that he’s walking backwards in front of the other man. It’ll be easier to scrutinize the Turnskin’s reactions this way, which will help Stiles decide whether or not he’s interested in fulfilling his premature offer to find help for Geralt should the man ever become infected. ]

So you’re more like a merc, then, [ he decides, ignoring the last comment about his transformation; Geralt has no idea just how wrong he is – Stiles has been too keenly aware of being the only Mirrorbound Arachne, after all. ] Hypothetical scenario time. Someone pays you big bucks to kill a werewolf, except when you find the werewolf, they’re totally chill. Like, the non-murdering, minding their own business, just trying to live their life sort. Do you still kill them for the money?

[ Now Geralt just looks vaguely exasperated. He stops as Stiles circles in front of him. He knows what Stiles means by asking; he wants to know if Geralt kills monsters deemed innocent. Like his friends. ]

No. [ His reply is given simply, but he has no desire for it to be mistaken as him deciding who gets to live or not, that there's some clear line between guilt and innocence. There isn't. And he's hardly one to judge another for blood spilled. Not with his own history. Not when he's encountered kings wringing their hands over how poorly it reflected on them for some important courtier to be torn to pieces, when their soldiers were burning villages next door. ] Jobs like that, they're born of bad blood or greed. Or politics. I don't get involved.

[ Geralt starts walking again, whether Stiles finds that answer satisfactory or not. If he has it his way, he'd make his living killing mindless graveirs and people can just leave him the fuck out of their business. But it's never worked out like that. ]

[ The answer isn’t satisfactory for someone like Stiles, who would very much prefer if Geralt just drew a clear line in the sand between jobs he’ll take and jobs he won’t. Scowling to himself, he trots after the other man and falls back into step with him wordlessly, still mulling over this strange, new acquaintance. Ultimately, he decides that maybe it doesn’t matter – obviously Geralt knows better than to start hunting Monsters in this dimension. …Probably. ]

Just for the record, don’t accept any jobs that involve killing intelligent, sentient beings in this world. [ Sneaking a hand around Geralt’s back to finally try and pet the pony; it requires him to be a bit closer in proximity than he’d like, and they bump into each other for it. ] I’m talking people. The Coven and Parliament won’t take vigilante justice lightly, no matter how awful the target was. If you’re itching to kill, though, [ and god is he familiar with bloodthirsty individuals, ] the Shades are probably your best bet.

[ Stiles has gleaned as much information from this newcomer as he wanted. It’s undoubtedly time to fenangle his way into meeting another Mirrorbound newbie. ]

Got any last questions for me before I get outta your hair?

[ A frown crosses his face when they bump. Luckily, Roach isn't a temperamental mare: she just snorts when she's pet. Geralt decides to let it go.

It's common, the assumptions and conclusions that people draw about what he does or doesn't do. What he does or doesn't feel. So when Stiles suggests that he's itching to kill, his frown turns ambivalent at best. Like it's something he's heard a thousand times before and has long stopped addressing either way. ]

Like I said. I don't get involved. [ Perhaps it isn't the connection everyone makes, but to Geralt, justice is as much politics as anything. The whims of whatever ruling order happens to be in place at the time. Or an angry mob. He's learned to stay out of it. (Except when he doesn't.)

Without company to keep him, Geralt mounts his horse, already turning her down another path. There's something to the boy; he can see that much, and Stiles manages to wrangle a courtesy out of him as he's leaving. ] Appreciate the map.

[ Unfortunately, perceptive as he is, Stiles doesn’t know Geralt well enough yet to differentiate one frown from the next and so doesn’t realize how his comment has been taken. Carefully edging away from the horse as she’s mounted – he doesn’t want to be anywhere near her rear end and killer hooves once Geralt gets going – he watches as the hunter prepares to leave. ]

No prob, big guy. I’ll catch you around. [ And then, just to be cheeky, he says in a sweetly sing-song tone: ] Bye, Roach!

[ With a wave of his hand, Stiles begins heading in the opposite direction, back toward the Looking-Glass House. ]

Intro Log: July, Overflow

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