middaeg | [ CATCH-ALL ] snakes are biting at my heels

Even muffled through the faint, persistent ringing in his ears, the familiar voice draws Waver's attention. He lifts his head, mouth opening-- but says nothing, merely blinking up at Berserker slowly, hands clasped loosely in his lap. He exhales a shaky breath. The panic is far away, just out of reach. For now, everything is just happening around him, and he can do nothing but kneel there, bound by the potion as much as by the thick iron chain.

The seller, meanwhile, smiles at his potential customer amiably and makes a sweeping gesture at the rather pathetic-looking turnskin at his feet.

"Good eye on this one, sir, rare stock! Just came in this morning. Not fully turned yet, see? Still young, no more than fifteen or sixteen and the perfect age for training up and keeping as a companion for a long time. So, you see, the price is fair, you understand--"

And no, it isn't cheap. Even though he's full of shit and clearly has no clue how old Waver could be or anything about him. It's more appealing marketing to draw customers who want to buy younger Monsters though, keep them in the family for a while as pets or workers if they grow stronger or, likely, uglier.

The seller holds up a collar inlaid with some sort of glinting green stone.

"But don't let anyone tell you I don't take care of my clients! I'll throw this in for half-price, and a strong leather leash for free. What d'you say, sir? Anything else catch your fancy, perhaps? Some earrings? A personalized grooming set? Cut ya a deal on those too, of course!"

The more the seller talks, the more the rage in him burns. It sharpens into a white-hot fury and sets him further on edge. It's not like the idea of slavery is something alien him to him -- he'd seen human lives traded for chariots in his lifetime -- but this is personal. This is one of his own, one he will protect with his life. He has to keep the facade up a little bit longer and take his chance when it presents itself.

"The beast is enough. Let him out so I can see him walk. Or at least stand."

The moment the seller turns his back...That's when he'll strike. Let this subhuman filth live for a moment longer before ending his wretched existence with far more efficiency than he deserves.

Edited 2019-09-20 00:04 (UTC)

Honestly, even the seller knows he shouldn't have put the new Monster up for sale still drugged, but he's greedy and he knows the source isn't exactly above board. The sooner he can offload the whelp and make some cash, the better. So he just smiles widely and sets the collar back down, grabbing the afore-mentioned leash from the table instead as he steps closer.

"Come now, don't be shy."

The leash clips onto a ring at the front of the iron collar first, and only then does the seller reach around Waver's back to undo the spelled clasp from the chain that connects him to the wooden pole stuck in the ground. He doesn't actually need to turn away from Monster to do it.

When he straightens, he pulls Waver with him, expecting him to stand on his own. When the turnskin doesn't (or, rather, can't), he yanks harder, dragging him up by the neck. Waver chokes, fingers curling around the collar to keep it from digging into his throat as he's pulled up bodily to wobble on unsteady legs.

"Get up, dog. Stand up. Stop embarrassing me, now."

To the customer, he offers an apologetic grin.

"Needs a little training, I'll admit, but between you an' me, all you need's a firm hand and a silver ring, and they learn fast."

Berserker has seen enough. The pure fury crystallizes into cold action. No need to snap his neck if he can hit him hard enough in the chest -- a single, sharp strike can disrupt the heart rhythm enough to stop it. His strength is comparable to when it was as a Servant, even, so it's something he can manage. The dragon takes a few steps forward as if to inspect Waver, then turns his attention to the seller.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He punches him hard in the chest, just once and with a significant amount of force. Commotio cordis can look like a heart attack and since there's no witnesses in this corner of the bazaar other than the monsters he's selling, it's plausible. Free the others along with Waver and gets them to the underground. He knows the way thanks to Geralt, but he needs to get them free first.

"Waver. Can you hear me?"

It's quick, efficient, and silent. The slaver doesn't even have time to cry out. He goes down hard, clutching his chest and twitching, open-mouthed like a beached fish. His seizing hand tightens on the leash, though-- and Waver goes down with him, arms clumsily bracing outward to catch himself before he goes face-first into the cobblestones below.

Thankfully, before that can happen, he finds himself intercepted by Berserker's arm across his chest buffering his fall. Waver gasps, still reeling, and struggles to regain his precarious balance.

"Y-yes. Yes. I--"

The world spins dangerously when he looks up to search Berserker's face.

"Th-tha... nks..."

Berserker's first act is to wrench the iron collar from Waver's neck. The twisted metal falls away as he gently urges the turnskin back towards the ground.

"Sit. I'll carry you, but I need to free the rest of them."

Acting because he wants to, not because he's been told to do it...How strange. He really has changed, though he's not going to dwell on those thoughts right now. As in everything, he's extremely efficient in breaking the chains and pulling the collars from the other monsters who'd been in the slaver's possession. Just like with those he freed with Geralt, they needed to be taken the the safety of the resistance.

Berserker's not keen on returning the the sewers, but somehow taking Waver back to the Coven doesn't seem like a great idea, either. The housing provided by the Coven is certainly cleaner, the problem of him being under glamour made it ... dicey to return without finding someone to dispel the effect first. Why was a dignitary walking around in disguise?

Once he's finished, he returns to Waver's side and picks him up.

"Do you feel safe returning to the Coven?"

It's startling, but despite Waver's flinch at the collar being grabbed like that and the wrenching of metal so close to his throat, it doesn't actually hurt. In fact, it's an enormous relief.

He sinks back down to his knees on the cobblestone, breathing a little easier.

The other Monsters aren't all so complacent. Some of them seem disoriented and confused but still obedient, now watching their rescuer instead of the human who'd seen fit to treat them like livestock, though only a few even seem capable of thanking him or aware enough to understand what's happening. Two more actually resist, then try to scoop up the remains of their collars in distress.

Moreover, this corner isn't nearly so secluded that nobody will notice. Other patrons are starting to wander closer. Some of the freed Monsters begin to mill about, soon to start drawing major attention. They have to move quickly, and with Berserker alone, it'll be more of a challenge to herd more than half a dozen Monsters toward the nearest Resistance safehouse.

Waver's only distantly aware of all this. It feels... muffled, that strange feeling of disassociation leaving him disoriented and uncomfortable but unable to really be afraid or angry as he should be. Everything seems dulled, and his reactions slow.

"...dunno." The Coven might be safe enough, but he's having trouble figuring out what to do once there. It's difficult to focus on anything that's not immediately happening, and even that feels like it's about to slip through his fingers if he doesn't concentrate hard.

Waver leans against Berserker's chest, shivering, and lifts his head to look around.

"What... about them?"

One last thing he does before getting serious about the task at hand is he rifles through the pockets of the dead slaver for anything he might have. Some cash, some questionable potions...Whatever, they're of no use to a dead man.

The way he holds Waver against him is far more protective than you'd expect. He's still not exactly comfortable with physical affection, he just knows it can ease discomfort in situations like this. A simple embrace eased his own painful emotional aches, so it might help the turnskin, too. He's still learning and, at the very least, he's trying.

If he were a witch, this would be easier. Drawing attention is not what he wanted to do...He does have a trump card tucked away in his pocket in the form of his own venom, but he's hoping to save that if they're really in a bind.

"Come over here, just...trust me," he says, trying to get the freed monsters over to him. It's...easier said than done, but even the resistant ones eventually start to come his way.

"I'll get them to safety, too. I owe them that much."

Or at least to someone who could help with herding them. Berserker starts to urge them forward towards a side exit as he almost desperately scans the crowd looking for someone wearing the three stars of the resistance. Another hand to guide them, a witch who could soothe them, anything...

With the amount of shit Geralt's gotten into with the auctions, there's really no way for him to be back there. Or there shouldn't be. But with a little glamour courtesy of a tri-starred witch, he's back - specifically to work through some intel on shady slave traders given to them by a freed monster. It's meant to be a quiet outing, with Geralt effectively playing bodyguard for the witch should anything go tits up.

Mission accomplished. They're done and on their way out, slipping away without anyone noticing their subterfuge. Until--

It can't be. In here. Fuck.

Overclocked witcher senses catch onto the familiar presence of his young would-be student. He gives a curt warning to his companion that he needs to make a detour, and moves back into the crowd, his predatory gait hurried and determined as he follows the trail. She hisses at him, and after a moment of hesitation, follows after. She's a Resistance member, after all.

Waver's trail gets muddled here and there, mingled with - huh? him? - and then blood. Not a great sign, but there's no fear or panic from Geralt, just continued doggged tracking. Which, of course, pays off.

"Shit."

-- Probably not what anyone wants to hear over their shoulder, in such a situation. Geralt holds up his hands in a gesture of submission, knowing he looks different. More human, with darker grey hair and dull, ordinary eyes, scars smoothed over. "It's Geralt. What the fuck happened?" A beat, and-- "Nevermind, tell me later."

Let's get everybody the fuck out right now.

His senses are significantly dulled, but Geralt's scent is familiar, even muffled and confused by the crowds and noise overwhelmingly rising around them. Waver doesn't have to look to know it's him when he speaks. The relief is muffled too, but there. Distantly.

There's not much time or chance for him to react beyond just lifting his head, though. They're definitely starting to draw attention, mostly the knot of recently-freed Monsters shuffling toward the exit in a group that's just a bit too big, and too obviously leashless and uncollared. When one of the auction enforcers starts up a shout from the other side of the street and makes a run for them, there's no more hiding-- and an increasingly dwindling chance to soothe the more complacent of the recent escapees, some of whom are already starting to kneel on the ground awaiting recapture.

Others react in exactly the opposite way. One chimera bolts, dashing unsupervised into the alleyway ahead.

Waver starts growling, claws digging into Berserker's shoulder where he's holding on, as the shouts grow nearer.

Edited 2019-09-20 05:21 (UTC)

Berserker freezes up instinctively when he hears the voice behind him. He turns around quickly to ... hear a familiar name. Different-looking, sure, but it's enough for the dragon to trust him for now. There's too much at risk to refuse his help right now, especially with the undue attention they're drawing.

"He's too weak to walk. Drugged up." Translation: I have one hand I can use.

The immediate problem is the enforcer. Secondary is that chimera that ran off. This situation has gone so far out of his control that it's frustrating. The enforcer he can deal with, the monsters are more difficult for him.

"Waver...Stay calm. You're safe with us." He looks to Geralt. "Take him and deal with the monsters, I'll handle the guards."

Geralt steps over to take Waver, knowing the way out from here and clearly being able to tell that he needs help, and fast. Beside them, the witch says: "You lot are going to get the whole city burned down for good or ill, aren't you? Come on."

She straightens up and turns around, shoulders set. Deep breath, and then she launches into a charade at the incoming guards, begging for help for return of her wayward monsters. Geralt swears under his breath but can't stop her. He looks at Berserker.

"That ruse isn't gonna last. She can't get killed, alright?"

Imagine if a Dorcharcht witch ended up dead in the crossfire of Aefenglom rebels screwing around with normal city proceedings. It wouldn't matter that she's a Resistance agent, they'd all get crucified. He lets Waver claw him if he wants, and barks at the nearest newly-freed and terrified monster - feeling bad about leaning on the compulsion spell, but not having any other way to get them to hustle.

If they can just get out before anyone attempts to detain one of them, maybe they'll squeak by. The enforcer is dumbly trying to help their witch round up monsters, clearly not sure she's legit, but not being in the habit of questioning a mage.

Edited 2019-09-20 06:48 (UTC)

He's being shuffled around and the experience is disorienting, slightly, but between the familiar scents and voices, Waver stops growling and tries to stay calm. It's easier than it perhaps should have been, but right now, the way the potion dulls his mind and senses is almost a good thing. Makes him easier to manage, at the very least, keeps the distress from climbing into anything bad enough to risk his more beastly nature taking over.

While Geralt adjusts his grip, Waver wraps one arm around the back of his neck to support himself. Geralt is warmer than the dragon was. Waver presses close instinctively.

The look in his eyes is still too glazed to be normal, almost the sort of look the compelled Monsters have, though the tattoo that should have protected him is clearly active and visible on his chest. But he keeps his head up, looking around at the blur of movement and noise as if through a thick glass wall, struggling to focus.

When Geralt moves faster, Waver's grip tightens in an effort to keep the world still. It doesn't work. He tries to breathe instead, and looks down to keep his head from spinning quite so much.

Up ahead, the newly freed Monsters finally have some direction Berserker couldn't give them. The compulsion works; they start getting up or turning back, all except the chimera who's out of earshot. Some of them look eerily relieved to be told what to do.

If the immediate solution isn't some form of violence, Berserker doesn't really know how to deal with it. Not getting someone killed is certainly something he's capable of, but right now all he wants to do is kill. A silent death for the enforcer is what he was planning on until a wrench got thrown into his plans. All he wants to do is get out of here with Waver and make sure he's safe -- why the hell did he have to start feeling empathy for the other monsters? The fastest way to get what he needs is to play along.

So fuck it.

"We'll get them rounded up and be on our way...There's just one more."

He has the unfortunate fact of looking nearly identical to another dignitary from Aefenglom and Berserker doesn't want his actions to become a problem for Caster. The less attention drawn to him, the better. Instead of arguing or fighting, he simply walks -- not runs -- towards where he saw Geralt go off to. The alleyway...Nevermind that for the moment. He catches up to the witch.

"I owe you. There's one more that ran through the alley over there and I don't think they'll listen to me."

Geralt would sympathize - but this isn't the dream, and it smells like blood and death over here already. He strongly suspects someone's already dead, probably the absent trader, and that's got the potential to be a devastating problem for the diplomatic proceedings. What happens if they lock the city down, and the diplomats can't get back to Aefenglom? No. Geralt has to at least try to juggle damage control.

He gives Berserker a look he hopes is fortifying as he goes.

"We can do this because we have to," he says quietly to Waver. Shit, he even smells drugged. Geralt lets part of his mind analyze what could have caused this kind of reaction, and focuses on shuffling him to where he knows an exit is. Some of the stalls have been re-arranged, this place a labyrinth intended on keeping the disapproving out (and recently, the guests). He ends up with one of the released monsters trailing them, split off from the group and relieved to have a witch to obey. Geralt looks over his shoulder and tries for eye contact with Berserker so he knows where another one's gone.

Meanwhile: the Resistance witch tilts her head to listen to Berserker, playing her part as a cold-hearted asshole who owns sentient beings well, though anyone with keen senses will be able to smell the nervous sweat on her. "Thank you. I will collect him," she says. We'll call her Ygraine. She casts a frosty look at the enforcer. "Do you mind letting me proceed? Or will you not start interviewing the people in the neighboring stalls to see who let them all go? If you think I won't be filing a complaint, you're mistaken."

He's not happy about that, but he lets her go, all the while watching closely. Ygraine hustles as best she can while maintaining an apparently calm demeanor, one hand clenched tensely against her abdomen. "Keep an eye on everyone," she says quietly. "Make sure that prick doesn't try to order anyone around." And now, darting into the alley to get the chimera.

They got lucky, running into allies. The Monsters Berserker freed got lucky too. While Berserker and the witch we'll call Ygraine take care of making sure nobody follows them and eventually collecting the stragglers, Waver is finally managing to wrap his head around the situation as Geralt hurries off with him. They're leaving the auction behind. Berserker too, but he doesn't worry about that.

Earlier, Berserker had mentioned taking him back to the Coven. Waver tentatively lifts his head, not looking around so he won't get dizzy, but instead looking obliquely up at Geralt's face. Mostly his jaw, from this angle.

"Where... are we going?"

He takes a deep, purposeful breath. Blinks heavily a few times. Focus. He needs to explain.

"I think... I need... an antidote," he tells Geralt, slowly but clearly. "He... fed me something. But... I don't know what... was in it."

Berserker will be fine so long as the rune from Caster holds. He hadn't been making too much use of it except as strictly necessary, though the nagging thought of it failing on him sat firmly in the back of his mind. That's all they'd need is for him to fall under the pull of the compulsion. His force of will is stronger than most, but that could only last for so long.

Aside from his own sense of self being at risk, it's hard to push Waver's well-being out of his mind entirely. The intense rage from earlier at seeing him in such a state surprised him -- very few people warrant that kind of reaction and Berserker didn't expect Waver to be one of them. He knows he's safe with Geralt, but the protective instincts are trying their best to convince him otherwise. Focus on the task at hand...

He gives a nod to Ygraine, deciding to let her deal with the runaway chimera. He hangs back to keep an eye on the enforcer, who seems to be doing as asked, at least. Which...is a problem because someone he's talking to is gesturing at Berserker. Someone saw him tearing off the collars, apparently, so the questioning comes to him.

"I bought that sick dog off of him, he must've dropped the chain off the lot of them when he made it stand. You think someone like me could tear metal apart like that?" Berserker scoffs at the enforcer with an icy stare. "He's a liar. Back off and go question someone else."

Things are getting dicey and he can't afford to take the out like he wants to right now. It would be so easy to knock him unconscious and go, but there are far, far too many witnesses for that right now. Instead, he just hopes the bluff will work.

No handcuffs appear, which is good, but the bluff doesn't work stunningly. The enforcer begins to ask Berserker for his name, and he wants to see the 'sick dog', but before that can launch into an argument, Ygraine rushes back just in time. Despite her smaller stature she shoves herself right in between them, and takes the man to task for 'fiddling around with thumbs up his backside instead of working'. It's not a game that'll last long. Behind her, a clearly agitated chimera is staring at Berserker. It's easy to interpret that he's under orders to go with her companion.

She's got the man occupied. Berserker can herd the monsters out now, if he moves fast. Ygraine will, hopefully, be able to follow.

On the way out, now, Geralt is still holding Waver as steady as he can, taking the undignified but necessary trip through irrigation grates and spillways to get to the sewer catacombs. "I know," he tells the young man. "I can smell it. I think I know what it is. If we can find the ingredients I can make a clarifying potion."

His voice is calm and his heartbeat, naturally far more sluggish than a human's, remains even and without evidence of stress. Confidence that they'll make it is hopefully reassuring, but he can't begin to guess how much the kid's aware of. He drops down onto one of the ledges bracketing the sewage trench, the area almost pitch black. Resistance members have stopped using this part of the tunnel network, trying to dissuade more attention being brought to the entrances closest to where the auctions are held. He finds shimmering runes protected by the usual enchantments, suggesting that there's help down here, but it'll be a ways away.

Geralt shifts enough to put one hand at Waver's throat, getting a feel for his pulse - the pace of it, if it's erratic or not. (His skin feels weird. Sorry.) This could almost look like hesitation from him, torn between hurrying on to somewhere secure, and waiting for Berserker so that it doesn't seem like they've vanished. Their monster tag-along asks in worried voice if he's alright, and Geralt says, "He will be. Go on ahead, and if you find anyone tell them there's someone who's probably been poisoned."

Maybe it's a good thing Waver's senses are dulled so badly. The sewers are surely no fun for someone with a keen nose... sorry, Geralt.

"Okay..." He can smell it? Waver doesn't bother asking, though it sounds a bit strange. Unless he really reeks. Which is possible.

The absence of noise and crowds and even light is more disorienting than calming. It makes Waver feel like everything is even more muffled and faraway, and the darkness freaks him out; he hadn't realized how used to seeing in the dark he'd gotten until that ability is hobbled. Thankfully, he's not alone, and he takes comfort in the physical connection instead, in Geralt's own calm, deciding to close his eyes after a while. It doesn't really make him less anxious, but it doesn't make it worse.

He startles a little at the touch to his throat but doesn't protest. Beneath Geralt's (apparently weird) fingertips, Waver's pulse is steady but slow. He's not going to keel over or anything, though. Probably. There'd be no point in killing him if they wanted to sell him, right? Small comforts?

Even just hearing Geralt say out loud that he'll be fine is reassuring somehow. Hearing he can make a clarifying potion and that there's more help close by is even more reassuring. It takes a minute for Waver to get up the courage and focus to form the words to ask, but eventually he ventures softly, "Is it... bad?" Whatever it is he smells.

And also. Now that they're alone, he realizes something else. Waver opens his eyes, lifting his head enough to look around.

"Hey, where... where's Berserker?"

Edited 2019-09-23 02:07 (UTC)

With the enforcer distracted and the chimera with him, Berserker wastes no time in getting the hell out. That was way too close and he's annoyed at himself for being careless enough to get into the situation in the first place. He gives the briefest of glances to Ygraine before he goes, both irritated that she had to help him and grateful to her for picking up the slack.

He'd seen where Geralt went and is quick to follow his steps with the freed monsters in tow. It's no easy task getting them to go where he needs them, but at least they're all listening to him. The disguised dragon is the last to go -- he doesn't even pause to look back for Ygraine. He directs the monsters to go ahead, to follow the runes while he stays behind. Where are they...?

He continues ahead, deliberate in his pace as he seeks out the other two. Actually caring about someone beyond their usefulness to him is still so alien that he can't accept that's what's driving him -- part of it is his protective instincts from his transformation and that's entirely what he chalks it up to. It's that and nothing more...A convenient lie.

Geralt can't properly answer Waver's question, because he doesn't know. But if the answer turns out to be arrested, then he'll be depositing the young turnskin with the Resistance and fully committing to this terrorist gig, probably. Iorveth would be proud. Iorveth would also probably know a much better way to strategist all of this - unfortunately there's no guerrilla military leader here, just a witcher.

"Nearby," is what he decides on, and hopes it's not a lie.

Time always seems to move slowest when he wants someone to hurry the fuck up. Geralt stands there with Waver, debating on whether or not to go, for what feels like too long but what's really only minutes. At last, something scrapes into his attention. He hears people approaching before he sees them - but the shuffling, anxious gait of freed monsters raises no alarm. Animal eyes glint in the low light as Geralt tries to make out where Berserker is through the slow, nervous procession. He spies the chimera and asks, and just gets a muttered thumb over his shoulder. On his way, alright. Geralt hefts Waver up a little more solidly and begins to backtrack, intent on meeting the dragon halfway.

It's good enough for Waver. Or if it's not, it isn't like he can do anything about it. So he nods, and closes his eyes again to wait. Like this, he can't even help by tracking the scent or listening for footsteps, at least not as well as Geralt can on his own. He feels a little useless, but mostly, he's got too much else to worry about to really care right now.

So he's basically just a sack of potatoes with dog ears that Geralt has to heft around for a bit, sorry.

At least he perks up a little when he hears others speaking, lifting his head enough to watch, though he doesn't try to interact with any of the freed Monsters. It's a relief. He can't tell for sure, but it seems most of them made it out, perhaps even all.

It's not too much longer until he sees the two of them, a sense of relief washing over him. He keeps the same pace as he heads over to maintain his normal indifference. The angry from before has cooled considerably, though it flares up as he sees Waver again. Caring is definitely not something he enjoys.

"All of them got out with me. I don't know about the witch for sure. She was holding up that asshole."

He wants to take Waver from him, but makes no motion to do so. It's a weakness to care. Despite the turnskin being an ally, he made a mistake -- that's why he ended up like his. Berserker's usual apathy made it easier to apply these kinds of judgements; without that armor it's so much more difficult.

"Idiot," he says to Waver, though there's no real venom in his voice, "...How are you holding up?"

"He's stable, but he still needs something to counteract what's in his system sooner rather than later." Geralt doesn't actually think it's 'poison', but it's an easy shorthand for 'recklessly drugged with enough shit to effectively act as an overdose or poison anyway'. That Waver is holding on well right now is good, and Geralt doesn't want to squander that by dragging their heels on getting him well. That's like daring fate to fuck with them.

Berserker doesn't strike him as someone who'd be actively concerned about Ygraine, so Geralt doesn't ask. He'll absolutely go back for her, but he needs to get a handle on this, first.

Once the two monsters have caught up - a little, he's not going to wait around forever, "Come on. There are halfway camps set up down here, we'll have to set him up in the first one we find."

It's belated, but he finally catches the scent of a familiar dragon, right as Berserker approaches them, close enough to touch. Waver looks unwell, feverish and clearly having trouble maintaining focus, but the good news is that he is conscious and aware enough that he recognizes Berserker. He even uses his grip on Geralt's shoulder to prop himself up enough that he's slightly less sack-of-potatoes flopped and more almost sitting up, peering up at Berserker in a way that makes it seem he really needs glasses.

"...sorry," he mumbles, wilting a bit at the scolding, even though it's comparatively light. Still, it's a relief to see Berserker hadn't been caught, himself.

Geralt is right, too. Sooner rather than later is probably for the best. Waver slumps more in his arms again, satisfied now that Berserker has rejoined them and trying to save his strength.

"Ugh... feel sick." Obviously. He hadn't really meant to say it aloud, but it just slips out in a soft whine. Closing his eyes doesn't help that much, but for now, it's the best he can do. Waver buries his face in Geralt's shoulder, trying to breathe in his scent and distract himself enough that the muted feeling of his senses not working properly stops being quite so disorienting and uncomfortable.

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