It's been all he can do just to keep busy. And by 'keep busy,' he almost always means 'get into dangerous situations for a distraction.'
After hearing the rumors of a new sort of creature out in the Wilde, something thought to either be an undiscovered species or a previously supposed-extinct one, Killua has taken the trek out to the Northern Outpost to go hunting for the Skin-Changing Monitor supposedly making an appearance nearby.
Unfortunately, he hasn't had much luck. There's no big, weird lizard to be found as far as Killua's seen thus far-- only quite a few infected, half-rotted Cwyldtid.
It's just as well, really. Anything he can fight is good enough.
Killua's normally more careful, especially when it comes to the infected, but right now-- he just wants to let off steam and lose himself in the challenge. The more of these creatures appear, the better. He doesn't care right now.
With two infected bears to take down at once, at least he'll be distracted for a bit.
With most of his days spent shifting in the woods (varying degrees of success there), one might expect Geralt to emerge from said woods to go somewhere else. And not into another set of woods, in a different location.
But here he is. Doing exactly that.
The rumors have caught his interest. Experience has taught him that strange sightings are never what they're said to be. He wants to find out what it actually is that's lurking in the woods. Alongside some faded prints and markings against a tree, most of what he finds are actually bear prints. A set of two, in fact. He follows it silently -- only to spot not just the infected ursine, but Killua, too.
Beyond quietly checking to see if he'd escaped the dream all right and peering in once from afar, Geralt has largely left Killua alone. Wasn't like he had anything much to say about it. Apparently, they're destined to meet in the midst of some kind of fight.
Geralt steps out from behind the bears, just so Killua can see him. He's learned better than to startle the boy in the middle of a hunt.
Smart move on Geralt's part. Killua's eyes flick to the new movement, widening faintly in surprise, but then he quickly returns his attention to the bears.
This time, he isn't hiding. He's been dodging the infected creatures for a couple of minutes already, and they flank them now on either side, too intent on their would-be prey to notice Geralt.
As Killua ducks under the swipe of one enormous paw, he shouts out, "Hey, gramps! Wanna take the other one?"
The bears have the same rotting stench of all the infected. The Cwyld hangs thick in the air. Geralt, predictably, only silently draws his sword in reply. For someone who insisted on knowing his name, Killua seems determined to never utter it.
These Shades at least aren't pack animals; they swipe and lunge with little awareness of each other. When one barrels right through its friend to get to its prey, Geralt jumps on top of the stumbling bear.
His blade sinks into its back as it rears on its hind legs. With his claws, they've given him a better grip than he'd have before. He hangs on with them buried deep in the bear's flesh, giving his sword a sharp twist. He takes a second to look up -- just to see if the kid needs any help.
Killua is, honestly, a little annoyed. He was ready to take them both on-- and more. He wants to do something, hurt something, get this pent-up anger and fear and sadness out like lancing an infected wound releases all the bad things accumulated inside with a cathartic rush of pain and blood.
But Geralt has it taken care of; it would have been too much explanation to tell him to hang back, and so he'd blurted the first thing that came into his head. And still, he's annoyed-- at himself more than anything else. At the stupid bears. At the world.
It's an enormous, hulking thing half-rotted through, its patchy fur slick with an oily, rancid blackness, and the darkness like a horde of insects squirming on its skin. Killua ducks under the powerful swipe of its huge paw, gnarled claws barely missing the top of his head. He's been practicing his magic; a bright blue aura surrounds his hands now, and crackles up along his arms in flickering tendrils with a high buzz like cicadas in summer, thrumming with energy. Too much. He's reckless, overwhelmed, emotions surging through his magic and bursting out in bright blue flames and lightning sparks that dance along his knuckles and the claws that extend from his fingertips into the monster's flesh.
The bear lets out a screeching, uneven noise, scattered static more than roar. Killua buries his hand into its guts-- wrist then elbow-deep, twisting, yanking, vicious and messy and completely unmindful of the infection that stains the beast's flesh.
[ There are a number of reasons Geralt tends to skirt the Shades when he spots them lurking. He rarely seeks a fight that's not going to get him paid, for one, but mostly -- the infection is the last thing he wants to deal with. Not worth the risk.
So when blood spills out of the creature beneath him, he's quick to hop off. A stroke of his sword stills it. The corpse left behind, empty and drained, is nearly a skeleton. It's not his kill that he's looking at, though. It's Killua's -- long dead, but you wouldn't fucking know it from the way its being torn apart.
Concerning, on its own. More so when it reminds him a hell of a lot of the last time they met. On the blood-soaked streets, in the dream world. ]
Hey. [ He steps in front, reaching to catch Killua's arm. ] Stop. Before you turn into one yourself.
[ The moment Geralt's fingers brush his wrist, Killua seems to start, come back to himself suddenly-- and he leaps away in an instant, recoiling from Geralt and jumping back several feet with a strange, icy look in his eyes. Meanwhile, his shoulders heave with heavy breathing, black ichor dripping from his hand. The magic fades, if only visibly, the electric hum of it burning just under his skin.
His fingers curl into fists, carefully, at his sides. Restrained. ]
I'll be fine.
I'm going to look for more. I don't care if you come with me, but don't get in my way.
[ His expression is skeptical. Geralt lets him go nonetheless. If there's a flicker of concern visible, he doesn't let it linger on his face for long. ]
Mm. [ He falls into step with Killua. ] I'd appreciate you not trying to kill me a second time.
[ It's said casually enough. In truth, he's not certain how much the kid remembers of the incident. Also doesn't matter much; Killua obviously hadn't been himself. But there's something going on, whether it's related to that night or not. ]
[ The sticky blackness covering his fingers burns, already. Not like fire, though. Like acid, like poison. He flexes his fingers, making sure he can move them even if they start to go numb.
In the back of his mind, he knows what he's doing. He knows it's exactly what he's yelled at and pleaded with Gon not to do.
But Gon isn't here now, is he?
Gon isn't here, and he's still stuck here in this stupid, pointless place, with his stupid, pointless magic tricks and no way home.
The anger and bitterness surge in his chest, crawling up the back of his throat like flies. Magic has a different aura than nen, but despite the technicalities, bloodlust always has a scent.
Killua spares only a glance toward Geralt, and a shrug. He doesn't really know what the Witcher is referring to, but frankly-- he doesn't actually care. ]
No promises.
[ He'd only been trying to distract himself. Now, it's hard to remember what the goal originally was, what he'd even wanted with that lizard or whatever. Just a taste of a real fight has him itching for more, and inside his veins, the magic buzzes like the electricity he forms it into far too freely and carelessly these days. ]
By the way. [ Killua looks over again with a muted snort of a laugh that doesn't sound very happy at all. ]
[ Internally, Geralt sighs. Somehow, he always finds himself here. He follows, anyway, because if the kid ends up infected to shit, he's going to be annoyed if he wasn't there to drag him home.
His ears twitch, involuntary. He glances sidelong at Killua. ] I grew them myself.
[ He's mostly been ignoring them. In truth, the growing pains wore on him enough that he's just glad they're in proper now instead of bothering him every damn day. Anyway, his ears aren't the point. Fuzzy as they are. ]
Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?
Are you going to tell me why you're being so nosy?
[ The whiplash in his mood is staggering. He's been unhappy for weeks now, oscillating between trying to just hold it in and get through it, getting angry, getting violent, falling to apathy, and trying to ignore it all outright. He doesn't even know where he's at now; it's not the same place he was this morning. ]
[ The reason, in truth, is that he's concerned. It's not one he's willing to voice out loud.
His answer comes after a long pause. ] No.
[ He doesn't press further, just follows Killua through the woods. The sun grows bright, warmer. His gaze lingers only briefly on the boy's hand: it'll be a problem soon, but he figures Killua will find that out when the time comes. ]
Then shut up. I'm hunting Shades. Help or get lost.
[ Where is that feeling of excitement and relief at seeing a familiar face? Where's the curiosity or interest in whatever Geralt was doing, even as a distraction?
The strangest thing, Killua thinks through the haze as though from far away, is that he's aware he's being an asshole. He's aware he's being reckless, too. He knows he should turn back. The small, nagging voice in the back of his head screams danger, and the rest of him dares it to stop him-- but it can't.
Nothing makes sense. Nothing, except what he was made to do. The magic hums in his veins, fire where blood should be, and it needs to go somewhere.
A pack of wild dogs is next, their mangy forms distorted and emaciated, overtaken by the viscous shadows of the Cwyld. Killua's magic is bright, electric blue and wild. It makes his hair stand on end, blue flames and crackling sparks licking up his arms, lancing from his body into his surroundings, living and inanimate alike; he's aware of Geralt nearby, and though not actively trying to hit him, isn't all too careful either. When the dogs and the rocks and trees around them are left a mangled, charred shambles, he moves on in search of the next prey.
By that time, though, the infection has already spread tendrils through his hand, starting to wind up his wrist.
And the pulse of the unmoored magic inside him beats madly, and he doesn't notice anything else. ]
Killua had heard that there were some weird drones flying around and chaos in the streets because of them, but he hadn't actually realized what was happening. It had taken him a bit to understand how the hell his skateboard had suddenly come through the mirror, but here it is.
And he hasn't practiced in ages.
There are far more useful things, and people he desperately wants to see, or the stupid mirror could have let him go home-- but no. He gets a toy.
After a few days of brooding, Killua finally decides to just make the best of it for now. It's been well over a year since he really used one of these things, but it's not exactly hard.
It is, apparently, extremely unusual.
You can catch him receiving weird looks from the natives as he cruises down the street, unbothered by the bumpy ride on the cobblestones. Or see him messing around jumping over some stairs, or doing some sick tricks for the hell of it, amused by the reactions he gets from local Monsters and Witches who've never even imagined such a thing as a stupid little slab of wood on four wheels used for not-entirely-pragmatic transportation.
If he catches someone staring for a while, he might flip the board into his hand, tucking it under his arm, and approach.
Iramaat has never seen a skateboard in her life. So when she sees a young boy doing some strange acrobatic feets on a board with wheels nailed to it, she has to stop to take it in. His question really just just confirms it and she spreads her arms in a shrug and laughs.
"Never in my life. Is that... some sort of vehicle? Or is it solely for performing tricks and acrobatics?"
He expected that answer, considering what kind of place this is, but hearing it called a vehicle makes Killua laugh slightly in surprise.
"I mean... I guess it can technically be used for transportation. But I don't know if I'd call it a vehicle, except in the most technical way. It sounds weird... it's just a skateboard."
He stops a few feet in front of the faun, still holding the board under his arm.
"It's not for anything, really. It's slightly more fun than walking. And you can do cool tricks with it too. That's about it."
"I've never heard of a skateboard before," Iramaat replies, sounding delighted, "Although I would love to try it out at some point. Then again, I'm not sure if hooves work well..."
She lifts a foot with a laugh, as if to illustrate.
"Either way, it looks fun. You say you can do tricks on them? I would love to see that."
When the Faun mentions her hooves, something flickers across Killua's face, a brief moment of sadness that darkens his expression and distracts him for just a second before he catches up to the present once more.
Gon would have probably broken his stupid little twig legs trying to skateboard if he'd been here still. He would be so jealous.
Killua swallows against the tightness in his throat and looks down at his board to hide it, offering a shrug to cover the beat of silence before he can speak.
"Yeah. Flips and stuff. It'd probably be harder to balance on hooves, but if you want to try just standing on it, I don't mind."
Iramaat catches that little flicker but she doesn't press. It's not really important right now, is it? She'll probably remember it, though. As it is, she seems overjoyed at the offer.
"Oh, that would be wonderful - may I?"
She holds her hands out for the board expectantly.
hhhh sorry for the delay. holidays are insane... :(
"Perish the thought," Iramaat replies and takes the board, examining it for a moment before she sets it down. She carefully places one hooved foot on it and then the other, balancing for a moment. So far, so good.
"That's right. You just gotta make sure to balance well, or you'll end up propelling the skateboard out from under you and yourself right onto the street."
Killua grins (only a little strained), sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels to watch, without offering any other more detailed advice. She can figure it out herself... probably. Though he'll answer questions if asked.
It makes him remember teaching Gon how to stand on it, even though they'd been cooped up in a tiny room at the time. It feels like a lifetime ago to him, but at his age, even a year is far too long.
He pushes the memory of their laughter away for the moment, too painful to dwell on.
"Give me a moment," she replies with a snort and then carefully gives herself a push. Hooves make this a bit more difficult than it might be otherwise, but she's managing. Sort of. The skateboard rolls forward and she makes a little 'woop' noise and tries to balance. She sways slightly form side to side as it weakly rolls for a few meters.
"Well... less impressive than your own display, I'm sure."
"But more impressive than immediately falling off. So you don't have to be the most embarrassed you could be," he supplies helpfully, stepping forward to keep up. It's going so slowly, he just has to walk. Just staying close in case she does eat it. He might be feeling helpful enough to catch her. Maybe.
"I'd rather not be embarrassed at all," Iramaat retorts with a little snort of laughter and then tries to focus on keeping her balance. She gives herself another little push and wobbles a little as she speeds up. But she hasn't eaten it yet.
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for Geralt.
After hearing the rumors of a new sort of creature out in the Wilde, something thought to either be an undiscovered species or a previously supposed-extinct one, Killua has taken the trek out to the Northern Outpost to go hunting for the Skin-Changing Monitor supposedly making an appearance nearby.
Unfortunately, he hasn't had much luck. There's no big, weird lizard to be found as far as Killua's seen thus far-- only quite a few infected, half-rotted Cwyldtid.
It's just as well, really. Anything he can fight is good enough.
Killua's normally more careful, especially when it comes to the infected, but right now-- he just wants to let off steam and lose himself in the challenge. The more of these creatures appear, the better. He doesn't care right now.
With two infected bears to take down at once, at least he'll be distracted for a bit.
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But here he is. Doing exactly that.
The rumors have caught his interest. Experience has taught him that strange sightings are never what they're said to be. He wants to find out what it actually is that's lurking in the woods. Alongside some faded prints and markings against a tree, most of what he finds are actually bear prints. A set of two, in fact. He follows it silently -- only to spot not just the infected ursine, but Killua, too.
Beyond quietly checking to see if he'd escaped the dream all right and peering in once from afar, Geralt has largely left Killua alone. Wasn't like he had anything much to say about it. Apparently, they're destined to meet in the midst of some kind of fight.
Geralt steps out from behind the bears, just so Killua can see him. He's learned better than to startle the boy in the middle of a hunt.
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This time, he isn't hiding. He's been dodging the infected creatures for a couple of minutes already, and they flank them now on either side, too intent on their would-be prey to notice Geralt.
As Killua ducks under the swipe of one enormous paw, he shouts out, "Hey, gramps! Wanna take the other one?"
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The bears have the same rotting stench of all the infected. The Cwyld hangs thick in the air. Geralt, predictably, only silently draws his sword in reply. For someone who insisted on knowing his name, Killua seems determined to never utter it.
These Shades at least aren't pack animals; they swipe and lunge with little awareness of each other. When one barrels right through its friend to get to its prey, Geralt jumps on top of the stumbling bear.
His blade sinks into its back as it rears on its hind legs. With his claws, they've given him a better grip than he'd have before. He hangs on with them buried deep in the bear's flesh, giving his sword a sharp twist. He takes a second to look up -- just to see if the kid needs any help.
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But Geralt has it taken care of; it would have been too much explanation to tell him to hang back, and so he'd blurted the first thing that came into his head. And still, he's annoyed-- at himself more than anything else. At the stupid bears. At the world.
It's an enormous, hulking thing half-rotted through, its patchy fur slick with an oily, rancid blackness, and the darkness like a horde of insects squirming on its skin. Killua ducks under the powerful swipe of its huge paw, gnarled claws barely missing the top of his head. He's been practicing his magic; a bright blue aura surrounds his hands now, and crackles up along his arms in flickering tendrils with a high buzz like cicadas in summer, thrumming with energy. Too much. He's reckless, overwhelmed, emotions surging through his magic and bursting out in bright blue flames and lightning sparks that dance along his knuckles and the claws that extend from his fingertips into the monster's flesh.
The bear lets out a screeching, uneven noise, scattered static more than roar. Killua buries his hand into its guts-- wrist then elbow-deep, twisting, yanking, vicious and messy and completely unmindful of the infection that stains the beast's flesh.
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So when blood spills out of the creature beneath him, he's quick to hop off. A stroke of his sword stills it. The corpse left behind, empty and drained, is nearly a skeleton. It's not his kill that he's looking at, though. It's Killua's -- long dead, but you wouldn't fucking know it from the way its being torn apart.
Concerning, on its own. More so when it reminds him a hell of a lot of the last time they met. On the blood-soaked streets, in the dream world. ]
Hey. [ He steps in front, reaching to catch Killua's arm. ] Stop. Before you turn into one yourself.
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His fingers curl into fists, carefully, at his sides. Restrained. ]
I'll be fine.
I'm going to look for more. I don't care if you come with me, but don't get in my way.
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Mm. [ He falls into step with Killua. ] I'd appreciate you not trying to kill me a second time.
[ It's said casually enough. In truth, he's not certain how much the kid remembers of the incident. Also doesn't matter much; Killua obviously hadn't been himself. But there's something going on, whether it's related to that night or not. ]
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In the back of his mind, he knows what he's doing. He knows it's exactly what he's yelled at and pleaded with Gon not to do.
But Gon isn't here now, is he?
Gon isn't here, and he's still stuck here in this stupid, pointless place, with his stupid, pointless magic tricks and no way home.
The anger and bitterness surge in his chest, crawling up the back of his throat like flies. Magic has a different aura than nen, but despite the technicalities, bloodlust always has a scent.
Killua spares only a glance toward Geralt, and a shrug. He doesn't really know what the Witcher is referring to, but frankly-- he doesn't actually care. ]
No promises.
[ He'd only been trying to distract himself. Now, it's hard to remember what the goal originally was, what he'd even wanted with that lizard or whatever. Just a taste of a real fight has him itching for more, and inside his veins, the magic buzzes like the electricity he forms it into far too freely and carelessly these days. ]
By the way. [ Killua looks over again with a muted snort of a laugh that doesn't sound very happy at all. ]
Nice dog ears.
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His ears twitch, involuntary. He glances sidelong at Killua. ] I grew them myself.
[ He's mostly been ignoring them. In truth, the growing pains wore on him enough that he's just glad they're in proper now instead of bothering him every damn day. Anyway, his ears aren't the point. Fuzzy as they are. ]
Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?
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[ The whiplash in his mood is staggering. He's been unhappy for weeks now, oscillating between trying to just hold it in and get through it, getting angry, getting violent, falling to apathy, and trying to ignore it all outright. He doesn't even know where he's at now; it's not the same place he was this morning. ]
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His answer comes after a long pause. ] No.
[ He doesn't press further, just follows Killua through the woods. The sun grows bright, warmer. His gaze lingers only briefly on the boy's hand: it'll be a problem soon, but he figures Killua will find that out when the time comes. ]
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[ Where is that feeling of excitement and relief at seeing a familiar face? Where's the curiosity or interest in whatever Geralt was doing, even as a distraction?
The strangest thing, Killua thinks through the haze as though from far away, is that he's aware he's being an asshole. He's aware he's being reckless, too. He knows he should turn back. The small, nagging voice in the back of his head screams danger, and the rest of him dares it to stop him-- but it can't.
Nothing makes sense. Nothing, except what he was made to do. The magic hums in his veins, fire where blood should be, and it needs to go somewhere.
A pack of wild dogs is next, their mangy forms distorted and emaciated, overtaken by the viscous shadows of the Cwyld. Killua's magic is bright, electric blue and wild. It makes his hair stand on end, blue flames and crackling sparks licking up his arms, lancing from his body into his surroundings, living and inanimate alike; he's aware of Geralt nearby, and though not actively trying to hit him, isn't all too careful either. When the dogs and the rocks and trees around them are left a mangled, charred shambles, he moves on in search of the next prey.
By that time, though, the infection has already spread tendrils through his hand, starting to wind up his wrist.
And the pulse of the unmoored magic inside him beats madly, and he doesn't notice anything else. ]
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ota.
Killua had heard that there were some weird drones flying around and chaos in the streets because of them, but he hadn't actually realized what was happening. It had taken him a bit to understand how the hell his skateboard had suddenly come through the mirror, but here it is.
And he hasn't practiced in ages.
There are far more useful things, and people he desperately wants to see, or the stupid mirror could have let him go home-- but no. He gets a toy.
After a few days of brooding, Killua finally decides to just make the best of it for now. It's been well over a year since he really used one of these things, but it's not exactly hard.
It is, apparently, extremely unusual.
You can catch him receiving weird looks from the natives as he cruises down the street, unbothered by the bumpy ride on the cobblestones. Or see him messing around jumping over some stairs, or doing some sick tricks for the hell of it, amused by the reactions he gets from local Monsters and Witches who've never even imagined such a thing as a stupid little slab of wood on four wheels used for not-entirely-pragmatic transportation.
If he catches someone staring for a while, he might flip the board into his hand, tucking it under his arm, and approach.
"What, you never seen one of these before?"
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"Never in my life. Is that... some sort of vehicle? Or is it solely for performing tricks and acrobatics?"
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"I mean... I guess it can technically be used for transportation. But I don't know if I'd call it a vehicle, except in the most technical way. It sounds weird... it's just a skateboard."
He stops a few feet in front of the faun, still holding the board under his arm.
"It's not for anything, really. It's slightly more fun than walking. And you can do cool tricks with it too. That's about it."
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She lifts a foot with a laugh, as if to illustrate.
"Either way, it looks fun. You say you can do tricks on them? I would love to see that."
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Gon would have probably broken his stupid little twig legs trying to skateboard if he'd been here still. He would be so jealous.
Killua swallows against the tightness in his throat and looks down at his board to hide it, offering a shrug to cover the beat of silence before he can speak.
"Yeah. Flips and stuff. It'd probably be harder to balance on hooves, but if you want to try just standing on it, I don't mind."
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"Oh, that would be wonderful - may I?"
She holds her hands out for the board expectantly.
hhhh sorry for the delay. holidays are insane... :(
It'd be pretty difficult to break it or anything. Worst that could happen is she'll fall, and it'll be kind of funny.
"Don't blame me if you end up on your ass, though."
no worries; i feel that.
"So, I just propel it with my foot, then?"
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Killua grins (only a little strained), sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels to watch, without offering any other more detailed advice. She can figure it out herself... probably. Though he'll answer questions if asked.
It makes him remember teaching Gon how to stand on it, even though they'd been cooped up in a tiny room at the time. It feels like a lifetime ago to him, but at his age, even a year is far too long.
He pushes the memory of their laughter away for the moment, too painful to dwell on.
"Go on. Give it a try."
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"Well... less impressive than your own display, I'm sure."
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"It is fun-!"
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