( OPEN ) just a pinch of salt in the wound; you'll be fine

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Victims You
When: August // Aguril
Where: Various
What: Full moon feral shenanigans; events/quests later down the line
Warnings: Violence

[ prompts in comments. find me at discontinued for plotting. ]

OPEN: feral wolf | post full moon | basement bonanza curses

CLOSED: feral wolf: jaskier+yennefer | antler fruit: jaskier

Comments

♞ open to all

[gynvael]

(( THE WILDE / EDGE OF THE WILDE; 08/03; night ))

[ It's not without precautions that Geralt has approached the full moon. He's more than aware of the risks. The problem, possibly, lies in the fact that he's taken precautions at all: either the concoction meant to sedate him leaves him vulnerable to the animal overtaking his mind or his attempt to quell it in the first place causes it to grip that much harder. If he remembers the snapping and stretching of bones and joints, it leaves him quickly once the shift is complete.

The wolf that stands in his place both blends easily into the snow and also not. He's noticeably larger than the average wolf, for one. Scars normally hidden under his clothes mark the creature's body, leaving a few patches of fur missing. A jagged line that runs across his back is especially visible. If there's still any room to doubt that this isn't a regular wolf, the jewelry might help, the medallion he's never seen without. Anyone familiar with the original one and with a keen eye will notice it's not silver but steel.

By now, there's only one thought on his mind: he's fucking hungry. ]

(( note: anyone is free to have their character either: 1. spot geralt out in the wilde but not interact with him; or 2. spot the evidence of what he did, i.e. blood in the snow, half-eaten deer, paw prints. you don't need to thread this out, just drop me a line so i know what they saw/did! if you want feral wolf geralt to injure or frighten your character in a specific way, let me know. i'm open to all sorts of things. ))

A. FIRST CHASE

[ The freshly fallen snow makes it easy to see the tracks he leaves behind. He's not too deep into the thick woods; even his instincts know to steer clear of where the Shades are more likely to gather together. Follow the tracks and you might start to spot a trail of blood in the snow, staining it dark. Go a little further to catch Geralt nose deep in a split-open deer, having his fill.

If you're close enough to see him, then you've caught his attention. If you're close and haven't seen him, you've still caught his attention lurking from the shadows. More than hunger, there's a deep drive to hunt. The motionless deer isn't nearly as interesting as live prey. It might take a second or he moves before you can blink; either way, there's a bear-sized wolf coming your way with teeth bared.

Still, whatever he's taken earlier in a (really fucking failed) attempt to suppress the change means he's a hint slower than he might be on a good night. Anyone quick on their feet can put a bit of distance between them before he starts catching up. ]

B. SLUMBER

[ Even under the moon, wolves get tired. Especially when they've gorged themselves on various livestock (sorry, farmland sheep) and chased after any unfortunate souls who came along. Naturally, he isn't the only out here under the influence. Not the only predator by a long shot.

So it's possible to find him under a thicket of trees or half-hidden in a snow-covered cave. The blood and nearby carcass of his recent meal makes it easy to sniff him out, regardless of if you're searching deliberately or just curiously investigating. Whether you're bigger, hungrier or just looking to harass something for the hell of it, his guard's down just enough while he rests that it's possible to catch him by surprise. Feel free to take a bite or pull on his tail. ]

C. WILDCARD

[ geralt will be essentially hunting through the woods and will occasionally wander just a bit closer to the edge of the city, so encountering him while you're questing, on your way to visit a friend, or anything is entirely possible. fight him, run from him, try to talk him down, steal his food, it's all good! if you've encountered him before in human form, it's also possible to recognize him by his medallion. i'm also good with more specific scenarios; just message me and we can work something out. ]

wild card (let me know if this works!)

[sing_for_me]

[ The sound of something approaching the water perks her interest, but it's not the sight of the white wolf that makes the merrow stay. Not even the scent of blood thick enough to taste--deer's blood, it seems-- entices her as much as the glint of metal coming from around its neck.

An animal with jewelry? A curious sight that was, and on a different night Alex might approach with the intent to learn more. But on this full moon, with her bond connection on the brink of breaking and a severe lack of magical intake, her consciousness wasn't as strong as it normally would have been. Instinct and feral desire take over, and nothing else matters other than getting what she wants.

Velvet black scales hide her well enough in evening, the glow of the golden scales of her underbelly only showing once she's close enough to the surface to reach out and take a hold of the medallion. With a hard yank, she tries to rip it from the wolf's neck.]

[gynvael]

[ With the surface of the water calm, broken sheets of ice over it, Geralt doesn't give it much thought when he approaches for a drink. The moons shimmer in the surface.

There's something almost human enough in him that he dips his blood-stained paws into the water to wash them clean. Or attempt to, anyway. The water swirls pink, light ripples distracting him from what else is lurking underneath. By the time he senses something off, a hand has already gripped the medallion around his neck. Between the snow and the slippery ice, and the fact that he's got one foot in the water already, the force is more than enough to send him tumbling into the lake.

The fuck. Despite his thick fur, the chill of the water is still sharp. His teeth snap, and he swipes instinctively at whatever has snatched at him. ]

a + wildcard kind of!

[usurpers]

[ closer to the city outskirts is where ice begins to melt and summer takes its high form inside the bright wall of aefenglom— except eren had sworn to never live behind an annoying wall, never again. he takes to the in between, where slums run just a little more scarce and farms begin to grow chilly. where the horizon stretches and his vision gets lost in so much green, now white for the season. it’s enough fairish weather for the fire dragon to take in this area while still feeling disgruntled about it, his body temperature high enough to maintain his energy and enough of a charge in his tattoos to keep him warm when his scaly hide failed.

he had smelled blood and the hot remains of deer, and aefenglom’s summer made him far hungrier than the wilde’s winter. he feasts himself, on a charred bull’s head that had tasted stale and boring. what had stalked the outer ring of wilde at least hadn’t been so much— not as much magic that his taste would be piqued, but enough of it to flick his ears and tongue to the sound of crunching snow and lupine snarls, equally dissatisfied.

the dragon, the size of a pure blood horse, guards his catch with sinking blue talons into splitting flesh and ashen black antlers snapped to hinges. the rest of the body was what filled his belly, a leg thrown this way or that to stain grass and sleet. eren only watches the guest that comes, and with a clouded mind, tests the turnskin: he growls low and constant, but does not warn him to keep his distance. instead, the head is dragged outward, sideways, and eye contact is kept.

the last time he had been allowed a fight worthy of his energy, it was on litha, with a witch. despite how wet his gums were, thick with the ooze of blood, fur and grime and exposed on both sides of a cheekless maw— he felt thirsty. the pitch black wyvern with rippling sunset colored scales itches for an outlet to pour his anxiety, his rage and his hidden desperation, and on the night of the sisters at their fullest . . . he doesn’t mind tossing the opportunity to the first one willing.

it wasn’t as if he cared so much about himself to have a shred of preservation, much less as a beast, bonded or not. ]

[gynvael]

[ Where the snow ends, Geralt is vaguely aware that that's the end of what he's already instinctively deemed his territory. So he mostly stays within it, even as he edges towards where the snow grows less thick, coating the ground thinly. The grass beneath his paws can be seen beneath the prints he leaves behind, the treetops greener.

So when the smell of charred flesh comes his way, he takes notice. Fire shouldn't be nearby in the snow. His steps are cautious, but the drive to feast and roam unbothered in the area he's carved out for himself is strong: if there's something else here, he's intent on chasing it off.

Even if happens to be a fucking dragon.

Geralt stares at the creature. Even to him, dragons are rare. Its scales shimmer under the moonlight. His gaze goes from the dragon to the carcass, and then back again. He growls right back. From him, it is a warning, one he pushes further by coming closer. He doesn't run, but it's a steady walk now, no longer cautious as he tests exactly how determined the dragon is to stand its ground. ]

a with some liberties, let me know if this works!

[sonnestark]

[Karin's own shift under the full moon had turned her into a much-altered version of herself, with wild feathers throughout her hair and down her back, spreading to the newly-emerged wings that aren't yet strong enough to bear her weight in flight. Fortunately, her newly acquired talons are enough to help her sate the urge to get higher up into the trees, using them to cling to and move between the boughs as she allows herself to explore the wilde with a new perspective, just this side of feral, but sharp eyes seeking out any small movement that might signal the presence of something that might sate her newly arisen appetite.

What catches her attention, instead, is the faint trail of blood that stains the snow, steadily growing darker, heavier. Curious, and perhaps against her better judgement, she drops down from the trees to land in a low crouch, wings spread behind her as she does so, and she bends down to touch the trail with what's left of her fingers, testing to see how fresh it might be.

It's only then that she glances up and spots the wolf and his meal not far off— certainly close enough that she's sure she must have gotten his attention, whether she wants it or not. The medallion around his neck, at least, is proof that he's no ordinary wolf— he's more like her, she reasons, though his transformation is more advanced.

Having functioning wings, she thinks, would be quite helpful right now. Instead, she fixes her eyes on him and holds up one hand, taloned fingers spread, as if to show that she means no harm. If he, too, is a Monster, it seems only right to try and communicate?

Otherwise, perhaps she should prepare to run.]

[gynvael]

[ The sound of softly crunching snow behind him makes him lift his head. His ears are perked up, alert. The oddness of what he's seeing makes him pause: not quite human, not quite beast. He can't tell if she's another predator landing in his territory or something else he can eat. (Never mind that he's already in the middle of feasting.)

It's for that reason that for a good half a minute, he simply watches her. His head tilts when she waves at him, a gesture that some part of him recognizes as much too human but can't fully process at the moment. Is it threatening? For the first time tonight, he's a bit confused. Everything else he's run into has either attacked him or run from him.

After a time, he takes several steps foward and leaves his meal unattended, testing her presence here: if she'll retreat or stand her ground or try to steal his food. The smallest indication she plans on confronting him will make him lunge and if she full on flees, he'll take it as a sign to give chase. ]

C

[mensrea]

[ The twin moons, heavy and pregnant, light his path home as he returns from a late-night shift at the store. While Aefenglom at large is more than accustomed to the monstrosities sired by the waxed Sisters, this is one of the few times Stiles has been out in public during his full moon shift. Accordingly, discomfort encourages him to stick to the shadows as he walks slowly back to the Haven. For once, he doesn’t bother to utilize the enchanted tattoo inked along his spine to transmute the Arachne limbs smaller as he normally would. All eight stretch out to impressive length, tarsi clicking quietly across the ground and walls of buildings he passes, clinging to anything within grasp.

One of the bright red eyes centered on the back of his hand sights the silhouette of a wolf before the three pairs on his face do. There’s a moment, stupid with homesickness, where he thinks, Derek? It’s a vain hope; not only has Derek been gone from Aefenglom for months now, the former werewolf shifter was also a Witch here. And yet Stiles can’t help but allow curiosity to guide him on a detour to investigate. Instead of continuing onward to the cottage, he heads closer to the Bright Wall where he saw the animal’s shape slip between buildings – toward the Wilde. Chewing on his bottom lip nervously with a fang, he follows.

When he finally manages to catch up to the wolf, disappointment settles hard in his stomach at the white, not black, fur. ]

Well, shit, [ he muses aloud, voice carrying in the dead silence of the night. ] You’re not my guy, buddy.

[gynvael]

[ In the soft snow, the skittering of limbs is harder to hear. Caught up in his instincts, Geralt is too honed in on his newest trail -- what smells like a deer -- to notice that he's being trailed from afar. Not until Stiles catches up to him does he lift his head and pause.

There's a long moment where he simply looks, as if he's unsure of what he's facing. It has too many legs to be his usual meal. Definitely far too many fucking eyes. If he had his human senses, he'd realize what monster this was, but as it is, for a split second, the wolf thinks it's looking at more than one creature stacked together with that many limbs and red eyes blinking back in the moonlit darkness.

When Stiles speaks, his ears draw back. It's large and it looks like it might be encroaching on his territory. (He's been in these woods not very long, but a part of him has already claimed it as his.) He gives a warning growl and steps forward. His intent is clear: if the other creature doesn't back off, he's going to pounce. ]

wildcarding

[sparkstrikes]

[Gathering these forget-me-nots was proving to be more of a Task than Lightning had imagined it would be. Between the snow and the thorny bushes, she's been out here for what feels like days. She's come dressed for the weather, but she's still cold, shivering slightly as she finishes up, tossing one more seed into her satchel before deciding to call it satisfactory. Returning with three or four doesn't feel sufficient or worth it enough, especially for all the trouble she's had to endure thus far, and that's taking into account the number of seeds she's lost on this particular run because of it, but she's had more than enough of this for now. It's time to return to Dorchacht, and they'll have to settle for what she can hand over.

They say the Wilde is dangerous, but her footsteps crunch heavily in the snow as she journeys back, because the last thing she is expecting to see on her way is a wolf directly in her path, feasting on a bloody carcass.

Well, shit.

She stops, stares, and hopes that it hasn't noticed her while she tries to figure out a way around it.]

[gynvael]

[ The lack of subtle footsteps means Geralt hears her before she appears through the swirling snow. He looks up, surrounded by splatters of red and a young deer with its belly torn open.

Her scent carries through the air. If she'd been another monster, he might have hesitated. But she looks a lot like prey, human shaped as she is. He stands up. His ears are held high, alert. They turn her way, towards the noise.

It's an instant when he decides to drop the deer and run forward. There's little human thought left in him, just a desire to sink his teeth into the nearest warm body. She smells like food and she's standing right there. He pounces without hesitation, jaws snapping. His medallion glints in the twin moonlight, shining through the snow covered branches. ]

a

[exsoldier]

[ To say that Zack hadn't been prepared enough for the effects of the full moon would be an understatement. He had taken a temporary bonding potion, following Cloud's advice, but it hadn't been enough. Not when he's been quick to jump at the offer of traveling past Aefenglom's walls over the past month, wanting to stretch his legs and see more of this world. Which is all well and good, except it makes the moon's influence far stronger than it had been in previous months, drawing out opposing forces that now exist deep inside him, which have gone ignored until now.

The shift he experiences isn't anything as severe as Geralt's, but there's still plenty that's changed in a short, excruciating amount of time. Feathers that have grown down his neck, arms and back; wings that have exploded from his shoulder blades in a spray of blood; fingers that have hardened and sharpened into talons; and a dark lion's tail at his back. His eyes which are usually a bright, glowing blue now gleam with gold instead.

It's the mental changes that are ultimately worse, though, and which drive him from the city into the woods with an overwhelming need to stalk and take down prey. Both of the creatures that are now a part of him are predators, and it's the smell of a fresh kill that brings Zack into Geralt's periphery.

His sharp vision, even in the dark, allows him to spot the white wolf from a distance away. Zack remains bipedal, at least for now, as he stalks through the trees, following the sweet scent of newly-spilled blood.

In a split second the wolf changes gears, racing toward him at breakneck speed. Instinct takes over and for the first time Zack flaps those wings, giving him just enough height to avoid the singleminded charge of the wolf. Barely aware of how to control himself in the air, however, he crushes against a tree branch and falls back to the forest floor, letting out a warning snarl.

It's unlikely that this won't end with further bloodshed, but perhaps that's what both of the monsters need in the moment. ]

A

[partnerinheels]

[It’s taken her the better part of a year for her to accept herself as a turnskin lioness. Not just on the surface or enough to finally bond to a witch to halt the feral turns, but to deeply and unequivocally halt her emotional heel digging on the matter, to turn that deep rooted loathing of monsters into something neutral at first, now positive. A journey of self-love that has hit far too many bumps and setbacks along the way, but has finally settled in balance, the proof as tangible and visible as shifting for the first time into the animal form of a lion rather than the amalgamation of woman and beast.

She’s found that she feels right in this form, as though she’s in sync with her turnskin nature. Physically, she’s delighted by the natural fluidity of her movements, a grace that the primary form lacks in her opinion. And it pairs well with having learned how to best manage the now predictable animalistic urges that occur during the full moon.

So tonight, she’s absolutely living in her best feline life for the first time in the damn place.

That is, until the scent of blood catches her attention. That’s followed in favor of the tracks, but those confirm the path like breadcrumbs in a children’s story. That and the deer smell delicious, even if she’s not exactly ravenous. She could always eat more. It’s not like she’s a delicately sized kitten and romping around in the Wilde does burn quite a bit of energy.

The lioness stalks closer, keen on finding a means to maybe share this snack, but she’s quick to discover that this wolf isn’t keen on sharing and perhaps might be a bit feral. Still, a chase sounds fun and she’s about to lead him on a merry one. She knows these woods well, and for once, she’s in a complete right mind and in control. Enough to be amused at the notion that he’s a dog chasing a cat. Purrfection.

So, time to take him weaving through the trees, and when he gets close enough? She climbs partially up one and turns to leap off and over him with an amused noise.]

♞ jaskier + yennefer

[gynvael]

(( EDGE OF THE WILDE; 08/03; late night ))
[ Further into the night, the moon's hold hasn't let up, but he's starting to tire. He's also drifting closer to the city, close enough the deep grip of winter has eased up into rain and the city lights are bright against the horizon. Hard to say what drew him at first, but what keeps him going is a familiar scent and an even more familiar voice: a quiet hum, singing a tune that even now, he thinks he knows.

Geralt steps forward. His hunger isn't yet sated. But the man before him isn't entirely a stranger. His shining yellow gaze lands on his new target. Only a hint of recognition lingers. It's there, though. It makes him pause where he might not have hesitated to strike. He pauses and just stares, as if he's not sure what he should do. For the first time, he's uncertain about his new prey.

There are open cuts and a couple of deeper wounds on him from his encounters earlier in the night, his fur soaked in lake water. The injuries don't seem to bother him as much as they should. More blood stains his muzzle and his fur, blood that isn't his. It clings to his medallion, catching in the moonlight. ]

[cointosser]

[As a frequent visitor to the Coven, both with a bevy of invasive questions on the nature of magic and the desire to learn more of it, it would be impossible for Jaskier to have missed the warnings about the rise of the Sisters. Full moons and all that. But, look. His world is at constant threat of monsters. Literally stepping outside a town or, fuck, existing inside of it, could yield you another victim of a particularly hungry pack of ghouls.

Essentially, shit happens.

So Jaskier hears the warning but does not take any particular cautions. He's an expert at knowing exactly when to run, and besides... he did go around to Geralt's apartment first to spy on whether he could coerce the man into a little excursion in the Cwyld. Of course, and not to his surprise, Geralt's place was empty. Which could mean a variety of things, but considering what he'd seen outside his window only a little while ago... ugh. He was probably with the sorceress. Again.

At least their apparent tiff had not lasted long. Jaskier would agree, given the question, that sex was a lovely way to fix things.

And because he could not rely on either one of them (and he certainly would ask the sorceress for no favors), Jaskier gathers his bag and a pair of shears and goes off on his own. It's hardly his first time in the woods alone, and he easily fills the quiet of the night under two full moons with song, moving from strings of Her Sweet Kiss to new lines of a ballad he intends to name Mirrorbound. (It's a rather interesting title, all right?)

It is not by sense that he catches himself being watched. It's pure coincidence. In the effort of swinging his arm with the tune of his music, he accidentally lets loose of the shears, which going flying and land with a soft thump. With a curse, Jaskier pokes around in the grass to find it, leaves crunching under the effort.

He only barely catches the reflection of eyes staring at him as he stands back up. Perhaps a gift granted by the superior light of the moons. As the beast steps closer, the white of its fur catches the light as well.]

Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me. [It slips out, a sharp curse when compared to how sweet his song had been. Jaskier freezes, the shears held by a hand with knuckles quickly growing white until they simply fall back into the grass, his hands jerking down. His heart spikes back up into his throat.

Jaskier has been sure Destiny is watching out for him, if he believes in the thing, if only because his life tends to work out in, while not the best way, often relatively well. But this was a swift kick in the ass with a loogie of spit right between his eyes. A white wolf. A gigantic white wolf. The godsforsaken fucking irony. Jaskier stands straight, slowly, swallowing heavily with a mouth gone dry.]

Look. There's plenty of s-shit to eat. Out. Out there. Away. Awaaay. [His voice was soft, or at least attempting to be around his chattering teeth. Geralt, where the fuck are you?] Away from here. You -- you -- I'm a very powerful witch, and I won't hesitate --

[He hesitates when the light catches a bright, unmistakable shine of metal at the wolf's throat (and a fucking miracle he sees it at that, when he could only so far see all the blood on its snout). A shine as familiar to him as, perhaps, one of the rings he'd received from his oldest lovers. Something he'd seen more days of his life than he hadn't. A wolf wearing a wolf medallion. No longer silver, of course. Of course.

Silver is for monsters.]

Geralt? You had bloody not -- why are you --

[Ah, fuck.]

♞ open to all :: post-full moon

[gynvael]

(( ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT; 08/12; evening/night ))
A. TAVERN

[ Between the mess of the full moon and the mess of all that occurred after, Geralt finds himself alternating between going for a ride to clear his head and sitting in a corner of a tavern somewhere. He's well aware he's avoiding certain discussions. No one needs to tell him this. But it's been a little over a week and frankly, he needs a fucking break before he makes any decisions.

His memory is still fuzzy at best. Faded flashes. No one's approached him since about witnesses spotting a white wolf wearing his medallion, feasting on some hapless folks. Given the wounds on him at the end of that night—claws and teeth alike—he suspects his encounters mostly involved other monsters looking for as much of a fight as he was. Not ideal, but at least no one has wound up dead. Probably. As far as he knows.

At the moment, he's nursing a slow-healing wound on his side, where the silver shears sliced him open, along with his ale. He's specifically found a tavern he knows Jaskier will not likely be playing at: some place a bit rundown, where money is wont to be traded for more liquor than a few songs. It means the beer is shit, but it's cheap. He'll take it. His sword is sheathed in a tall leather bag, leaning a little discreetly in the corner of his booth. Beyond that, the only other thing he's got with him is a notebook, the writing neatly efficient: nothing especially secretive, just jotted notations of what he's learned and rough outlines of the surrounding Wilde.

He doesn't pay as much attention as he should to how close his mug is to the edge of the table. If someone bumps into it especially hard, they'll find him reaching out to catch his drink in a blink, a flash of newly-formed short, sharpened claws on his fingers. ]

B. WILDCARD

(( ooc; if your character had a run-in with Geralt during the full moon and you want them to confront him elsewhere/in a different scenario, just let me know! ))

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard's found himself in some of the seedier bars lately, but not for drinking's sake. He's been keeping an eye on Maria a bit, her reaction to several events worrisome and worth making sure that not too much time was spent in the bars.

So he walks into this one with eyes out for one person. She's not there but--oh. He recognizes the hair color first, and then the rest of the one gentleman at the booth. There is a part of the bar right across from the booth, and that's where Alucard goes instead. The seat he picks groans loudly even under Alucard's weight.

The good news is that it catches the bartender's attention, and Alucard orders a beer that he has zero intention of drinking. Once the bartender goes, he turns around on the seat and offers only a nod in Geralt's direction, hoping to just catch the Witcher's eye without forcing conversation.]

[electrod]

[ How to spot a Mirrorbound, an easy guide: if someone exhibits incomplete monster traits, there's big chance they came here from another world. It's all well confirmed if just because Reno also falls under that category. The ears going pointy, and feathers that can be seen on the back of his neck, and top of his hand... somehow he managed to get bored of plucking them

(It fucking hurt, made skin itchier and the blasted feathers returned with the vengeance anyway)

So when he buys his cheap booze (hopefully not spiked, this city likes their weird drinks way too much) and has a choice where to sit, he chooses a company of another Monster-in-making. So he sits uninvited at Geralt's table ]

Cheers, Graymane. [ He starts idly, with an easy, conversational tone. Even though neither of them looks particularly cheerful ] I take that sword you have is not just for show?

♞ open to all :: inconvenient curses

[gynvael]

(( HAVEN; 08/14; afternoon ))
[ In truth, Geralt expects nothing less than to come out of this junk collection excursion with some problem to deal with. A locked basement full of shit in a world populated with this amount of witches and magic—yeah. Something's bound to go wrong.

He's just not expecting the problem to be at once so benign and yet so fucking irritating. That is to say, you may find a large man lurking near the Victorian home with one of two problems:

1) a variety of delicate flowers sprouting in his white hair;

2) His nails turned wolf-like claws taking on an annoyingly vibrant shade of whatever color happens to be attuned to his mood, though this might be difficult to tell, as the colors seem to change while his typically deadpan expression...does not. So it's entirely possible to just assume they change randomly on their own. For the most part, they seem to remain some shade of ocean blue or grass green.

Since the curse appears to be lingering, he'll be taking his new look onto the streets in general. Geralt's used to being looked at, so this is nothing new. Maybe they can admire the damn flowers. It's fine. He's still got things to do, which means he'll be wandering the city in this state for the next day or so while he goes about his business. He assumes it'll wear off in time, given the novelty state of these objects. If not, he might need to call in another favor from Yennefer. ]

[whomthebelltolls]

[She'd found an accessory among the piles of otherwise inconsequential items, and while she isn't sure she's entirely into the idea of wearing it all over the place, she does think there's probably somewhere in the Mansion she could use it as decoration.

In the interim, however, she decides to wear it the appropriate way, over the button-down shirt and vest she's almost always in, and the black contrasts the white of her shirt nicely.

The man who walks by is at once familiar and not. She's seen someone who looked like him before, she's almost entirely certain - she makes it a point to at least try to get to know the faces of the Mirrorbound - but hadn't for a while. Either he's just been gone for a while, or left and returned. He would know her if he was, but either way... there's... flowers in his hair. That's a great way to get Maria's attention, as it's one of the few full-time interests she has left in this place. She wants to ask him about the smaller, purple flowers, but what ends up coming out is-] Caw caw-caw, caw?

[And a brief, baffled moment where she's not sure if she just said the word 'caw' over and over again, or if it actually came out properly, and she's just hearing things. She raises an eyebrow at him, because clearly, she's just as confused in this situation.]

delicate flowers + drinking

[partnerinheels]

[Sheva absolutely knows better than to go clean out a magic hoarder’s basement of weird, possibly dangerous, enchanted objects. So, she’s not one of the ones battling strange side effects, and has instead been entertained by some of the visuals that she’s witnessed whilst going about her errands.

For the most part, she doesn’t bother those afflicted. It’s only when she decides to end her day with a drink and a snack from one of her now favorite haunts that she catches wind of a familiar scent. It takes her a moment to place where she knows it from, but the connection’s made the moment she turns to catch sight of the large, white haired man with beautiful flowers curling through his hair. It’s not a bad sight, even if he does look sour about presumably just that.

She can’t help but smile a toothy grin to herself as she motions to the bartender to buy the big turnskin another round on her, then promptly moves herself over to the seat next to him, tail swishing behind her.]

You clean up nice. [And in case he hasn’t made the connection.] I can’t really smell the deer blood any longer. [Is she joking? Perhaps. Depends on his bathing habits.]

[cointosser]

[Where there's a bunch of free shit -- expensive, complicated, wondrous free shit -- there will, if you know him at all, be Jaskier. And while many of the items in the basement have caught his eye, he has only so much space in his cottage. (He's planning on making several trips, actually.

Or dragging his very large, strong friend to perhaps help him. Since the... events of the full moon, things have gone back to some sort of relative normal. Geralt still speaks to him, at least, once Jaskier made it very firm that he did not hold it against him.

Shit happens.

After Jaskier has returned once from his first trip to his cottage (where he took a pile of plates with delightful, colorful insults painted lovingly across them and a book that reads its own smutty innards out loud when opened), he spots said large, strong friend mulling about the same house he meant to return to.]

Geralt! You --

[Oh. He raises his brows, smiling as he taps his fingers against his chin, deliberately flashing the very large ruby ring he has recently acquired.] The flowers... my, you've finally decided to dress yourself up a little. [There's a moment where Jaskier appears to be keeping his lips forcibly closed, and then:] Makes me want to play a fiddle.

[He clicks his tongue, annoyed.] Fuck. Cuck.

[Unfortunately, the ring came with a price. Still, he thinks it's worth dealing with.] What are you doing out here? [Jaskier licks his lips, clears his throat. It doesn't stop it.] Without a scrap of cheer.

[chaoticbeauty]

[ Yennefer had spent a lot of time focusing on personal development magically and gathering additional supplies. Strength behind her powers weren't going to come until she was bonded to someone else, but there were tricks that she might be able to exploit until that day comes. Everything was still a little murky with the wish, but she'd found some options that had left her cautiously curious -- not optimistic. Optimism was where dreams and goals often went to die.

She'd heard about someone having a plethora of cursed and spelled objects, temptation strong to go investigate. But, she'd fought the urge... for now. Content to pass her time doing a bit of light shopping for some herbs she couldn't find growing wild close by.

And that's when she spots him. The man that had been a whirlwind in her life and had drawn up far too much emotion than she often allowed to show. With flowers in his hair. Paired with his usually far too serious countenance, it's-- she can't hide the smirk quickly enough. Her hand covers her mouth, masking the laugh with a cough -- returning her gaze to the bundles at the outdoor stall. While she wasn't holding any searing anger at him at the moment, there was still a lot left undiscussed. Enough that her choice of reactions to seeing him again wasn't this.

But Gods, it was an incredible sight.

She's certain if he hadn't seen her reaction, her scent may have found him. So, she keeps an eye over her shoulder should he decide to approach. But either way, she had something today that made her smile. An unexpected gift that was one she wished didn't carry so many fucking complications. ]

♞ geralt :: antler fruit

[cointosser]

[In the aftermath of how things had changed, Jaskier was glad he had not asked more details on the whole bonding thing. He was always perfectly willing to throw himself into things that benefited him without regard for the consequences, even if this specific throwing had been more about Geralt than himself.

It served to benefit him, as they promised. Eventually.

Tonight was their first night together since the night of the bonding. The bonding itself had been quick. While Jaskier had gone through several long, harrowing poems to recite to Geralt during the ceremony -- which was only between them and a witch -- he had settled on something short. To the point. Like his bonded. And afterwards, it made sense to him to have some time apart; besides, they had their own preparations to make.

Jaskier worked on the healing spell he had taken to learning. It was the first time he saw pure evidence the bond changed things for him. His previous attempts had been scattered, sometimes pulling skin apart where he'd meant to mend it as the magic backfired. His last attempt was. Well, for a bard who had never had magic before, it was nothing short of miraculous. His skin stretched, knitting together, only leaving behind a slightly discolored scar. As he tested his fingers, his wrist, not a single movement hurt.

Well. Fuck.

Next, he worked on the weapons for Geralt. Where he'd fumbled and gotten frustrated in his failures prior, this attempt was smooth. The smoke and sleep magic came to his fingers easily, and with the guidance he'd received at the forge, he fixed the ignition mechanism. It was, he knew, now completely perfect.

He stands now at the edge of the forest with the weapons neatly tucked into a new leather satchel he's bought with his recent coinage. Now that his arm is healed, he's been right back to playing in the local taverns again. Everything sort of settles where it feels like it belongs.

Jaskier turns before he hears anything; with Geralt's approach, there never really is a noise.] Gods. I can feel you coming before I even see you. [He shakes himself a little.] Fucking weird, it is. Any regrets for your side of the deal, Geralt?

[gynvael]

[ Ceremonies are not his thing. Geralt does what's needed to move it along, in the quietest way possible, and afterwards the feeling is both new and yet not. A thread, linking them together, but nothing disrupting nor overwhelming.

He spends the next few days in solitude. Jaskier seems to have read his mind -- or perhaps he simply senses it now, through whatever magic connects them -- and doesn't seek him out. He just wants time to himself, after something so...personal with another. Time to reflect on it and consider if he'd made the right choice.

He still doesn't know. Yennefer continues to worry him, too. But he's noticed when he goes hunting, his head is a bit clearer and far less distracted by the thought of tearing some animal apart. His senses have grown sharper, reflexes faster.

At the break of dawn, Geralt goes to meet Jaskier as he's said. He pounds on the door without mercy until Jaskier appears. They ride out to the woods together, where he leaves Jaskier to set up while he looks for a trail. When he finds it, he returns to the clearing. (Too bad he can't sneak up on the bard anymore.) ]

You're here, aren't you? [ The reply comes without any of his usual deadpan. Geralt's been careful to avoid evoking the words he'd thrown at Jaskier on the mountain. He's aware he's a bastard, but he doesn't want to be cruel.

He takes Roach by the reins and leads her forward. ] Come. This way.