middaeg | October catch-all [closed]

[ 'Needed to' is an interesting way to look at it - or anything. Because technically, no one needs anything. No one needs to do anything. Not even breathe; does anyone need to live? Who's decided that? What moral dictates the importance of living?

Philosophies beyond Geralt. He knows the answers are all simple and self-evident in sentient beings, but the lifelong programming that tells him to be neutral likes to point that shit out in his head. So, if he didn't need to do anything at all, if there's no expectation and no bar to judge anything by, then he's only doing what he wants. And the motivations for that are no one's business but his own.

So, 'too much' doesn't matter. Does it? ]

Thanks, [ is dry, but kind of humorous; whether he means the vodka or the hope, who knows. (Berserker is of course encouraged to fish out whatever meaning he likes best.) ]

By a witcher's standard, I care too much. I'm a disgrace. By a human's, I'd say not enough. By Waver's - I probably care the right amount.

[ All things considered. ]

I've decided cases like the latter are what I'd like to navigate by.

[ Whatever meaning he draws from it doesn't quite matter, in the end. He just sits quietly for a bit, sort of staring off into the distance. So many thoughts and emotions stew in him uselessly with no real outlet.

Berserker's moral compass may as well be nonexistent -- all that mattered were allies and enemies, more or less. Allies are to be protected at all costs, while an enemy is to be ruthlessly eliminated. There used to be no reasoning with this; it was a part of his Madness Enhancement, the skill that made the Berserker class so strong. It took away sanity or reasoning in return for incomparable strength. Caring was never something he should've been capable of, nor should his Madness Enhancement's influence been lessened and yet those impossibilities had come to pass.

Berserker suddenly realizes he'd been sitting in silence for some time. Ah. Oops. The alcohol is doing its job and making this conversation easier, at least. ]

Caring for someone beyond their usefulness as an ally or enemy is something I'm unfamiliar with. I didn't understand the...rage I felt seeing Waver, I just chose to act on it.

[ His words have an uncharacteristic vulnerability about them, his voice a bit softer than he means it to be. He drinks his shot a little bit slower than the last. ]

So...If I can manage to care about my allies like that, I don't think I'd mind it. To be able to act as decisively as you chose to do...is something to aspire to, I suppose.

Edited 2019-10-12 02:52 (UTC)

[ Geralt's physiology is really putting them at uneven odds, here, because he has to chug a lot of alcohol at once to be really effected. At this pace, he's metabolizing it before it can really do much. But he still enjoys it, and feels more relaxed anyway. Maybe it's just the habit making a placebo of comfort. He'll take it.

Geralt listens, yellow eyes glinting sometimes in the low light, like an animal's. ]

I understand.

[ Suddenly, something is inside of you and you're experiencing wild shit you have no strategy for. Physical pain is manageable. Emotional pain is fucking crazy. Panic is something to be learned and mastered, but rage is almost impossible to control. ]

I think you'll get there, because you want to. Wanting something at all is ... Someone once explained it to me as a quality of a 'real person'. Which I may not be, still.

[ Berserker's tolerance is pretty good, but definitely not to that level. Celts are excellent at handling their alcohol or at least appearing to. At least he's not a rowdy drunk, like the rest of his countrymen. No, get him in the right company and he's clingy. ]

I'll take your word for it .

[ Until recently, he couldn't even conceive of wanting something. Wants and desires were for those in control of him; someone tells him what they want and he makes it happen (usually through murder because that's just what he's good at). The idea that he wants to change and grow is so far beyond alien that he can barely conceptualize it. It needs to be framed in a different way just so he can accept such a thing for himself. It will make him better at protecting his allies.

He can't help a short, bitter laugh at the concept of being a "real person". His existence is complicated, to say the least. ]

I was never a "real" person. [ It doesn't sound as resentful as it could, at least. ] I was wished into existence by a selfish woman who wanted a version of the only person to deny her.

[ Joke's on her: she got someone who didn't want to be a king and didn't care about her existence. ]

So while I have the memories of who I'm supposed to be...I'm not that person. I never existed. Part of this want...need to change is because I want to erase the influence of that woman and the corruption her wish on the Grail forced on me.

[ He pours himself another shot and quickly drinks it. Yeah, he's a bordering on drunk at this point and he can't care too much. ]

That's as good a reason as any to want something, isn't it?

[ He can tell the other man is a little tipsy, so he knocks back the remainder of his portion of vodka in a hurry. Halfway to caught up, at least for a bit. (Maybe he should have had the throat-stripping shit that witchers use as a potion base.) ]

It is.

[ A good reason. Geralt truly believes so. He's not sure if he should offer commiseration, because his own story isn't quite so literal. The shot glass gets rolled between his rough palms, thinking a long ways away for a little while. At least, if Berserker is some kind of magical clone, maybe he didn't actually murder his own child. But what does that do to a person's mind anyway? Wondering you're real at all?

Geralt knows the answer to that. ]

This world isn't bad. Inconvenient, for some of us. [ Not all. He's seen plenty of dissenting opinions. And it seems to be a positive thing for Berserker. ] But not any worse than where I came from. Better, probably.

[ Berserker finishes off the rest of his portion and lets the silence sit again. It's not awkward nor uncomfortable, it's just there. His thoughts are kind of a mess, partially due to his impending drunkenness, partially due to a thousand other complicating factors. Organizing what he wants to say it a little difficult at the moment. ]

Inconvenient is a good word for it. [ He allows himself a brief, if slightly twisted smile. ] It's certainly better than where I came from. The world's mostly in tact and humanity hasn't been incinerated. Or it could be worse, depending on how you like humanity.

[ It's still strange for him to be joking, even if his sense of humor is as dark as anything else about him. ]

Look at me, opening myself up and I'm not even that drunk...I apologize for that.

[ Geralt doesn't really laugh, as a rule. (He did, before he died, he thinks - before he got caught up in his own destiny. He's a hundred years old and he feels a thousand.) But he offers a little half-smile, the fleeting but sincere ones that occasionally grace his granite face. Humanity. Hah. ]

Apology's not necessary. But I'll accept it, if you want me to.

[ What'd they get together for, if not for ... whatever this is. Geralt usually socializes at the behest of social people, and lets them take the lead. Moments like this remind him more of sitting around with Eskel, or long-dead other witchers, calm and without need for anything to fill the air. (Not Lambert. Lambert can't shut up.) ]

I used to be desperate to be accepted as human. I'd go through weeks and months of nothing, and then these feelings would crop up on a bad day - fury at mistreatment, embarrassment, immense frustration. But witchers aren't human even if we're accepted by them. Eventually I came to the conclusion: that's a good thing. Humans aren't all bad, but they've also perfected evil. Makes my line of work confusing, with or without the ability to consider morality.

[ Berserker's unused to people actually wanting to be around him -- he's normally very good at isolating himself. The fact that someone would choose to be in his company for any length of time is baffling. He's not a good nor a kind person and he's very bad at carrying a conversation. Maybe that's why he doesn't mind his present company. ]

They're the ones who perfected their own downfall.

[ Goetia, in the end, was created by humans and was the one who nearly succeeded in completely erasing the foundation of humanity. While he was a Beast and not human, the fact that humans had a hand in creating him spoke volumes about their decision-making capabilities (at least in Berserker's mind). ]

I lived amongst them when I was alive and my former Master was one of the last humans. They're stupid, stubborn, and selfish. They'll do anything to ensure their own survival, no matter the cost. They're good destroying each other, too.

[ The dragon really isn't one to speak on "evil", of course -- his deeds are easily classified as such. He's a cold, calculating force of chaos who will sooner kill someone than reason with them. Anyone who stands against him is cut down without mercy. ]

They don't really learn, either, do they?

[ On the subject of evil, Geralt might have a lot to say; but he has no real faith in the soundness of his own opinions once they leave his head. The way he sees things aren't, and perhaps shouldn't be, the way anyone else sees things.

He was created, in essence, to fight evil, back when evil meant unthinking chaos. But humans have given evil a life of its own - they've made a place for it in society, and protected it with social norms and even laws. What's a witcher to do when the word 'monster' ceases to mean what it once did? What's evil? A drowner just eating to survive, or a human rapist? ]

Mm. No, they don't. [ He spins the empty shot glass on the table, then stills it, leaving it be. ] Witchers used to carry one sword, or just store the other. Silver for monsters, steel for humans. But once you're on the Path for long enough you understand they're both for monsters.

[ Good joke??? Maybe. Geralt thinks so. But it's also a bleak joke, so. ]

[ Berserker isn't the type to laugh, either (if he starts laughing, that's a sign to run), but he manages a brief smile. That type of bleak humor is something he can appreciate. He idly fidgets with his shot glass before ultimately leaving it be. The pleasant warmth of being drunk finally envelopes him like a comforting blanket. Good. ]

The most pathetic are the ones who try to excuse what they've done by saying it's for the greater good...They're the ones most willing to commit atrocities against their fellow. The righteous are little more than zealots.

[ His expression turns cruel for a moment. ]

They all sound the same as they're dying, though.

You remind me of a friend of mine, [ Geralt says. ] He used to say killing humans was relaxing, like pulling weeds.

[ The witcher doesn't sound like he thinks that's good or bad - just, nothing, really. Killing is something he prefers to avoid, or would, if every time he's ever put in an effort to not have to, it's backfired and been worse than if he'd have just killed the fucker in the first place. Everything like that just seems a waste.

Even back in Dorchacht, there was no desire to punish anyone, and he got no gratification. It was the simple equation of making room in a society for people who aren't actively awful.

Well. Mostly. Geralt gives him a look. ]

During the fires before we all left - I tracked down the witch who sold Waver to the 'merchant'. He's dead.

I find it boring...It's like paperwork: necessary, but tedious.

[ When you spend most of your life doing nothing but killing, it gets repetitive. He's good at it, sure, and efficient, there's just nothing in it for him anymore. This is why he only kills when strictly necessary.

As for the news, though, Berserker allows himself a satisfied smirk, if only for a moment. Vengeance isn't something he's normally interested because it involves caring, but things are different now. ]

Good...I would have been disappointed if you knew who he was and let him live.

[ Geralt isn't positive he's got the right frame of reference to understand the tedium of paperwork. There's not enough widespread modern infrastructure on the Continent for it to be present in the lives of anyone but a slim handful of economists and bankers. But, sure, that fits. Maybe it's like gardening after all. ]

Mm. I wasn't sure, at first. [ And interrogating Waver seemed needlessly cruel. ] I had a hunch, though, and it panned out when he was confronted.

[ If Geralt ran down the lead and it went nowhere, he may have pushed the kid and asked, but by a sad miracle of coincidence, he had been present when Waver first pissed that particular librarian off. By having the gall to refuse to submit, even. Geralt wasn't surprised that's where the trail ended. ]

I'd like to ask you something.

[ Berserker's not surprised it was someone Waver had dealt with before -- the kid's not exactly the best at handling confrontation. Still, though, he's ... satisfied to know the bastard responsible for the whole mess got what he deserved. It's weird for him to frame it in such a way. So much about him really has changed. ]

The end result is all that matters.

[ He cocks his head slightly to one side at the request. Well, how bad can it be, at this point? ]

What is it?

[ It'd be easy to diffuse blame; Geralt had antagonized that witch when he was being awful to Waver, and had even considered going back the next day to kick his face in just on principle. Maybe that would have prevented what happened. Or maybe it would have made it worse. Ultimately, Geralt's just glad he had a lead that didn't involve traumatizing the young turnskin further by having to ask him to relive it.

And now, ]

Why did you kill your son?

[ --up until it blurts out of his mouth, Geralt had been telling himself he was going to ask about his fucking name. But no, apparently we're going to go with this and barrel right into it. He likes Berserker, as much as he can like anyone who isn't one of the very few people he considers close, and doesn't mind long histories of awful deeds. Some things stick out, though.

Still he has the decency to look somewhat sheepish. Let's blame the alcohol after all. ]

[ He'd been expecting a question about his name (that's normal and expected when anyone has known him for any length of time), not the oh-so-eloquently phrased one he got. Berserker grimaces, his claws digging into his palm for a moment. It's a long story, not entirely pleasant, but there's no harm in telling it to Geralt.

He takes a deep breath, slowly sighing it out. ]

For doing as he was told. [ His hand relaxes as he looks at Geralt now. ] Let me explain it further...It's a long story.

I trained with a fearsome warrior in the Land of Shadows in order to prove myself worthy of marrying a princess. While training there, a woman named Aife, rival of the warrior I trained under, attacked. My teacher didn't want me to fight, but I did anyway. I ended up defeating Aife and agreed to bear me a child. [ The setup was kind of important for how weird everything is. Irish legends are a fucking mess, sorry. ] I told her to name him Connla and to send him to Ulster. When she did send him to Ulster, he had to follow three vows: to not answer his name when asked, to not change course, and to not back down from a fight.

[ Berserker finds himself staring at his empty shot glass again as he thinks about what happened. ]

Some years passed, I survived my training, received my cursed spear from my mentor, and married the princess. News of a boy causing trouble on the coast, beating up every warrior who so much as asked him anything, reached my king. He said only I was capable of dealing with him, so I went to the coast to deal with it.

[ His gaze drifts back to his companion, still cold as ever. ]

He refused to give me his name and wouldn't back down nor stop what he was doing. He was strong, so I had to use my spear...The curse means it would be used to kill those closest to me. "She didn't teach me that," he said. I figured he was a student of my mentor...Then he said as he was dying that we would have carried the flag of Ulster to the gates of Rome and beyond.

[ Berserker's expression remains unchanged as he finishes his story, though his voice is tinged just barely with sadness. ]

The boy's name was Connla. I killed my son without knowing it was him and it was my own doing. That's why.

[ Asking may have been accidental - a moment of his subconscious yanking the reins away from him - but he's grateful that it happened, and that Berserker is willing to speak with it. Even if it upsets the other man. Such a thing should be upsetting. And perhaps not unexpected; Geralt would have never asked had he not mentioned it earlier, left it sitting on the table conspicuously, waiting for unavoidable future attention.

The most respectful thing Geralt can do is listen, so he does. It seems so many have epic tales, lives of high stations, kings and princesses and wars. A familiar context, at least; on that note, he's beginning to piece together the way these people can be from the same world and be familiar with each other despite seeming to come from wildly different times. So he thinks. (He is wrong. Wildly. Fates u r crazy.)

It is not a relief to hear that Berserker didn't know, truly, what he'd been doing. Because the death someone's child isn't a relief. It's still horrible, and the weight of it - whether or not he says he's used to feeling anything - must be excruciating. Even one of the worst monsters, a real one, that Geralt ever knew, stumbled when faced with knowingly ruining his own child.

He doesn't say anything right away. If they had any more alcohol he might raise a glass to Connla. ]

I have a daughter, [ is what he offers eventually. ] Her name's Cirilla. We call her Ciri.

[ That's why I had to ask. ]

[ It's not something he regrets (Cú Chulainn had no regrets in his life), but he does rue and lament it, to some degree. How cold and broken he is makes that difficult, though even his Caster has trouble interacting with those memories in any meaningful way. Connla is what led to confrontation Berserker and Caster had in a shared dream, the one that resulted in the latter's death. The conversation they had back then replays in his head. "Were you trying to— figure out how you feel about it through me—?" The words Caster spoke as he was bleeding out...He still doesn't know how to feel about it and it's unlikely his lighter side does either.

Berserker realizes he's been sitting in silence and only partially heard what Geralt said. ]

That's why you asked, isn't it? Because you couldn't comprehend someone killing their own child without a reason. It's an impossibility in your life.

Yes.

[ Even before Geralt accepted that he could feel love at all, he loved Ciri. It had come out of his mouth, there at Stygga, as they cut down soldiers trying to escape the castle. You did well. I love you. She had moved under his arm like lightning, slicing the throat of another advancing opponent, stepping lightly over blood-slick stone. I know. I love you too.

He'd understood then, that he'd loved her all along, that she'd taught him just by existing. He wasn't running from the concept of Destiny when he had rejected her - he'd been running from his own emotions and the overwhelming terror of dealing with his own bullshit. ]

I think the worst things I've ever done have been in defense of her. I went to Dorchacht because I knew she'd be disappointed with me if I didn't.

[ Other witchers, especially his wolf brothers, have pinned their actions by Geralt, knowing he has something of a functional moral compass. But in these past ten years, Geralt has navigated by Ciri's. ]

I foolishly tried to teach her neutrality. And she decided, no. Two eyes for an eye.

[ Berserker couldn't relate, if only because he's never had a relationship like that with anyone. Not even Emer, his wife who knew no jealousy, could elicit that sort of response from him. Though the memories of Cú Chulainn aren't truly his memories, they're still as real to him as though they were. ]

I feel like I understand you better now. [ Knowing that. ] You're dedicated...and you have someone worth protecting.

[ Worth being better for. ]

Mm. [ Geralt nods slowly. In the grand scheme of things, Ciri is a recent addition to his life. She's not quite twenty, and Geralt has at last cracked his first century. Even Yen was with him - on and off - before then. And after he'd demanded Pavetta's unborn child as payment, he spent a number of years refusing to accept it, not wanting to put a little girl through the horrors of the witcher life.

Sometimes you just shouldn't argue when fate gives you a baby, but sometimes you're a fucking idiot, so. ]

I wish I could make the world better so she doesn't have to live in such a fucking depressing wasteland. But all I can do is teach her to be strong enough to kill anyone who'd hurt her.

[ That's good parenting, right??? Right. ]

[ It's good enough for Berserker, really. Considering his own upbringing and the fact he was able to kill a lord's guard dog with his bare hands when he was just 12(...ish, the timeline of his legend is a mess), it makes sense. It's practical. Even if his pursuit of it broke him, he knows the value of strength. ]

It's good enough. She will survive.

[ That's praise coming from him. ]

[ That's all Geralt wants. For Ciri to survive and have the life she wants - even if it's not with or near him, even if it's not in their world. He had received so many dreary prophecies and fortunes from every soothsayer and sage on the Continent, it felt like; telling him that he'd succeed in his mission to find her, but then lose her again.

And he did. Because they traveled together, and he trained her, and she left in the middle of the night, leaving him a letter to explain she needs to learn to live without his shadow cast over her. Geralt of Rivia, master witcher-- and a girl? The pain is there, a raw part of his heart, but more than that, he's proud. Because he wants her to be herself, on her own. He wants to meet her again on the Path and learn what name she's taken. Will she be Cirilla of Cintra, or like she wanted when she was a little girl, of Vengerberg? Or just Ciri.

... Zoning out, just a little. Geralt focuses most of his emotion into his loved ones, and sometimes it borders on overwhelming. ]

Thank you. For sharing with me.

[ Geralt won't repeat any of it. It's not his business, and he considers this something special - in whatever way that means. He leans back and looks at Berserker, and looks out at the veiled room below; they can get another round or they can just sit here, or even go terrorize some of the mundane humans playing pool. He doesn't mind which way things go. The company's been fine. ]

[ Berserker just gives a nod in response. If he didn't trust Geralt, he never would have said a word of it to him -- he has the distinction of being the first outsider to learn anything about him beyond just his name. As a rule, he's guarded with the past of his actual life, if only because revealing too much puts Caster at risk, too. No longer a Servant, no longer in a Grail War, but some things were too difficult to let go of.

After the shit they experienced in Dorchacht, this was a necessary reprieve. Another round and maybe some more conversation. Comfortable silence is alright, too. ]

October catch-all [closed]

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