Who: Waver Velvet & whoever When: throughout September Where: Dorchacht (beginning to mid-Sept... ignore the headers) & Aefenglom (late Sept) What: trouble in Dorch, recovering in Aefenglom Warnings: drug use, auction and monster slavery stuff
Look, all he knows how to do is kill things and offer to kill things. He's not really good at showing he cares in any other way, mostly because he's still not used to caring. In the end, he trusts Geralt -- he's been shown no reason not to. If anything, he's proven himself to be reliable and capable and that's good enough for Berserker.
As Waver drinks the concoction, he gets a sideways glance.
"If you puke on me, I'm leaving you here."
He's still not good at this whole sympathy thing, okay?
Geralt leaves one hand on the stone outcropping while Waver drinks, the sides of his fingers pressed against the kid's leg. A half-presence, less invasive than a weighted hand on his back, but he hopes still supportive.
"He's not gonna puke." Gently confident. It's unpleasant, but - the witcher's certain - not nearly as much as the effects of the botched poisons in his system. A small price to pay.
The glass bowl is accepted, and he sets it aside. Waver should feel the first pulse of relief as soon as the mixture hits his stomach, then gradually and steadily after as its metabolizes in his system. Pushing out the gross shit through sweat and all the other normal waste disposal procedures in one's body. He'll have to piss like crazy in a half hour, probably have a sore kidney for a day, but it could be a lot worse.
Waver is not in the mood for jokes. Assuming it's a joke. It'd better be a joke.
He's still struggling to swallow away the taste, breathing shallow and quick as he catches his breath and tries to pay attention to how he's feeling while also not gagging at the same time. It's a lot, and he doesn't need Berserker's shit.
Waver shoves him -- not hard, not in this state, but absolutely pointedly. Please shut up.
At least Geralt has some confidence in him. Not that Waver can do much to show his appreciation either.
The potion seems to work quickly. It's like the feeling of sensation coming back to frozen limbs, a prickling discomfort at first that cuts through the numbness and spreads, not exactly pleasantly but in a way that's reassuring all the same. It starts to burn away the fog, letting him breathe easier.
Waver wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and seems to wilt, equal parts relief and exhaustion, shoulders slumping and elbows on his knees.
"I- I think it's working," he manages, casting a tired glance up at Geralt through the mess of his hair hanging halfway over his face.
Berserker takes the hint and shuts up, but not without a pointed look of his own. He wouldn't leave him here, it was just a cruel joke. It's not like he ever thinks about what he says for longer than two seconds, of course. That and he's still not too concerned with the consequences of his words; if someone gets upset by it, so be it, that's they're problem and not his.
Despite what he says, he doesn't let go of Waver, content to be an anchor for him still as he rides out the immediately effects of the potion. Berserker smooths Waver's hair out of his face with a faint smile.
"I owe you for this one, too, don't I?" he asks Geralt with a quiet sigh. He's not one to enjoy getting in favor debt with people...
Now, Geralt does rub Waver's back. A silent good job. He'd tell him to lay down, at this stage, but he suspects that neither are going to want that - best to get him back to the dignitary housing. Geralt's not sure, but he thinks whoever Waver's bonded to is there; he remembers him sending a message before their field trip to the wall.
He looks over at Berserker. "You didn't hire me, so you don't owe me."
Everything he's done here is because he willed it so, and for no other reason. That's that.
"As soon as Waver's caught his breath we'll take him back. Both of you should stay put for a while."
Despite his understandable prickliness toward Berserker's crappy sense of humor, Waver accepts the affection, letting his head droop into Berserker's palm when he brushes his hair back. His breathing is steadying a bit, with some effort, evening out into something less labored and just tired.
Geralt gets another grateful glance through his sweaty bangs falling over his eyes. The rubbing does feel comforting. Soothing. The ear closest to Geralt swivels when he speaks, showing Waver is listening even though he closes his eyes.
"I think something in that poison disrupted how the Bond is supposed to feel too," he admits softly. Now that he can feel the effects clearing up, he can feel that familiar thread again, metaphorically within reach again when before it had felt far and fuzzy. Now that he can afford to focus on anything besides how shitty he felt, the guilt and worry over what Rider must be thinking is starting to settle in. Waver doesn't know if the Bond had felt strange to him, but it's probably going to start becoming evident soon that something is wrong if it wasn't before.
He concedes the point about owing him. Ultimately, it's the witcher's decision and not his. One less thing to worry about, at least.
Stay put...Geralt's right, even if Berserker doesn't want to admit it. Staying in the dignitary housing doesn't feel right and he hates the way he's treated there. It's different from the usual fear and distrust his presence brings -- disgust isn't something he's used to. Waver will actually be able to rest and be with his Bonded and it's better for him. It's so frustrating to be in this situation. Powerlessness isn't something he copes with well.
"...If you're ready, let's go. We'll make sure you get back to Rider."
Ready to go, that they are. Waver is bundled, and Geralt doublechecks the route back to the Coven dormitories so that he can walk with them as far as the catacombs can take him. After that it's all Berserker and Waver and everyone tucking in to recover until the ship ferries them away, with everyone living happily ever after, no horrible basements and no cities exploding into fire and violence!! Sure.
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no subject
As Waver drinks the concoction, he gets a sideways glance.
"If you puke on me, I'm leaving you here."
He's still not good at this whole sympathy thing, okay?
no subject
"He's not gonna puke." Gently confident. It's unpleasant, but - the witcher's certain - not nearly as much as the effects of the botched poisons in his system. A small price to pay.
The glass bowl is accepted, and he sets it aside. Waver should feel the first pulse of relief as soon as the mixture hits his stomach, then gradually and steadily after as its metabolizes in his system. Pushing out the gross shit through sweat and all the other normal waste disposal procedures in one's body. He'll have to piss like crazy in a half hour, probably have a sore kidney for a day, but it could be a lot worse.
no subject
He's still struggling to swallow away the taste, breathing shallow and quick as he catches his breath and tries to pay attention to how he's feeling while also not gagging at the same time. It's a lot, and he doesn't need Berserker's shit.
Waver shoves him -- not hard, not in this state, but absolutely pointedly. Please shut up.
At least Geralt has some confidence in him. Not that Waver can do much to show his appreciation either.
The potion seems to work quickly. It's like the feeling of sensation coming back to frozen limbs, a prickling discomfort at first that cuts through the numbness and spreads, not exactly pleasantly but in a way that's reassuring all the same. It starts to burn away the fog, letting him breathe easier.
Waver wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and seems to wilt, equal parts relief and exhaustion, shoulders slumping and elbows on his knees.
"I- I think it's working," he manages, casting a tired glance up at Geralt through the mess of his hair hanging halfway over his face.
"...thanks."
no subject
Despite what he says, he doesn't let go of Waver, content to be an anchor for him still as he rides out the immediately effects of the potion. Berserker smooths Waver's hair out of his face with a faint smile.
"I owe you for this one, too, don't I?" he asks Geralt with a quiet sigh. He's not one to enjoy getting in favor debt with people...
no subject
He looks over at Berserker. "You didn't hire me, so you don't owe me."
Everything he's done here is because he willed it so, and for no other reason. That's that.
"As soon as Waver's caught his breath we'll take him back. Both of you should stay put for a while."
no subject
Geralt gets another grateful glance through his sweaty bangs falling over his eyes. The rubbing does feel comforting. Soothing. The ear closest to Geralt swivels when he speaks, showing Waver is listening even though he closes his eyes.
"I think something in that poison disrupted how the Bond is supposed to feel too," he admits softly. Now that he can feel the effects clearing up, he can feel that familiar thread again, metaphorically within reach again when before it had felt far and fuzzy. Now that he can afford to focus on anything besides how shitty he felt, the guilt and worry over what Rider must be thinking is starting to settle in. Waver doesn't know if the Bond had felt strange to him, but it's probably going to start becoming evident soon that something is wrong if it wasn't before.
"I need to find... Rider..."
no subject
Stay put...Geralt's right, even if Berserker doesn't want to admit it. Staying in the dignitary housing doesn't feel right and he hates the way he's treated there. It's different from the usual fear and distrust his presence brings -- disgust isn't something he's used to. Waver will actually be able to rest and be with his Bonded and it's better for him. It's so frustrating to be in this situation. Powerlessness isn't something he copes with well.
"...If you're ready, let's go. We'll make sure you get back to Rider."
no subject