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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.
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.
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.
"...eh?"
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?"
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?"
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.
"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.
When Iskandar reaches down to clip the pendant around his throat, Waver automatically raises his head, accepting the gift with quiet awe. His fingers slide over the moon as it settles over the center of his chest, smooth and cool; he leans his face into the calloused palm of Iskandar's hand on his cheek.
"Me too..." Waver admits softly, murmuring against Iskandar's lips right before he kisses back again, melting into the feeling as Iskandar takes his time with it. His lips part, head tipping back, eyes half-shut as the kiss draws all of his attention, every fiber of him as if magnetized. Waver's fingers curl automatically around the pendant he still holds against his chest.
Even though Waver isn't a mage here, that soft buzz of magic is unmistakable against his skin; he doesn't have to be able to use magic to recognize its warmth. The glow of the spell is visible even to his eyes.
Waver pulls back only when Iskandar does, breathless and a little glassy-eyed, his mouth still half open and damp as he catches his breath. Slowly, he looks down at the silvery moon in the palm of his hand, and then at the golden sun it so neatly slots into.
Two halves of a whole.
They will always find one another.
"Rider..." Waver manages, throat suddenly squeezed-tight. His chest feels full to bursting, too much to feel at once. Right now, Waver isn't even thinking of the practical uses for something like this. It's something to bind them, physically, a symbol, a promise to be together--
Eyes shining with emotion on the edge of brimming over, Waver scoots in closer to Iskandar.
"I will always have it."
He will always follow, struggle to be by his side, no matter what. No matter if they're separated again-- No. They can't be separated again. This is more proof. Another promise.
He places his free hand atop the matching sun pendant on his Bonded's chest, covering it with his palm to feel the warmth of it.
"You are my King," he breathes. Presses it to Iskandar's heart. "My Sun... the light that gives me purpose."
The only reason the moon shines. The guiding rays that give warmth, direction, life.
"...thank you."
"Me too..." Waver admits softly, murmuring against Iskandar's lips right before he kisses back again, melting into the feeling as Iskandar takes his time with it. His lips part, head tipping back, eyes half-shut as the kiss draws all of his attention, every fiber of him as if magnetized. Waver's fingers curl automatically around the pendant he still holds against his chest.
Even though Waver isn't a mage here, that soft buzz of magic is unmistakable against his skin; he doesn't have to be able to use magic to recognize its warmth. The glow of the spell is visible even to his eyes.
Waver pulls back only when Iskandar does, breathless and a little glassy-eyed, his mouth still half open and damp as he catches his breath. Slowly, he looks down at the silvery moon in the palm of his hand, and then at the golden sun it so neatly slots into.
Two halves of a whole.
They will always find one another.
"Rider..." Waver manages, throat suddenly squeezed-tight. His chest feels full to bursting, too much to feel at once. Right now, Waver isn't even thinking of the practical uses for something like this. It's something to bind them, physically, a symbol, a promise to be together--
Eyes shining with emotion on the edge of brimming over, Waver scoots in closer to Iskandar.
"I will always have it."
He will always follow, struggle to be by his side, no matter what. No matter if they're separated again-- No. They can't be separated again. This is more proof. Another promise.
He places his free hand atop the matching sun pendant on his Bonded's chest, covering it with his palm to feel the warmth of it.
"You are my King," he breathes. Presses it to Iskandar's heart. "My Sun... the light that gives me purpose."
The only reason the moon shines. The guiding rays that give warmth, direction, life.
"...thank you."
"That I am." Iskandar beams fully proud of himself that his gift made such an impact.
He'd clearly haven't thought through all the potential implications and the symbolism that this particular piece of jewellery may carry but it doesn't deter him from accepting the praise. Even if it was just his luck that he picked it. He thought it was pretty, the spell was something he needed and that was enough.
He needed Waver to see everything else.
Which is how things should be and Iskandar is very content with it.
"And I shall never lead you astray," he says before adding "I may, however, obliterate you in a game of chess."
He grins.
"Have you ever played? Do you know the rules or should I explain them to you?"
He'd clearly haven't thought through all the potential implications and the symbolism that this particular piece of jewellery may carry but it doesn't deter him from accepting the praise. Even if it was just his luck that he picked it. He thought it was pretty, the spell was something he needed and that was enough.
He needed Waver to see everything else.
Which is how things should be and Iskandar is very content with it.
"And I shall never lead you astray," he says before adding "I may, however, obliterate you in a game of chess."
He grins.
"Have you ever played? Do you know the rules or should I explain them to you?"
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."
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."
"Alright then!" Iskandar says as he catches the boy's chin to hold him in place and make this kiss just a bit longer. He grins when they part content of his little victory.
"I'll leave in charge of setting up the board while I open the wine for us."
Or he would if he had an opener. The one that he failed to take from the kitchen because he was in too much of a hurry to greet the boy once he heard that he's back home finally.
"I'll be back in no time," he says rising from the sofa.
Now, where did he put the cursed thing?
"I'll leave in charge of setting up the board while I open the wine for us."
Or he would if he had an opener. The one that he failed to take from the kitchen because he was in too much of a hurry to greet the boy once he heard that he's back home finally.
"I'll be back in no time," he says rising from the sofa.
Now, where did he put the cursed thing?
Of course Waver allows the kiss as long as Iskandar wants it. He couldn't look happier right now, laughing as Iskandar goes wandering off to look for, presumably, the wine opener. He could probably force it open but that risks wine all over the couch, so...
Waver takes his time setting up the chess board on the coffee table, nudging the tray to the side to make room. It really is beautifully made. He admires the pieces as he sets them up, and a few times pauses to rub the pendant hanging over his chest, smiling down at it in lingering awe.
Waver takes his time setting up the chess board on the coffee table, nudging the tray to the side to make room. It really is beautifully made. He admires the pieces as he sets them up, and a few times pauses to rub the pendant hanging over his chest, smiling down at it in lingering awe.
"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."
"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."
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."
"Really?" Waver sounds skeptical. And breathless.
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?"
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?"
Edited 2019-10-10 04:51 (UTC)
"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.
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.
Edited 2019-10-10 06:32 (UTC)
"Ah. Didn't expect that to actually be the case..." Waver mutters, not entirely sure if Geralt is telling the truth or fucking with him. Waver's figured out he does have a sense of humor, but it's just as deadpan as his non-humorous disposition otherwise, and Waver's not exactly a big bundle of laughs either. Awkward. He doesn't ask.
The way Geralt says cafe like he can't figure out how to get his mouth around it makes Waver snort.
"That's what they're called. Cafes. Though I'm a bit sweaty for a public eatery, don't you think?" He gives Geralt a look like he might add something, a bit suspicious that he's trying to get out of the conversation they'd agreed to have, but Waver is thirsty. And getting peckish, too. Physical work is hard.
He pushes himself to his feet with another muffled groan. Oof. Legs are tired.
"I'll run home first. Meet me there or come with me, whatever." Geralt can wait on his couch or something if he wants. It won't take long. Waver's just... easily embarrassed.
He meets up with Geralt again soon enough, hair properly brushed and wearing fresh clothes and a coat, now that he's not overheated.
Waver huffs, scowling at Geralt to greet him in typical fashion.
"You look fine. Didn't even have to try. That doesn't seem fair."
More like he just looks like he always does, and Waver's overly critical of himself, but that's fine. Off to the cafe. Good thing Waver seems to know more about them than Geralt does.
The way Geralt says cafe like he can't figure out how to get his mouth around it makes Waver snort.
"That's what they're called. Cafes. Though I'm a bit sweaty for a public eatery, don't you think?" He gives Geralt a look like he might add something, a bit suspicious that he's trying to get out of the conversation they'd agreed to have, but Waver is thirsty. And getting peckish, too. Physical work is hard.
He pushes himself to his feet with another muffled groan. Oof. Legs are tired.
"I'll run home first. Meet me there or come with me, whatever." Geralt can wait on his couch or something if he wants. It won't take long. Waver's just... easily embarrassed.
He meets up with Geralt again soon enough, hair properly brushed and wearing fresh clothes and a coat, now that he's not overheated.
Waver huffs, scowling at Geralt to greet him in typical fashion.
"You look fine. Didn't even have to try. That doesn't seem fair."
More like he just looks like he always does, and Waver's overly critical of himself, but that's fine. Off to the cafe. Good thing Waver seems to know more about them than Geralt does.
Geralt has half a mind to rib him about owning his hard work, but then thinks better of it. Waver was such a mess after being abducted and drugged, and the idea of telling him to suck it up and be sweaty for another hour feels gauche. A little too insensitive for even Geralt. So he lets him go without comment, and just takes a wander for the time being.
A shrug, of fairness. "My heart beats four times slower than yours. Different regulatory organ functions."
Witchers are weird.
Indeed, off to the cafe, pleasantly outdoors and featuring semi-enclosed booths, comfortable cushions surrounded by wicker capsules spun by local arachne artists. Served water and fruit and whatever else Waver might want, Geralt wonders how much magic is being used to preserve the produce in the whole city. Maybe it's best not to think of it.
A shrug, of fairness. "My heart beats four times slower than yours. Different regulatory organ functions."
Witchers are weird.
Indeed, off to the cafe, pleasantly outdoors and featuring semi-enclosed booths, comfortable cushions surrounded by wicker capsules spun by local arachne artists. Served water and fruit and whatever else Waver might want, Geralt wonders how much magic is being used to preserve the produce in the whole city. Maybe it's best not to think of it.
Witchers are weird. Waver still hasn't got the details -- he's sort of been assuming Geralt's a type of humanoid but not-quite-human unique to his world. Kind of accurate?
He just grunts and grumbles a little more, in a way that means he's actually in a good mood. Waver is also weird.
Once they're settled -- the booths are nice -- and Waver's put in his order for tea and a sandwich to accompany the rest, Waver leans his elbows on the table. One hand is at his lips, delicately holding a grape between his claws. The fresh produce doesn't really make an impression on someone used to supermarkets (not to mention mages). He pops it into his mouth.
"I haven't forgotten, you know." About the questions he'd asked.
He just grunts and grumbles a little more, in a way that means he's actually in a good mood. Waver is also weird.
Once they're settled -- the booths are nice -- and Waver's put in his order for tea and a sandwich to accompany the rest, Waver leans his elbows on the table. One hand is at his lips, delicately holding a grape between his claws. The fresh produce doesn't really make an impression on someone used to supermarkets (not to mention mages). He pops it into his mouth.
"I haven't forgotten, you know." About the questions he'd asked.
"But you are carrying books." They point at the stack of books in their arms.
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."
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."
Farmland is out there, about to be devoured by the Cwyld, isn't it? Surely preservation practices and enchanted rationing is already being doing. It would be foolish not to. He knows that very powerful mages where he's from can create food from nothing that offers actual sustenance, but it's immensely difficult and ultimately frivolous. Might as well just learn healing.
Wandering thoughts, as if evading the thing he already said he'd talk about.
"I assumed you hadn't." Geralt drinks some water. "What have you heard?"
A small relief, to know he's healed from all detectable wounds by now, that he won't be relating this tale to Waver smelling of old blood and still-tender tissue decay. Not that Geralt got it as bad as some, but he was beat up enough to be pretty bruised and bloodied by the time he literally collapsed in his bed here in Aefenglom.
Wandering thoughts, as if evading the thing he already said he'd talk about.
"I assumed you hadn't." Geralt drinks some water. "What have you heard?"
A small relief, to know he's healed from all detectable wounds by now, that he won't be relating this tale to Waver smelling of old blood and still-tender tissue decay. Not that Geralt got it as bad as some, but he was beat up enough to be pretty bruised and bloodied by the time he literally collapsed in his bed here in Aefenglom.
"Berserker just said you helped the Resistance. I know about the refugees, of course, and so many of them are children... I- I heard something about a... a breeding program."
Waver cringes faintly even as he says the words, searching Geralt's face. It's probably not a discussion to have over dinner, but he doesn't want to keep relying on hearsay. He'd rather hear it from a firsthand source. There are rumors, of course, people all over the city talking about what happened, but how much of it is true and how much embellished is difficult to tell.
"He did tell me you and he destroyed a... drug factory? What about the rest? Realistically, how widespread is the disruption to their infrastructure?"
Waver cringes faintly even as he says the words, searching Geralt's face. It's probably not a discussion to have over dinner, but he doesn't want to keep relying on hearsay. He'd rather hear it from a firsthand source. There are rumors, of course, people all over the city talking about what happened, but how much of it is true and how much embellished is difficult to tell.
"He did tell me you and he destroyed a... drug factory? What about the rest? Realistically, how widespread is the disruption to their infrastructure?"
Geralt's face is impassive as always. But he offers no correction. What Waver's heard is accurate.
"I'm not sure," he admits. "We had to evacuate in a hurry as to not implicate Aefenglom. As long as the conflict is believed to be contained entirely among citizens of Dorchacht, they have more legitimacy in taking over and ousting Morgana. I expect that it'll turn out to be less significant than it felt."
Because that's always the way. And it's not like razing the city is a real possibility, when most everyone there is an innocent party. He figures that's why Nessie can't take a more obvious stand against Morgana; war would destroy the populations of both cities. While her passivity isn't morally impressive, for Geralt, he prefers inaction to war, which is in his opinion the worst evil of all.
"It was discovered that the missing memories of everyone there had been largely harvested, under the guise of Cwyld treatment, to power the wall's enchantments. And it was discovered that various facilities were in place to breed monsters to have slaves conditioned to their stations from birth. They weren't enslaved to the compulsion, but controlled with potions and alchemy hormones. The Resistance organized a night of rioting, aimed at ending that practice definitively and taking a hard, forceful stand against the monster enslavement overall."
"I'm not sure," he admits. "We had to evacuate in a hurry as to not implicate Aefenglom. As long as the conflict is believed to be contained entirely among citizens of Dorchacht, they have more legitimacy in taking over and ousting Morgana. I expect that it'll turn out to be less significant than it felt."
Because that's always the way. And it's not like razing the city is a real possibility, when most everyone there is an innocent party. He figures that's why Nessie can't take a more obvious stand against Morgana; war would destroy the populations of both cities. While her passivity isn't morally impressive, for Geralt, he prefers inaction to war, which is in his opinion the worst evil of all.
"It was discovered that the missing memories of everyone there had been largely harvested, under the guise of Cwyld treatment, to power the wall's enchantments. And it was discovered that various facilities were in place to breed monsters to have slaves conditioned to their stations from birth. They weren't enslaved to the compulsion, but controlled with potions and alchemy hormones. The Resistance organized a night of rioting, aimed at ending that practice definitively and taking a hard, forceful stand against the monster enslavement overall."
Waver nods in agreement -- yes, better that they were careful not to implicate Aefenglom, for the reasons Geralt mentions as well as for Aefenglom itself. Waver is still concerned that the timing of things has lined up in a rather telling way, but it wouldn't make any sense to point fingers without proof. Assuming sense and proof are things Morgana cares about. But what's done is done.
"Yeah..."
He can't even be upset about it happening, frankly, despite Iskandar's frustrations from a political standpoint. Those institutions more than deserve to be burned to the ground. And though Waver knows it's not so simple the in the grand scheme of things trying to keep both of their cities' diplomatic relations intact with the Cwyld just outside the walls making the proverbial ice they're walking on even thinner, he can't help but think of this as a good thing. At least, an attempt at bolstering a good thing that has to come from within.
As Geralt continues with more details, the set of Waver's jaw tightens. His hands still on the edge of the table, away from the fruit bowl he'd been idly poking at.
"Harvested? How?"
Memories used as energy to power a spell? Theoretically, it might be possible if one considers those memories as a measure of someone's life itself, a type of life force, like a soul. The concept of life itself, even symbolically, is powerful magical fodder, part of the reason blood and sexual fluids are so mana-dense-- but that's only theoretically. He doesn't know of any way to pull out memories like something tangible, to use as an ingredient. It's alarming, to say the least.
It's all... revolting. Waver doesn't have the words to define what he's feeling; it's difficult to even wrap his mind around the full scope of the horror, the level of dehumanization. His hands have clenched into fists by now, claws digging into his palms. He can feel the buzz in the back of his head, the acute anger and disgust that struggle to present themselves as part of him, as if teeth and claws could protect him against understanding the atrocities described.
Slowly, shakily, Waver forces himself to exhale. Relax his shoulders. His fingers unfurl.
"How did you find out about the source of the wall's enchantment?"
"Yeah..."
He can't even be upset about it happening, frankly, despite Iskandar's frustrations from a political standpoint. Those institutions more than deserve to be burned to the ground. And though Waver knows it's not so simple the in the grand scheme of things trying to keep both of their cities' diplomatic relations intact with the Cwyld just outside the walls making the proverbial ice they're walking on even thinner, he can't help but think of this as a good thing. At least, an attempt at bolstering a good thing that has to come from within.
As Geralt continues with more details, the set of Waver's jaw tightens. His hands still on the edge of the table, away from the fruit bowl he'd been idly poking at.
"Harvested? How?"
Memories used as energy to power a spell? Theoretically, it might be possible if one considers those memories as a measure of someone's life itself, a type of life force, like a soul. The concept of life itself, even symbolically, is powerful magical fodder, part of the reason blood and sexual fluids are so mana-dense-- but that's only theoretically. He doesn't know of any way to pull out memories like something tangible, to use as an ingredient. It's alarming, to say the least.
It's all... revolting. Waver doesn't have the words to define what he's feeling; it's difficult to even wrap his mind around the full scope of the horror, the level of dehumanization. His hands have clenched into fists by now, claws digging into his palms. He can feel the buzz in the back of his head, the acute anger and disgust that struggle to present themselves as part of him, as if teeth and claws could protect him against understanding the atrocities described.
Slowly, shakily, Waver forces himself to exhale. Relax his shoulders. His fingers unfurl.
"How did you find out about the source of the wall's enchantment?"
"I'm not sure of the exact mechanics," he admits, of 'harvesting'. "I've seen crystalized dreams used as fuel for magical power before, but not actual memories. I think there are others who witnessed more," actually he knows there are others, but the experiences seemed pretty challenging, and he's not keen on outing them, "but I'm no sorcerer."
Geralt just doesn't have enough skilled insight to be able to guess what made it possible. Perhaps some of the more learned native witches might be able to better hypothesize.
"Mm, well. That was a group effort, I'm made to understand."
Skirting around having been involved with Caster's raid on the fucking door? Perhaps. Geralt's not sure how to phrase any of it, and he's not entirely sure how they're going to handle disseminating information after. Sokie grabbed plenty out of there, but he's fairly sure Sokie's going to want to keep her involvement on the downlow. Lower than Geralt's. With a grimace of distaste, Geralt fishes out his watch and pulls up the archive of this transmission, holding it out to Waver.
"I feel like you know him." Since he looks like everyone else you know.
Geralt just doesn't have enough skilled insight to be able to guess what made it possible. Perhaps some of the more learned native witches might be able to better hypothesize.
"Mm, well. That was a group effort, I'm made to understand."
Skirting around having been involved with Caster's raid on the fucking door? Perhaps. Geralt's not sure how to phrase any of it, and he's not entirely sure how they're going to handle disseminating information after. Sokie grabbed plenty out of there, but he's fairly sure Sokie's going to want to keep her involvement on the downlow. Lower than Geralt's. With a grimace of distaste, Geralt fishes out his watch and pulls up the archive of this transmission, holding it out to Waver.
"I feel like you know him." Since he looks like everyone else you know.
It's exactly where he left it.
Iskandar looks around the kitchen in case there's something else he forgot. Once they start the game, he doesn't want to stop just because he didn't check twice. But no, everything is in its place. The present, the cake, the glasses and the wine. Only the wine opener was not and that only because he got distracted by the boy coming home. He grabs and comes back to the room.
"Have you set up the board, hm? Which colour do you prefer?" he asks as he drops on the sofa next to the boy. He picks up one piece. The attention to detail, the painting, all the minuscule features carved into each one of them, everything is so perfect one might think it was really expensive.
It was not.
"I learned to play in India. My friend, Porus, had a set with pieces made of ivory and ebony. It was nice. But I like this set better."
He puts the piece down. That's why he asked that the knights are made to resemble real horsemen and the rooks warriors on elephants.
"I had it made by a guy I met. He's really talented. I should take you one day so you can see his sculptures."
Iskandar looks around the kitchen in case there's something else he forgot. Once they start the game, he doesn't want to stop just because he didn't check twice. But no, everything is in its place. The present, the cake, the glasses and the wine. Only the wine opener was not and that only because he got distracted by the boy coming home. He grabs and comes back to the room.
"Have you set up the board, hm? Which colour do you prefer?" he asks as he drops on the sofa next to the boy. He picks up one piece. The attention to detail, the painting, all the minuscule features carved into each one of them, everything is so perfect one might think it was really expensive.
It was not.
"I learned to play in India. My friend, Porus, had a set with pieces made of ivory and ebony. It was nice. But I like this set better."
He puts the piece down. That's why he asked that the knights are made to resemble real horsemen and the rooks warriors on elephants.
"I had it made by a guy I met. He's really talented. I should take you one day so you can see his sculptures."
"I'll take white," Waver decides immediately, too eager. Going first is always good, right?
"It really is incredibly sculpted. I'd like to see the rest of the artist's works, sure!" Especially if they go together. He's too happy to even try to be coy about it or make a show of thinking it over first. The idea of spending more time with Iskandar wandering around the city is always a good one.
"--ah, but while you pour, d'you mind if I change real quick?" He lifts a hand, showing some bright blue spatter on the sleeve of his white shirt. It'll keep distracting him.
It won't take him long. Waver returns quickly, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (literally) as a few minutes ago, except wearing something more casual in the form of loose trousers and an untucked, softer shirt left unbuttoned at the top. More comfortable in general... and also suddenly with far fewer belts and buttons in the way if they bore of chess at some point. He's thinking ahead.
Waver flops down on the sofa again and reaches for a wine glass, raising it in a toast to clink against Rider's.
"Thank you. I love it, everything."
And you, his eyes clearly add.
"It really is incredibly sculpted. I'd like to see the rest of the artist's works, sure!" Especially if they go together. He's too happy to even try to be coy about it or make a show of thinking it over first. The idea of spending more time with Iskandar wandering around the city is always a good one.
"--ah, but while you pour, d'you mind if I change real quick?" He lifts a hand, showing some bright blue spatter on the sleeve of his white shirt. It'll keep distracting him.
It won't take him long. Waver returns quickly, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (literally) as a few minutes ago, except wearing something more casual in the form of loose trousers and an untucked, softer shirt left unbuttoned at the top. More comfortable in general... and also suddenly with far fewer belts and buttons in the way if they bore of chess at some point. He's thinking ahead.
Waver flops down on the sofa again and reaches for a wine glass, raising it in a toast to clink against Rider's.
"Thank you. I love it, everything."
And you, his eyes clearly add.
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