It's just another day for Waver. He'd noticed, barely, and immediately forgotten throughout the day as he dealt with the usual mundanities of the life he's tentatively settled into here. In the end, it doesn't really matter.
He doesn't remember telling anyone when his birthday is, either. He doesn't expect anything and doesn't need it; Waver prefers it this way. It's how it's always been, in any case.
Waver returns to the apartment in the afternoon, ready to change out of his work clothes. After some mishaps with one of the potions he'd been stocking today, his apron and shirt sleeves could really use a wash.
"Hello?" he calls as he shuts the door behind him and toes off his boots, ears automatically perking to listen for anyone else being home. Mostly, it's so he doesn't unduly surprise Diarmuid, or anyone else who might be here since the place has been sort of a revolving door of various mutually Bonded individuals lately.
"There you are, boy!" Iskandar shouts from the kitchen. "I was at that workplace of yours but the good people there told me you already left so I thought I'll wait for you at home." He actually hoped to catch Waver on the way but somehow missed him, and still arrived first.
After a while, he emerges carrying a tray. There's a small cake on a plate, a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Sit down comfortably! Today we feast!"
He puts the tray carefully on a small table near the sofa. To call it a feast is a little stretch given that it consists only of cake and wine. So no riches of Babylon here. But he spent his money elsewhere.
Once they're both settled on the sofa, Iskandar fishes out a bag he hid behind the sofa. He drops it on Waver's lap while leaning down to kiss him.
"Happy birthday, my dear boy."
The bag contains a chess set and one other small box. The box is the main reason that Iskandar finally mobilised enough of will to find himself a paying job. Or rather their recent visit to the Black City was. He never told Waver, there was no need to stress the boy more than he already was, but nothing has shaken him worse than the possibility of losing him. Waver has been kidnapped and Iskandar had no idea anything even happened. If it weren't for the timely intervention of Berserker and then Geralt, their trip could have ended a lot worse than it did.
So apart from the usual lectures he went to, Iskandar spent a lot of time researching tracking spells. Only to find that, as with everything, they need practise. He wouldn't be himself if he gave up that easily so finally he found a small shop tucked on the very edge of the Shopping District that had a particular pendant on offer. Half of the circle depicting the Sun and the other the Moon. It could be split in two so it either be one or two matching pendants.
I can put a spell on them so one would always find the other. The jeweller witch that made it told him But it would cost extra and will need recharging from time to time.
Iskandar read enough about tracking magic at that point to be aware that the shred old lady is totally ripping him off. The spell was a really basic one. Still, he agreed without hesitation. It might have been a basic spell but she knew it and he didn't. So there was no real choice. It also meant that only a day before Waver's birthday he finally had enough money to get it done. At least he wasn't late.
Waver stands frozen with surprise in the small foyer as Iskandar emerges from the kitchen, voice booming and customary big grin in place. He smells the cake before he sees it, the faint sweetness in the air wafting toward him. Cake and wine aside, Iskandar's sheer exuberance makes him blush as he's ushered onto the couch, still clutching his satchel with his work things in it, wide-eyed and baffled.
He probably shouldn't have been surprised, but still... it's a bit of a shock when he wasn't expecting anything at all.
"Rider..." he fumbles, stammering as Iskandar practically sweeps him onto the sofa when Waver comes close. "You-- Ah, thank you...?"
Nobody's ever done something like this for his birthday before. It's clear Waver doesn't know how to react, though it's just as evident that the surprise is far from unhappy, his speechlessness borne of inexperience rather than lack of enthusiasm. Already, his heart is pounding, ears up excitedly, the flush dusting his cheeks only deepening as Iskandar leans closer.
Waver drops the satchel on the floor by the armrest and sets his hand on whatever's fallen into his lap absentmindedly. Suddenly, all of his attention is stolen by that kiss.
He doesn't know what to say, but this he understands. It's soft at first, tentative in his surprise-- but then he's leaning up to meet Iskandar's lips, and all of Waver's joy and gratitude and amazement translates without words in the warmth of his affection, in the way his free hand cups the back of Iskandar's neck and he lingers, sweetly, in that kiss.
Iskandar's birthday greeting is met with breathless happiness. Waver smiles.
"Thank you," he says again, earnestly. His hand still on Iskandar's shoulder slides down, touch lingering until his fingers finally move to the ribbon holding the bag shut.
"Is this...?" A present. For him. From Rider.
Waver tugs it open, unable to contain his excitement. There's a soft thump-thump against the back of the sofa to accompany the rustle of the boxes being unwrapped; his tail is wagging vigorously.
The bigger box is first: a chess set, handsomely carved. Waver opens it, admiring the pieces set into their places inside, touching the folded-up board without taking it out, and looks up again, still beaming.
"It's lovely. So we can play it together, right?" He still regrets not agreeing to playing games with Rider back in Japan, but even though it's not the same type of game, the concept is the same: spending time together playing something, challenging one another. It would be fun to see how well he can contend with such a famous strategist as Alexander the Great himself.
Carefully, Waver snaps the chess set closed again and sets it aside on the table near the tray.
"And something else, too..." he murmurs with interest, turning the small box over in his hands as if to guess what's inside before finally lifting the lid. He's not sure what he expected but it's certainly not this. Waver's eyes widen, startled to find... a pendant? It's beautiful, of course, but it's not something he expected to receive when he doesn't wear jewelry, and so Waver's faint confusion is evident when he lifts his head again.
Waver does not wear jewellery? Well, now he does. Iskandar takes the pendant from his hands, separates it in two revealing that it already has two chains attached. He claps the one with the moon piece around Waver's neck and the sun on his.
"When I was still in my Heroic Spirit form I always knew where my Master is," he says. Usually by his side but there were times he was not. Like that one when Waver send him to collect water from the river and that later showed them the location of Caster's lair. Iskandar smiles. That was a feat of a genius. "I could feel you from the other side of the city."
He raises a hand to caress Waver's cheek. "I miss that." They have Bond now, which in a way, acts similarly. But it can be tampered with. It can be suppressed. He did not know his boy was in danger and he hates it.
He leans for another kiss, slow and deliberate, not stopping before both of their necklaces start to glow with a faint light. A cool silvery glow for Waver, warm gold for Iskandar.
They need to be charged by both you and the person you want to track. If they're a witch, they'll know what to do. The old lady has said. She clearly had doubts that Iskandar would. If they're not, it's better be some strong emotion. More doubts at that. Her look spoke volumes even if her words didn't. Who would have wanted an obnoxious oaf like him. Iskandar said nothing. You would be surprised, old hag. He didn't even mention it's a present. The witch would surely double the price if only she knew that.
"It's a pendant," he says when he finally let's go of Waver. Obviously "Apart from looking nice and the sun part resembling just a bit the emblem of my house, the Argeads, it has additional property. Those are two pieces of a whole and one will always find the other." It's a bit like them, isn't it? "It's a simple spell, so I was told at least, but it means I can always find you as long as you have it."
Bad things happened to people he loved when he was away and could not protect them. Iskandar would use every possibility to shield Waver from harm. So they would never have to rely on luck again. Like there. In Dorchacht.
There are a couple of things on Enkidu's mind. The first one is to find a right way towards a library and the second one is whether they should start wearing shoes or not. They have lost all contact with the ground underneath them. Second of all, they are quite sure they are a better lancer than they are at being a caster.
But despite all those troublesome thoughts and worries they keep their head up. After all, there is still so much to learn about this new role.
"Where do you keep all the books?" Enkidu leans forward a little when they ask that, looking at the young dog-man with a neutral look on their face. "This building is unnecessarily large."
"Oh. Er... I don't work here," Waver replies automatically, looking a bit startled at being addressed. In fairness, he probably looks like he works here... or that he at least knows where the library is, considering the armful of books he's carrying. So honestly, fair question.
"But if you're looking for the library, I'm actually headed that way myself."
The deal of training and talk is one he intends to honor, but Geralt enforces a strict 'train first' policy. Especially today, when he thinks he'd rather have Waver worn out a little before hearing the bald truth of the horrors uncovered after he'd left Dorchacht. And Geralt is glad he went when he did - there's no point in prolonging torment, even for vengeance.
Geralt does most of his combat as a witcher using a sword, but he's far from out of practice empty-handed. For the first little while he has Waver run through basics and makes him test out how he moves, before he mentally tailors the instruction to maximize the kid's potential effectiveness. The right way to punch, to use the heel of the palm, elbows, shins. How to break holds and how to aim for a windpipe when already in motion.
Fortunately, he can withstand turnskin enhanced strength and claws just fine.
"Not bad," he says after a while, only indicating that they're going to wind down once Waver's begun to flag. "I've seen worse first cracks at throwing someone."
He sits down heavily on one of the chipped steps of the old outdoor auditorium they've been using for practice occasionally and groans, lifting his arms above his head and leaning back to stretch. The sky above has gone purple and pink, and the slivers of the Sisters are visible on the horizon. With the sun gone, the breeze is cold. It feels good through his sweat-soaked shirt.
"They must've been super bad at it, then. Did they throw themselves instead of you?"
Waver's probably not giving himself enough credit, but he can't help it. He feels... unsatisfied. Weak. Physical power has never been something he was very interested in, and never at all good at. He focused on (indoor-based) learning, reading, magecraft-- but here, he can only do so much in that regard.
The close call at Dorchacht has encouraged him to take at least a little bit of advantage of his newfound Turnskin strength and speed. He might not be quite on par with a bigger or more practiced individual of his kind, but it's more than his habitually frail human body could have handled, so that's progress. Even if it doesn't feel much like it.
His limbs still feel like noodles and he's still out of breath by the time they're done, but he pushed himself harder than usual today. All that frustration, that lingering feeling of powerlessness, anger and anxiety-- it all ended up bubbling over. Good thing Geralt is a sturdy outlet.
Waver exhales slowly, bringing his arms back down and settling his elbows on his knees.
"Should've brought a canteen or something... You got any water?"
"Yep. Threw himself over my shoulder and into a post, lost three teeth." A candidate witcher, when Geralt was - thirty? No, younger than that, back to winter at the keep. A lifetime ago. What was that candidate's name? Silas, or was it Siro? A boy who didn't survive the trials, but probably wouldn't have survived the pogrom that wiped out their population anyway.
Fun thoughts.
"Not on me. We can go sit at one of those cafes, though. Whatever they're called." Geralt puts too much emphasis on each syllable of cafe. They definitely have them in the finer cities on the Continent, but no one's ever put up with a mutant wanderer tracking in dirt and monster guts. Sounds like a Nilfgaardian word, anyway.
It is not long after the physical transformations that Ozymandias finds himself lost in instincts he hadn't possessed before. It's not from a lack of trying to resist on his part, but some of the instincts align with his personality that there are times where it does not even cross his mind to question his behavior. Rather than seeking fights to unleash pent up aggression or hunting down those who present as prey, Ozymandias takes to drawing a figurative line in the sand to clearly mark his territory.
Close to his mansion, he claws at a tree. The action itself is not particularly violent, but the sharpness of his claws makes the gouges seem almost violent and he's clearly focused on the task. The motion feels so good to him and placing his scent there feels even betters that his new tail quivers slightly in delight behind him and he very nearly misses the sounds of someone's approach. But his ear swivels to the sound of distant, but approaching steps, and he stops mid-scratch. Drawing his wings in closer to his body, Ozymandias turns to scent the air. Something about the scent is vaguely familiar -- known to him even if he cannot place a name or face to it -- but something else about it... It's...
It's intoxicating.
Ozymandias pulls one set of claws free easily, retracting them as they come loose. The other takes a couple of tugs before the combination of loosened wood and a better angle allow him to free himself from the tree.
It's chance that Waver happens close enough by that the scent catches him-- an enticing, exciting mix of something familiar, a scent he knows, mixed with something more like... not prey, exactly. But close. Interesting.
It draws him closer, and though his mind is too clouded to settle on Ozymandias's name, Waver recognizes him in some capacity, trying to reconcile the unfamiliar shape with the familiar scent. Not a threat, his instincts say. Not prey. Something else.
But that doesn't mean Waver isn't still inclined to stalk him like prey. Especially when he notices Ozymandias get briefly stuck on the tree. For some reason, that's particularly amusing, and signals his sort-of-prey more vulnerable than expected.
Nearby, Waver blends into the shadows between the trees and a nearby building, only his eyes shining blood-red from the darkness. He crouches for now, waiting to see if Ozymandias will move closer. Or turn his back.
With the city still plenty alive and awake from the chaos set off with the mist, there are plenty of sounds that reach Ozymandias. His ears occasionally move in the direction of some of the louder sounds, but he remains otherwise completely still and listening for the sounds of more movement. The steps quiet to the point it seems almost as though they've simply vanished. Were it not for the scent still hanging in the air, he'd almost be led to believe he imagined the sound or mistook it for something else. But whoever it is... They're here. That much is plain and obvious. They're simply not moving. Or they're moving far too quietly and carefully for him to detect.
The tip of Ozymandias' tail twitches a few times impatiently. He takes only a few steps away from the tree before he comes to another stop, scanning the nearby shadows. At first, his eyes pass right over Waver hunkered down until there's just enough of a glint off his eyes to draw Ozymandias' attention back to him. He doesn't start to growl, but his tail begins almost immediately takes to whipping around behind him and his wings press even closer against his back. As much as the scent has Ozymandias' attention, he's not a fan of the crouching in the shadows. His ears begin to press down.
[On some level, Diarmuid set the tone for the next few days with his first encounter as a deer. The scratches and bites, still fresh in colour but dulled in pain, only serve as a reminder of something he's been trying to ignore since it started: something about his new form has given him a particular, uncomfortable itch. Waiting it out in his apartment is no good; with unfamiliar senses kicking in, he can still smell Berserker's presence and that's just as frustrating. But it's the still lingering scent of a past resident that gives him an idea: old books, a not unpleasant canine undertone...
Waver. Of course. He goes through something similar to this every time the moons are full, doesn't he? Before he can remind himself of what a bad idea this is, Diarmuid finds himself climbing the stairwell to the mage's new apartment. His new ears are fluffier than before, dark but tipped with the same white downy fur as on the underside of his- particularly twitchy- tail, and one pricks up as he leans towards the door. Are either of them even around?
More importantly, could he survive the shame of Rider seeing him in such a state? It's not really a question he wants an answer to.
Regardless, he reaches out and, more confidently than he feels, knocks.]
[ Waver scents him even before he knocks, the familiarity exciting and welcome. He's already at the door by the time Diarmuid knocks, and pulls it open almost instantly.
In reality, he's pleased. He's even smiling. But--
Well. He doesn't look quite normal either, and the longer, sharper fangs twist his smile into an unintended grimace full of sharp, bared teeth matched by blood-red, shining eyes. The wings are new too, tucked for now against his back. Small, curved horns poke out between his ears, and his tail lashes, no longer the fluffy curl he's been sporting for a few months now, but a long, leathery thing with an apparent life of its own. ]
Diarmuid.
[ Maybe his excitement to see his Bonded isn't entirely out of affection.
Now that the door is open and he catches unimpeded Diarmuid's familiar-unfamiliar new scent, Waver can't help the thought that suddenly tugs at his mind. His pupils, already pinpricks in the red, narrow to slits.
[By contrast, Diarmuid's pupils dilate. Where Waver might catch the smell of prey on him, every one of his senses catch fire as he's hit with the hound-turned-chimera's own scent. The urge to run hits him so strongly, so suddenly, that it actually comes right the way back around to leaving him frozen on the spot like a startled rabbit, breath hitching. There's no logical reason for him to be nervous; not only is he twice Waver's weight but-
Goddamn it. Why is he even giving it any thought? Only one animal instinct is being indulged today- if Waver is so inclined- and it isn't going to be the one that has him bolting home and building a den for safety.]
I... [Okay, he might not be paralysed anymore but he still can't remember what it was he wanted to say.] Thank you.
[Forcing a smile, he ducks past both his instincts and Waver and into the apartment. At least once he gets inside Rider's scent- rough, bold, journeyed but human- balances things out enough that he feels comfortable putting his back to the young mage.]
In spite of the abrupt physiological changes that sprouted on Soren's person — a pair of catlike ears the same shade as his hair to accompany the nubby horns of his progressing dragon transformation; an equally feline tail, fully formed and helping to balance out the pair of membranous wings he already possessed; shorthair fur in places his scales had already begun to emerge, like his claws (or are they paws, now??) and around his wings and his tailbone — Soren had been in possession of most of his mental faculties for a while, save the natural panic that comes when unexpected animal growths erupt across his body.
He'd be more worried if the whole city itself hadn't mutated into a menagerie of shrieking and roaring. Not that he isn't the least bit concerned about these changes and whether they'll last once the curious mist has subsided, but at this point, a few more monstrous aspects can hardly put a dent in how wrong he's felt since winding up here. He doesn't even need to feel self-conscious about his new chimeralike appearance when the majority of Aefenglom's monsters now sample from at least two creatures. He hardly stands out like this.
What poses a true problem for Soren right now are the fun little tweaks sprinkled into his behavior, all of which are a complete hassle to control. He'd already grown accustomed to reigning in some of his more draconic impulses thanks to the grace of time and settling into a stable Bond, but now that he's got a notable feline touch to him (ugh?), it's all hitting him at once, and there are simply things he cannot resist that he could do before. He wants to climb up all the high places, scratch all the posts and the benches and the trees just to feel his claws drag across them, is enchanted by the erratic motions of leaves swept by wind, compelled by a deep predatory instinct from two sources to hunt.
If he could see himself now, he would long to scorch the memory from his mind forever, because there is nothing more humiliating than succumbing to such wanton beastlike displays. If laguz such as Skrimir or Ranulf caught him in such a state, they would never let him live it down. It's a good thing that nobody from Tellius is here... and for once, he's grateful he hasn't quite found Ike anywhere yet.
Currently, his prey is a large moth dancing in the glow of the magitech lamp in an alleyway of the Haven, a little more removed from the greater din of the misty streets. Soren's pupils are blown as he crouches on the street, wings taut, tail curling back and forth in a hypnotic sway as he calculates his next leap. So scarcely does he realize how engrossed he is in his play-hunt session that he pays much less mind to his surroundings than he usually does... including the fact that even he could be hunted. But perhaps that is just the instinct of his dragon half talking, too, comfortable in its lofty and timeless position as apex predator.
Soren isn't the only one caught up in the movement of his prey. The lashing of his tail and his intent attention focused elsewhere has is tripping predatory instincts in someone else who noticed him stalking by and happened to follow. The opportunity is begging to be taken.
Something about his scent is familiar to Waver, but more importantly to his less lucid mind right now, he smells like prey. And he looks fun to chase.
As Soren stalks the moth, Waver stalks him, crouching in the shadows where only his red eyes gleam in the darkness. He doesn't wait long once he's found his goal, though, watching Soren only a few more moments curiously before deciding he's had enough of being patient. He's bored. He wants to hunt.
Unable to contain his excitement, Waver dashes forward with a yip that gives him away.
And then all hell breaks loose. Soren shoots up the all fourteen feet of the post like a bottle rocket with a tremendous yowl. Though he has wings, he's not quite so adept at flying with them just yet, but they do assist in jumping. He clambers up the rest of the way and clings to the tops of the triad of lanterns with the desperation of trying to stay above surging flood waters.
That, or he just looks like what he is: a scaredy cat bristling at the sudden intrusion of a dog. If he were completely furry, his hair would be standing on end.
Recovering from the brunt of the shock but still looking like the daylights had been utterly spooked out of him, he peers down at the threat in alarm. Finally, his more human side snaps the reins of his brain and he realizes how pathetic this looks — and yet, even though he recognizes this monster from having interacted with him a few times before, it doesn't quite chase away the rattling fear that causes him to tremble. Waver does look quite intimidating like that. And if he has wings now, too... he may not be safe up here for much longer. That fact sinks in like cold lead, even though he tries to tell himself this anxiety is senseless. Besides, he could probably beat him in a fight, his draconic pride says. His draconic pride also happens to make him feel even more embarrassed for being caused to make such a laughable scene. The fear plastered across his face peels away to reveal mortification, then vexation, then umbrage. His voice quakes along with him.
"Wh-What were you thinking, bounding after me like that while I'm...?!" he scolds, reluctant to complete the sentence and admit what he was doing in plain words. "You can control yourself a little better than that, can't you? What do you want with me, anyway?"
[ once the conversation with berserker had finished, it took less than a day for flat to gather the confidence to go speak to waver.
no, that's not right. he already had the confidence, thanks to the conversation--he just couldn't afford to lose it. that's why he had to act to fast. so the thoughts and feelings he had wouldn't get lost in his ever running mind. he's lucky that he even managed to get berserker to come with in such a short notice, but flat's aware that luck has usually been on his side.
he wonders if that will fail him today?
having waver's address from before, flat somehow manages to orient himself as he thinks about what he'll say. an apology will be enough, right? will it? perhaps if he explains--no, that would just make things worse, wouldn't it?
no. this is his responsibility, and he'll do what is needed to fix it.
he knocks on the door to the apartment, and waits for waver to open the door. when he does, he'll smile brightly, relieved. ]
[ Waver scents him through the door as he approaches to answer it, hesitating a moment with his hand hovering over the doorknob. Knowing who is on the other side.
His breath hitches, heartbeat spiking; he can't help it.
Really, Waver knows he should have reached out sooner. He should have said something. He should have at least tried.
...but what is he supposed to say to the person who looks up to him (some distant, future version of him that doesn't exist), who clearly cares so much about him and respects him (for reasons Waver can't fully understand), and whom he very nearly killed?
He swallows hard, tries not to look as terrified as he suddenly feels, and opens the door. ]
Flat...
[ Wait. ]
Y-you've come to--?
[ Apologize? Waver feels like he's the one who needs to apologize. He stares a moment, mouth half open, too flustered momentarily for words. ]
[ flat laughs at waver’s bewildered expression, soft enough to not aggravate his wounds—the last thing he wants is for waver to feel any worse than he probably does. ]
You probably think that it’s your fault, hm? That’s so like you. [ he chuckles again, leaning against the door frame. there’s a hint of nervousness in his expression, though—like he’s not that sure about what he’s saying. flat feels like he’s treading on thin ice here and one false move will send him falling. ]
But I’m pretty sure that the reason you tried to kill me was because of something I did. That’s why I’m apologizing.
It's some time before Waver wakes up and is himself again. Even after Iskandar drops Flat off with the nearest healer, he sleeps through the trip, as well as his own healing. The healer Witch at least assures Iskandar there's nothing wrong with the spell he used as far as she can tell; Waver's just exhausted, and he'd lost a lot of blood. It's for the best. He should wake up in a few hours.
She sends them off with instructions to Iskandar, some healing salves, and a tired sigh. It's been a long couple of days for everyone. Unfortunately, considering how many people have needed help, resources both physical and magical are low. She's too tired to heal both Flat and Waver completely, so each of them is taken care of only enough to get them out of the woods, bandaged up, and left to rest.
It's nearly morning when Waver finally comes to. He stirs slowly-- and it hurts.
A soft whimper. Waver opens his eyes. Thankfully, this time, they're no longer red.
Having left Flat in professional care Iskandar rushes home. Lyssa might not be happy with him for saddling her with a patient. Given how the previous nights - and days - put not small amount of strain on her, he can't really blame her but she'll get over it. If she was really mad she wouldn't have given him all the salves and detailed instructions.
Waver though. Heh, Iskandar has seen a lot of injuries in his life, so knife wounds are nothing new or worrying. The fact that Waver lost so much blood is. He got there and stopped this madness not a moment too soon. He leaves Bucephalus at the stables and carries the boy all the way home. When finally there he puts him to bed and starts preparing everything from the list of instructions he got.
He's so busy with preparations that he doesn't even notice when his own bestial changes recede. Only after he finishes everything and sits down to watch Waver just in case the boy wakes up during the night. Only then he realises, there are no claws on his hands anymore. Blessed be the Gods, the nightmare is over.
It's early morning when Waver wakes up. Wincing and whimpering, he must be in pain. Iskandar reaches to brush away a couple of loose strands of hair from his face. He smiles. Waver is going to look even better with longer hair.
Waver starts at the touch, but only for a moment in his disorientation. For him, things are even more unclear; he doesn't remember most of the previous day or night, and for a few seconds has no idea where he is or with whom. Only snippets come back to him, jumbled and unclear: teeth and claws and heat, sex, chasing, fighting, pain. Not all at once, but not quite distinct, either. He remembers Berserker and Ozymandias. A few others, perhaps not all familiar. And--
Waver gasps, suddenly moving to sit up, one hand lashing out faster than it seemed he should be capable of to grab onto Iskandar's wrist.
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for iskandar, octeuril 3rd.
He doesn't remember telling anyone when his birthday is, either. He doesn't expect anything and doesn't need it; Waver prefers it this way. It's how it's always been, in any case.
Waver returns to the apartment in the afternoon, ready to change out of his work clothes. After some mishaps with one of the potions he'd been stocking today, his apron and shirt sleeves could really use a wash.
"Hello?" he calls as he shuts the door behind him and toes off his boots, ears automatically perking to listen for anyone else being home. Mostly, it's so he doesn't unduly surprise Diarmuid, or anyone else who might be here since the place has been sort of a revolving door of various mutually Bonded individuals lately.
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After a while, he emerges carrying a tray. There's a small cake on a plate, a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Sit down comfortably! Today we feast!"
He puts the tray carefully on a small table near the sofa. To call it a feast is a little stretch given that it consists only of cake and wine. So no riches of Babylon here. But he spent his money elsewhere.
Once they're both settled on the sofa, Iskandar fishes out a bag he hid behind the sofa. He drops it on Waver's lap while leaning down to kiss him.
"Happy birthday, my dear boy."
The bag contains a chess set and one other small box. The box is the main reason that Iskandar finally mobilised enough of will to find himself a paying job. Or rather their recent visit to the Black City was. He never told Waver, there was no need to stress the boy more than he already was, but nothing has shaken him worse than the possibility of losing him. Waver has been kidnapped and Iskandar had no idea anything even happened. If it weren't for the timely intervention of Berserker and then Geralt, their trip could have ended a lot worse than it did.
So apart from the usual lectures he went to, Iskandar spent a lot of time researching tracking spells. Only to find that, as with everything, they need practise. He wouldn't be himself if he gave up that easily so finally he found a small shop tucked on the very edge of the Shopping District that had a particular pendant on offer. Half of the circle depicting the Sun and the other the Moon. It could be split in two so it either be one or two matching pendants.
I can put a spell on them so one would always find the other. The jeweller witch that made it told him But it would cost extra and will need recharging from time to time.
Iskandar read enough about tracking magic at that point to be aware that the shred old lady is totally ripping him off. The spell was a really basic one. Still, he agreed without hesitation. It might have been a basic spell but she knew it and he didn't. So there was no real choice. It also meant that only a day before Waver's birthday he finally had enough money to get it done. At least he wasn't late.
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Waver stands frozen with surprise in the small foyer as Iskandar emerges from the kitchen, voice booming and customary big grin in place. He smells the cake before he sees it, the faint sweetness in the air wafting toward him. Cake and wine aside, Iskandar's sheer exuberance makes him blush as he's ushered onto the couch, still clutching his satchel with his work things in it, wide-eyed and baffled.
He probably shouldn't have been surprised, but still... it's a bit of a shock when he wasn't expecting anything at all.
"Rider..." he fumbles, stammering as Iskandar practically sweeps him onto the sofa when Waver comes close. "You-- Ah, thank you...?"
Nobody's ever done something like this for his birthday before. It's clear Waver doesn't know how to react, though it's just as evident that the surprise is far from unhappy, his speechlessness borne of inexperience rather than lack of enthusiasm. Already, his heart is pounding, ears up excitedly, the flush dusting his cheeks only deepening as Iskandar leans closer.
Waver drops the satchel on the floor by the armrest and sets his hand on whatever's fallen into his lap absentmindedly. Suddenly, all of his attention is stolen by that kiss.
He doesn't know what to say, but this he understands. It's soft at first, tentative in his surprise-- but then he's leaning up to meet Iskandar's lips, and all of Waver's joy and gratitude and amazement translates without words in the warmth of his affection, in the way his free hand cups the back of Iskandar's neck and he lingers, sweetly, in that kiss.
Iskandar's birthday greeting is met with breathless happiness. Waver smiles.
"Thank you," he says again, earnestly. His hand still on Iskandar's shoulder slides down, touch lingering until his fingers finally move to the ribbon holding the bag shut.
"Is this...?" A present. For him. From Rider.
Waver tugs it open, unable to contain his excitement. There's a soft thump-thump against the back of the sofa to accompany the rustle of the boxes being unwrapped; his tail is wagging vigorously.
The bigger box is first: a chess set, handsomely carved. Waver opens it, admiring the pieces set into their places inside, touching the folded-up board without taking it out, and looks up again, still beaming.
"It's lovely. So we can play it together, right?" He still regrets not agreeing to playing games with Rider back in Japan, but even though it's not the same type of game, the concept is the same: spending time together playing something, challenging one another. It would be fun to see how well he can contend with such a famous strategist as Alexander the Great himself.
Carefully, Waver snaps the chess set closed again and sets it aside on the table near the tray.
"And something else, too..." he murmurs with interest, turning the small box over in his hands as if to guess what's inside before finally lifting the lid. He's not sure what he expected but it's certainly not this. Waver's eyes widen, startled to find... a pendant? It's beautiful, of course, but it's not something he expected to receive when he doesn't wear jewelry, and so Waver's faint confusion is evident when he lifts his head again.
"Rider? What's this?"
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"When I was still in my Heroic Spirit form I always knew where my Master is," he says. Usually by his side but there were times he was not. Like that one when Waver send him to collect water from the river and that later showed them the location of Caster's lair. Iskandar smiles. That was a feat of a genius. "I could feel you from the other side of the city."
He raises a hand to caress Waver's cheek. "I miss that." They have Bond now, which in a way, acts similarly. But it can be tampered with. It can be suppressed. He did not know his boy was in danger and he hates it.
He leans for another kiss, slow and deliberate, not stopping before both of their necklaces start to glow with a faint light. A cool silvery glow for Waver, warm gold for Iskandar.
They need to be charged by both you and the person you want to track. If they're a witch, they'll know what to do. The old lady has said. She clearly had doubts that Iskandar would. If they're not, it's better be some strong emotion. More doubts at that. Her look spoke volumes even if her words didn't. Who would have wanted an obnoxious oaf like him.
Iskandar said nothing. You would be surprised, old hag. He didn't even mention it's a present. The witch would surely double the price if only she knew that.
"It's a pendant," he says when he finally let's go of Waver. Obviously "Apart from looking nice and the sun part resembling just a bit the emblem of my house, the Argeads, it has additional property. Those are two pieces of a whole and one will always find the other." It's a bit like them, isn't it? "It's a simple spell, so I was told at least, but it means I can always find you as long as you have it."
Bad things happened to people he loved when he was away and could not protect them. Iskandar would use every possibility to shield Waver from harm. So they would never have to rely on luck again. Like there. In Dorchacht.
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wrap?
At the Coven
But despite all those troublesome thoughts and worries they keep their head up. After all, there is still so much to learn about this new role.
"Where do you keep all the books?" Enkidu leans forward a little when they ask that, looking at the young dog-man with a neutral look on their face. "This building is unnecessarily large."
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"But if you're looking for the library, I'm actually headed that way myself."
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And they smile when they are right about their assessment about the presence of books.
"I thought that much. Can you show me the way. If you want I can take some books for you. They seem heavy."
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wu-tang clan lyrics go here
Geralt does most of his combat as a witcher using a sword, but he's far from out of practice empty-handed. For the first little while he has Waver run through basics and makes him test out how he moves, before he mentally tailors the instruction to maximize the kid's potential effectiveness. The right way to punch, to use the heel of the palm, elbows, shins. How to break holds and how to aim for a windpipe when already in motion.
Fortunately, he can withstand turnskin enhanced strength and claws just fine.
"Not bad," he says after a while, only indicating that they're going to wind down once Waver's begun to flag. "I've seen worse first cracks at throwing someone."
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He sits down heavily on one of the chipped steps of the old outdoor auditorium they've been using for practice occasionally and groans, lifting his arms above his head and leaning back to stretch. The sky above has gone purple and pink, and the slivers of the Sisters are visible on the horizon. With the sun gone, the breeze is cold. It feels good through his sweat-soaked shirt.
"They must've been super bad at it, then. Did they throw themselves instead of you?"
Waver's probably not giving himself enough credit, but he can't help it. He feels... unsatisfied. Weak. Physical power has never been something he was very interested in, and never at all good at. He focused on (indoor-based) learning, reading, magecraft-- but here, he can only do so much in that regard.
The close call at Dorchacht has encouraged him to take at least a little bit of advantage of his newfound Turnskin strength and speed. He might not be quite on par with a bigger or more practiced individual of his kind, but it's more than his habitually frail human body could have handled, so that's progress. Even if it doesn't feel much like it.
His limbs still feel like noodles and he's still out of breath by the time they're done, but he pushed himself harder than usual today. All that frustration, that lingering feeling of powerlessness, anger and anxiety-- it all ended up bubbling over. Good thing Geralt is a sturdy outlet.
Waver exhales slowly, bringing his arms back down and settling his elbows on his knees.
"Should've brought a canteen or something... You got any water?"
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Fun thoughts.
"Not on me. We can go sit at one of those cafes, though. Whatever they're called." Geralt puts too much emphasis on each syllable of cafe. They definitely have them in the finer cities on the Continent, but no one's ever put up with a mutant wanderer tracking in dirt and monster guts. Sounds like a Nilfgaardian word, anyway.
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fright night?? more like filth night (nsfw)
Close to his mansion, he claws at a tree. The action itself is not particularly violent, but the sharpness of his claws makes the gouges seem almost violent and he's clearly focused on the task. The motion feels so good to him and placing his scent there feels even betters that his new tail quivers slightly in delight behind him and he very nearly misses the sounds of someone's approach. But his ear swivels to the sound of distant, but approaching steps, and he stops mid-scratch. Drawing his wings in closer to his body, Ozymandias turns to scent the air. Something about the scent is vaguely familiar -- known to him even if he cannot place a name or face to it -- but something else about it... It's...
It's intoxicating.
Ozymandias pulls one set of claws free easily, retracting them as they come loose. The other takes a couple of tugs before the combination of loosened wood and a better angle allow him to free himself from the tree.
Marking the rest of his territory can wait.
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It draws him closer, and though his mind is too clouded to settle on Ozymandias's name, Waver recognizes him in some capacity, trying to reconcile the unfamiliar shape with the familiar scent. Not a threat, his instincts say. Not prey. Something else.
But that doesn't mean Waver isn't still inclined to stalk him like prey. Especially when he notices Ozymandias get briefly stuck on the tree. For some reason, that's particularly amusing, and signals his sort-of-prey more vulnerable than expected.
Nearby, Waver blends into the shadows between the trees and a nearby building, only his eyes shining blood-red from the darkness. He crouches for now, waiting to see if Ozymandias will move closer. Or turn his back.
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The tip of Ozymandias' tail twitches a few times impatiently. He takes only a few steps away from the tree before he comes to another stop, scanning the nearby shadows. At first, his eyes pass right over Waver hunkered down until there's just enough of a glint off his eyes to draw Ozymandias' attention back to him. He doesn't start to growl, but his tail begins almost immediately takes to whipping around behind him and his wings press even closer against his back. As much as the scent has Ozymandias' attention, he's not a fan of the crouching in the shadows. His ears begin to press down.
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lmk if this is ok!!
Waver. Of course. He goes through something similar to this every time the moons are full, doesn't he? Before he can remind himself of what a bad idea this is, Diarmuid finds himself climbing the stairwell to the mage's new apartment. His new ears are fluffier than before, dark but tipped with the same white downy fur as on the underside of his- particularly twitchy- tail, and one pricks up as he leans towards the door. Are either of them even around?
More importantly, could he survive the shame of Rider seeing him in such a state? It's not really a question he wants an answer to.
Regardless, he reaches out and, more confidently than he feels, knocks.]
Waver?
PERFECT also i love his cute megane icon!!
In reality, he's pleased. He's even smiling. But--
Well. He doesn't look quite normal either, and the longer, sharper fangs twist his smile into an unintended grimace full of sharp, bared teeth matched by blood-red, shining eyes. The wings are new too, tucked for now against his back. Small, curved horns poke out between his ears, and his tail lashes, no longer the fluffy curl he's been sporting for a few months now, but a long, leathery thing with an apparent life of its own. ]
Diarmuid.
[ Maybe his excitement to see his Bonded isn't entirely out of affection.
Now that the door is open and he catches unimpeded Diarmuid's familiar-unfamiliar new scent, Waver can't help the thought that suddenly tugs at his mind. His pupils, already pinpricks in the red, narrow to slits.
Diarmuid smells delicious. ]
...c-come in.
[ Waver steps aside, ushering in his prey. ]
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Goddamn it. Why is he even giving it any thought? Only one animal instinct is being indulged today- if Waver is so inclined- and it isn't going to be the one that has him bolting home and building a den for safety.]
I... [Okay, he might not be paralysed anymore but he still can't remember what it was he wanted to say.] Thank you.
[Forcing a smile, he ducks past both his instincts and Waver and into the apartment. At least once he gets inside Rider's scent- rough, bold, journeyed but human- balances things out enough that he feels comfortable putting his back to the young mage.]
You too? I still don't know what caused it.
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fwight night
He'd be more worried if the whole city itself hadn't mutated into a menagerie of shrieking and roaring. Not that he isn't the least bit concerned about these changes and whether they'll last once the curious mist has subsided, but at this point, a few more monstrous aspects can hardly put a dent in how wrong he's felt since winding up here. He doesn't even need to feel self-conscious about his new chimeralike appearance when the majority of Aefenglom's monsters now sample from at least two creatures. He hardly stands out like this.
What poses a true problem for Soren right now are the fun little tweaks sprinkled into his behavior, all of which are a complete hassle to control. He'd already grown accustomed to reigning in some of his more draconic impulses thanks to the grace of time and settling into a stable Bond, but now that he's got a notable feline touch to him (ugh?), it's all hitting him at once, and there are simply things he cannot resist that he could do before. He wants to climb up all the high places, scratch all the posts and the benches and the trees just to feel his claws drag across them, is enchanted by the erratic motions of leaves swept by wind, compelled by a deep predatory instinct from two sources to hunt.
If he could see himself now, he would long to scorch the memory from his mind forever, because there is nothing more humiliating than succumbing to such wanton beastlike displays. If laguz such as Skrimir or Ranulf caught him in such a state, they would never let him live it down. It's a good thing that nobody from Tellius is here... and for once, he's grateful he hasn't quite found Ike anywhere yet.
Currently, his prey is a large moth dancing in the glow of the magitech lamp in an alleyway of the Haven, a little more removed from the greater din of the misty streets. Soren's pupils are blown as he crouches on the street, wings taut, tail curling back and forth in a hypnotic sway as he calculates his next leap. So scarcely does he realize how engrossed he is in his play-hunt session that he pays much less mind to his surroundings than he usually does... including the fact that even he could be hunted. But perhaps that is just the instinct of his dragon half talking, too, comfortable in its lofty and timeless position as apex predator.
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Something about his scent is familiar to Waver, but more importantly to his less lucid mind right now, he smells like prey. And he looks fun to chase.
As Soren stalks the moth, Waver stalks him, crouching in the shadows where only his red eyes gleam in the darkness. He doesn't wait long once he's found his goal, though, watching Soren only a few more moments curiously before deciding he's had enough of being patient. He's bored. He wants to hunt.
Unable to contain his excitement, Waver dashes forward with a yip that gives him away.
there it is, waver barking
That, or he just looks like what he is: a scaredy cat bristling at the sudden intrusion of a dog. If he were completely furry, his hair would be standing on end.
Recovering from the brunt of the shock but still looking like the daylights had been utterly spooked out of him, he peers down at the threat in alarm. Finally, his more human side snaps the reins of his brain and he realizes how pathetic this looks — and yet, even though he recognizes this monster from having interacted with him a few times before, it doesn't quite chase away the rattling fear that causes him to tremble. Waver does look quite intimidating like that. And if he has wings now, too... he may not be safe up here for much longer. That fact sinks in like cold lead, even though he tries to tell himself this anxiety is senseless. Besides, he could probably beat him in a fight, his draconic pride says. His draconic pride also happens to make him feel even more embarrassed for being caused to make such a laughable scene. The fear plastered across his face peels away to reveal mortification, then vexation, then umbrage. His voice quakes along with him.
"Wh-What were you thinking, bounding after me like that while I'm...?!" he scolds, reluctant to complete the sentence and admit what he was doing in plain words. "You can control yourself a little better than that, can't you? What do you want with me, anyway?"
BORK BORK
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no, that's not right. he already had the confidence, thanks to the conversation--he just couldn't afford to lose it. that's why he had to act to fast. so the thoughts and feelings he had wouldn't get lost in his ever running mind. he's lucky that he even managed to get berserker to come with in such a short notice, but flat's aware that luck has usually been on his side.
he wonders if that will fail him today?
having waver's address from before, flat somehow manages to orient himself as he thinks about what he'll say. an apology will be enough, right? will it? perhaps if he explains--no, that would just make things worse, wouldn't it?
no. this is his responsibility, and he'll do what is needed to fix it.
he knocks on the door to the apartment, and waits for waver to open the door. when he does, he'll smile brightly, relieved. ]
Pr--Waver! I've come to apologize!
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His breath hitches, heartbeat spiking; he can't help it.
Really, Waver knows he should have reached out sooner. He should have said something. He should have at least tried.
...but what is he supposed to say to the person who looks up to him (some distant, future version of him that doesn't exist), who clearly cares so much about him and respects him (for reasons Waver can't fully understand), and whom he very nearly killed?
He swallows hard, tries not to look as terrified as he suddenly feels, and opens the door. ]
Flat...
[ Wait. ]
Y-you've come to--?
[ Apologize? Waver feels like he's the one who needs to apologize. He stares a moment, mouth half open, too flustered momentarily for words. ]
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[ flat laughs at waver’s bewildered expression, soft enough to not aggravate his wounds—the last thing he wants is for waver to feel any worse than he probably does. ]
You probably think that it’s your fault, hm? That’s so like you. [ he chuckles again, leaning against the door frame. there’s a hint of nervousness in his expression, though—like he’s not that sure about what he’s saying. flat feels like he’s treading on thin ice here and one false move will send him falling. ]
But I’m pretty sure that the reason you tried to kill me was because of something I did. That’s why I’m apologizing.
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1/2
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a million years later..........................
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for iskandar; backdated to octeuril 14
It's some time before Waver wakes up and is himself again. Even after Iskandar drops Flat off with the nearest healer, he sleeps through the trip, as well as his own healing. The healer Witch at least assures Iskandar there's nothing wrong with the spell he used as far as she can tell; Waver's just exhausted, and he'd lost a lot of blood. It's for the best. He should wake up in a few hours.
She sends them off with instructions to Iskandar, some healing salves, and a tired sigh. It's been a long couple of days for everyone. Unfortunately, considering how many people have needed help, resources both physical and magical are low. She's too tired to heal both Flat and Waver completely, so each of them is taken care of only enough to get them out of the woods, bandaged up, and left to rest.
It's nearly morning when Waver finally comes to. He stirs slowly-- and it hurts.
A soft whimper. Waver opens his eyes. Thankfully, this time, they're no longer red.
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Waver though. Heh, Iskandar has seen a lot of injuries in his life, so knife wounds are nothing new or worrying. The fact that Waver lost so much blood is. He got there and stopped this madness not a moment too soon. He leaves Bucephalus at the stables and carries the boy all the way home. When finally there he puts him to bed and starts preparing everything from the list of instructions he got.
He's so busy with preparations that he doesn't even notice when his own bestial changes recede. Only after he finishes everything and sits down to watch Waver just in case the boy wakes up during the night. Only then he realises, there are no claws on his hands anymore. Blessed be the Gods, the nightmare is over.
It's early morning when Waver wakes up. Wincing and whimpering, he must be in pain. Iskandar reaches to brush away a couple of loose strands of hair from his face. He smiles. Waver is going to look even better with longer hair.
"Shh, it's alright. You're home."
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Waver gasps, suddenly moving to sit up, one hand lashing out faster than it seemed he should be capable of to grab onto Iskandar's wrist.
"F-Flat...!"
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wrap?