middaeg | october catch-all

Entry tags:

october catch-all

Who: Lambert & YOU
When: Throughout Octeuril
Where: Around Aefenglom
What: Working at the Sly Seadog, quests, prompts off the intro log. I'll match format to yours.
Warnings: TBA

1. bounce bounce bounce [ sly seadog ]

[ Throughout the month, Lambert can be found at the Sly Seadog -- either guarding the entrance while he's on duty as a bouncer, or casually sassing the bartender and patrons while he nurses a drink. He's growing slowly into his Puca features this month, but his ears are still small and leveret-like against his head, not the full-blown hare's ears they'll be.

Co-workers and regular patrons are welcome to stop by and bother him ... or if you're starting to look like trouble, he'll be there too. ]

2. celebrations [ residential, shopping district, harbor ]

a. [ On the Western side of the residential district, it's not difficult to find Lambert by one of the firesides, entertaining wide-eyed monster children by pantomiming an elaborate fight against invisible enemies with a stick for a prop sword. ]

And then, just when the bastards thought they had me cornered-- [ He runs, hops onto a low bench, and launches himself through the air in a flip -- higher and fancier than a human would be able to do, with puca strength in his limbs -- before landing on the other side with a flourish, then miming running his assailant through. ]

--bam! I stuck my sword right through them, just like that.

b. [ Lambert can also be found perusing the wares at a stall claiming to sell talismans made of monster parts, but when the overeager vendor offers him a chance to purchase a potion she claims will let him see beyond the glass and speak to loved ones he's left behind. She's a little put out when Lambert laughs loudly in her face, like she's told a particularly funny joke. ]

Sorry, not interested. [ He smirks, then glances over at whoever's come up. ] But you might have better luck with this one.

c. [ If you're at the Harbor District in the early evening, you might suddenly find yourself accosted by a flushed, scarred man with rabbit ears and a grin that's pure mischief, a drink sloshing in his hand, which he promptly thrusts out. ]

Here -- you look like someone who needs a drink.

[ And no, he's not particularly picky about who he bothers with this. ]

3. quests [ around aefenglom ]

a. [ Lambert's been intently focused on carving the turnip he's holding for the last few minutes, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as his eyes narrow.

A closer inspection of what he's carving onto said root vegetable, though, might raise some mild concern. Are those ... breasts? ]

b. [ Out of the city, Lambert patrols the edge of the outer city with his sword out. His sense for danger has only sharpened the longer he stays here, but he's not getting the impression there's any immediate trouble in the immediate future, he turns to whatever poor soul has been saddled with him as a partner, raising a brow. ]

Wanna play a game to make this shit go by faster?

[ Hit me up on ye olde CR meme if you want anything specific, particularl if you're interested in going after the luminescent elk! ]

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You must be Lambert.

( there's a fucking enormous dog sitting in the doorway of lambert's living room; did the dog say that? geralt has already mistaken him for maybe a bear, maybe someone's were-form, and he regards lambert with the placid ease of an animal that is prepared to recognise witchers as equals, if not necessarily in charge of him. but no. lo, dwarfed by the wolfishly-featured bulk of him, there is a girl behind the dog—she leans sideways, slapping absently at putin's side until he shifts, deceptively lumbering.

he can probably move a lot faster, if pressed.

she is, immediately and visibly, not human. her eyes are larger, blue-black with slit pupils that shimmer oddly; her cheekbones jut high and sharp, her features exaggerated, her skin pale and opalescent, refracting light. somewhat incongruously, she's wearing a large leopard-print cardigan over short silk and lace pajamas, and she's swept her hair up behind herself in a scrunchie.

very few things in the world can continue looking ethereal and otherworldly while wearing a scrunchie, even if it's velvet. )

I'm Gwen. Geralt's letting us stay here for a while.

( she doesn't say something like geralt said we can stay in case lambert is inclined to then propose that he might also have a say and that it might be 'fuck off', since putin is a hell of a lot of dog to expect someone to take graciously turning up in their living space, unexpected. and geralt did say he's an asshole.

but in the same sort of way she imagines he might have said there might be rain, later. )

[ Geralt bringing home strays isn't a phenomenon Lambert's unfamiliar with: the real surprise is that it's taken this long since getting here. His hand instinctively strays to the one sword hilt over his shoulder when he realizes he's not alone, but the sixth sense of danger he's picked up along with the rabbit ears and the buck teeth doesn't prick at him, so he refrains from making any sudden moves, at least for now.

He doesn't exactly relax when he hears his name and the woman (monster, his mind supplies helpfully) steps out from behind the dog, but he does raise a brow. ]

And he didn't even fucking ask. Typical.

[ He does, if nothing else, move his hand off the sword, shrugging the strap and scabbard off to hold it loosely instead. ]

So did he give you my bed too, or are you sharing his?

Did you want to cuddle, or?

( on the subject of potentially having been given lambert's bed, presumably, though the vaguely encompassing gesture she makes could also include putin, who knocks his enormous head against her hip in such a way as to slightly, momentarily off-balance her. oi, her face seems to say, glancing down. ) No, I mean—I've got downstairs.

( congratulations on your shiny new basement gremlin, lambert, she'll be sorting out the overabundance of doily decorating presently taking up altogether too much space for staying down there to not be kind of in itself an adventure.

none of which is to say she definitely won't ever end up in geralt's bed. or, more likely, his bathtub.

of putin, leaning forward slightly with interest in lambert's general lambertness and the unfamiliar spectacle of sword and scabbard, she says, )

This is Mr Onaritz. That's the only flavour he comes in, he's a pet. ( these things need to be clarified when he's That Big and there's That Many turnskins ambling around. )

[ Lambert looks at her, then — really looks at her, in a casually appreciative (definitely inappropriate) kind of way, lingering over some parts more than most. ]

Depends if the dog comes too. [ He drawls. Maybe polite society has something to say about not fucking houseguests but Lambert is anything but polite, and they’re presumably all consenting adults here. He reaches out his hand to the dog, letting him give his clawed fingers a sniff; he mostly smells like oil, leather, and cheap ale, since he hasn’t had to bloody anyone tonight. It doesn’t seem to hate him, so there is that. ]

‘Mr. Onaritz,’ huh?

( she's all fine lines and edges; a barely-there hour-glass with a lovely sternum but no tits to speak of and a waist small enough to just about get big hands around. the silk and lace she's wearing don't leave much to the imagination, but the mild absurdity of wearing a calf-length leopard print cardigan detracts somewhat from what's almost certainly a small fortune in I was going to take pictures in the hotelroom to make my exes feel bad negligee.

she's also returning the look with a lazily raised eyebrow and equally frank appraisal. the teeth she presses to her lower lip are fine as needles and just as sharp, and whether that's threatening or flirtatious depends entirely on how much of a pussy lambert is or is not. )

Putin Onaritz, ( she elaborates, leaving aside for the moment whether or not they're going to cuddle with or without the dog. it is a sincerely horrific pun that she's getting away with here because most people she's spoken to this far have not heard of either vladimir putin or puttin' on the ritz, but it's probably only a matter of time before she bumps into someone from just the right era to rightfully tell her she's a monster.

you know, for reasons other than the teeth. )

He was a gift from my stepmother after some cunt kidnapped me a few years ago. He's a guard dog. Aren't you, baby?

( aware that he's being discussed, and apparently content to consider lambert his new friend, putin thumps his tail on the ground enthusiastically enough to rattle nearby furnishings. )

[ No tits is an instant dealbreaker -- well, all right, it's not like Lambert has standards to speak of -- and she's a bit too on the side of monster for his tastes, but she's easy enough on the eyes so long as shed puts those teeth away.

The play on words slips by him completely, lacking the requisite cultural touchpoints to make sense of it, but it wouldn't be the first time that's happened, so he shrugged it off. ]

You got a habit of being kidnapped that it's enough of a worry?

( the teeth don't really go anywhere. they're as unavoidably visible when she speaks as his are when he does; she doesn't particularly go out of her way to display them, but for most people it's the sort of thing that's difficult to ignore once aware of it. there's a reason that before aefenglom no one had ever seen her true appearance—she barely looked at it, preferring the more familiar glamour of what she had previously been—and it's not unrelated to why she's here at all.

geralt hadn't gone out of his way to be kind, but he hadn't looked at her like she was something frightening, either. putin may have given him pause, but more for the sake of brief confusion as to his level of intelligence and personhood. as for his business as a guard dog— )

For most people, ( very drolly, ) once is too many times.

[ She's trouble, Lambert is already predicting mentally, like every woman Geralt brings home is -- inasmuch as their gussied-up apartment counts as home at all. ]

Hm. Good thing we're not kidnappers, then.

[Nyskie creates a patchwork little picture, a small woman dressed in a motley of second-hand clothes originally tailored for pre-adolescent boys, her feet stuffed with an accompaniment of rags into shoes about a size and a half too large for her. She’s hard-up for cash, and she looks it⁠—which is why she’s been making return visits here to carve turnips all afternoon for a handful of cunes.

She’s gotten pretty good at it by now, if she does say so herself. Her current subject is nearing completion, with three eyes and a couple of turnip-flesh horns that she stuck to it with wood splinters picked from the bench she’s sitting on. Destruction of property, what? No one will notice.

Seeing as how her own turnip is turning out so well, she feels pretty comfortable ogling the work that her neighbour is doing—which appears made for ogling, as it turns out. She leans closer to peer over his shoulder.]

Are these modelled after someone you know?

[ Aefenglom has an astonishingly high population of weirdos, so Nyskie doesn't even merit a blink off the bat until she starts talking to Lambert, which makes him blink and look over. ]

Wasn't really thinking of anyone in particular, but I guess it kind of is. [ He holds it away from himself, eying it critically, then glances at her own turnip. ]

What about yours?

[Nyskie straightens, glancing back at her own three-eyed monstrosity. She grins, gesturing to the turnip as though presenting a work of fine art in a private collection.]

This piece was inspired by one of the hosts at the last place I stayed before I was taken here!

[Considering the hideous appearance of the vegetable, it’s likely an interpretive work―unless she was somehow transported to Afenglom from the depths of hell.]

The service there was horrible. I hope you never have to visit.

Nice. Looks like you’re trying to curse ‘em.

[ Despite everything, Lambert says that approvingly. He can always get behind spite as a motivator for art. ]

What’d they do, piss in your drinks?

Edited 2019-10-14 12:57 (UTC)

[She sneers back at the turnip’s hideous visage. Honestly, if magic and spite can cross between worlds, she hopes he does get cursed.]

For all I know he might have! Let’s just say that place was rough on its guests.

[She taps claws hacked short against the wood of the workbench. It’ll probably be another month until they’re remotely usable again.]

Got on the wrong side of the locals, you know. This ugly chap was in charge of my comfort up until I finally left that shithole.

[ Lambert grimaces sympathetically. ]

Yeah, I know what that's like.

So how'd you get out? The one-way mirror trip?

Well, sort of!

[Nyskie grins at the memory, though her smile has a hard edge to it. She eyes Lambert for a brief moment, seems to make a judgement about him.]

I was deemed high-priority enough to be sent to a more well-equipped location, which I’d expected. [If you’re going to do crime, you may as well be a bigshot at it.] So I was in the middle of ditching my minders mid-transit when I was pulled here!

[Looks like the annoying little brother has a soft side.

Yuya sits down at an angle from him and the children, two and a half slices of cake piled on his plate that he's carefully balancing in one hand. There's a nice hot drunk in the other.]

Sounds exciting. [He only caught the tail end, but he's probably right given the gesture Lambert's making.]

[ Oh hey, it's the little squirt who was hanging out with Geralt. Lambert wheels around deftly on one heel, his grin immediately promising trouble. ]

Oh, you're one to talk about exciting. I heard you had a part in that mess in Dorchacht.

[ That immediately turns all the boys' attentions from Lambert to Yuya, easily distracted by the prospect of a much more immediate fight involving someone close to their own age: 'No way!' and 'Did you get hurt?!' and 'What happened!!!' come tumbling out over each other in quick succession, various baby monster-parts perked with attention. ]

Uh--[Yuya blinks rapidly as he sets his plate on his lap, then waves his hand.] I didn't do that much! It was a group effort, honestly, getting people out of there.

[And he considers his part relatively small in the scheme of things. But that's probably not an exciting explanation.]

[ Uh-uh. Not getting off the hook that easily, Yuya. The kids pout at him pleadingly, and Lambert grins, waggling his fingers. ]

C'mon, you really got nothing? Not even about the trip? I bet these guys haven't ever even been out of the city.

[ Some of the boys look sheepish at that, though one does also look offended, declaring in a quavering voice that he has been out of Aefenglom before, outside the Bright Wall. ]

[Yuya holds his hand up in defense. Honestly, the things he saw saving the monsters are still harrowing--and definitely nothing child appropriate. And he didn't get into any noble fights outside the dream...]

Well--there was the part we worked with their resistence to topple to coven's rule with the power of music?

[Is that as exciting as punching it.]

[ You're not exactly capturing hearts and minds here, Yuya. The kids look a little dubious about whether or not such stories count as proper fodder for storytelling, until one bright boy pipes up.

What kind of music? is what he wants to know. The ... the un-law-ful kind? He pronounces 'illegal' a bit like someone who's heard it said often enough to copy it, but isn't exactly sure what that means himself. ]

[He can't claim anything he didn't do! But one of them takes interest, and one is enough for Yuya.]

What we were doing was pretty unlawful. You know, monsters can't just walk around and be themselves over there. And witches are supposed to stop them, not play music with them. Performing in the middle of the street like we did is really unwelcome--scandlous, even!

[ Whoaaa. The kids are young enough that the allure of breaking the law is an attractive prospect, and they make the requisite oohs and ahhs.

Though now that Yuya's brought it up ... they start clamoring for a performance. Show them your stuff, Yuya! ]

[Whoa, whoa... Yuya waves his hands.] I can't show you exactly what we did without Steven. But...

[He gaze drifts to Lambert. Pointedly.] If I can get a dance parter, I can show you something.

Nope, she tried that nonsense earlier.

[Sokie had mostly drifted over to see what Lambert was doing. The saleswoman looked even more sour at the sight of her, and Sokie bared her teeth. And brought up a hand to wiggle her fingers.]

Auntie couldn't seal the deal. Kinda sad selection if you ask me.

[Is she being a rude? She's being a rude. If Lambert will let her, Sokie would even bring up an elbow and lean against him. Rudest Sokie was rude.]

[ Lambert went with it easily enough, turning back to the seller with mockingly raised brows and crossing his arms.

He was always favor of being rude, and it looked like this woman had a nose for it. ]

You couldn't even come up with something new for me? Now I'm just offended.

[ But there was something about the potion tugging his interest, a little. An instinctive sense that something bad might happen if it's drunk, in a way that interacts poorly with that puca inclination for trouble ... that, more than anything, is what makes him smile wider, ears perking up. ]

Tell you what ... I'm an open-minded kind of guy. If you can prove that it works, I'll buy your whole stock.

Edited 2019-10-12 05:39 (UTC)

[Yeah they were being mean. But this lady was trying to sell snake oil so. SHe did not feel bad at all.]

Mmm, I don't know. I don't think she can do it. Unless...

[Sokie tilted her head, and smiled wide. She might have looked a little manic doing that. But you know. It's fine.]

What if you drink it, fine madam? Surely you have someone you'd wish to speak to! Your grandmama maybe?

If it's supposed to work for us, surely it can work for you!

[ The woman flushed an ugly color, though it was hard to tell if she was furious at being caught out, or feigning outrage. (If so, she's a far more consummate actress than she is a seller.)

If they've no intention of purchasing anything, she said, then they had best move on then, hadn't they? Mirrorbound have brought enough trouble to Aefenglom as it is, without adding scaring off customers by looming like a pack of thugs and harassing working folk who have roofs over their heads they need to pay for... ]

Like a pack of thugs....well I haven't heard that one in awhile.

[She clicked her tongue, and glanced to Lambert, before glancing back at the vendor.]

He meant it when he'd buy your stock you know. All of it. But since you decided you can't prove your snake oil, or provide what you compiled it with, that's completely fine.

[Sokie beamed at her, even as she turned to go.]

I'm sure the law enforcement will like to know you're selling extremely dangerous things to gullible fools.

[ The woman draws herself up as coldly as she can, saying her real customers know the value of her product perfectly well and would be happy to vouch for her! Lambert's briefly tempted to kick the woman's stall over, just to be a little shit, but seeing as he can't actually do that without looking like the actual criminal here (impossibly tempting as it is) he just shoots her a sly smirk and pivots to fall into step beside Sokie, as casually as though they're old friends.

It's not until they're just at the edge of hearing range that he says, loudly: ]

Full of shit, wasn't she?

[Real customers, right. She didn't say anything to that, only offered a nice little wave as she started to walk away, like her and Lambert were long time buddies until he said that little remark.

Which made her bark with laughter.]

Oh, completely.

[Just as loudly. But she settles into more normal tones as they walk away.]

Normally I'm not for bothering, but...stupid woman.

[ Lambert smirks, crossing his arms as his ears twitch idly. He keeps walking beside Sokie, for lack of much else better to do at the moment, and shakes his head. ]

Sad thing is, she's not even the first one I've seen try that line. Guess they're really banking on people being homesick or wanting to talk to the dead ... which isn't even all it's cracked up to be, anyway.

[Yeah it was cool, this was cool.]

Oh, I bet. They're really trying to gouge us of everything they can get.

[Her eyes roll briefly.]

You've talked to dead people then? Or just don't like the idea of going home?

Back home, the dead usually don't have much of the person they used to be to talk to. But their wraiths still hang around, causing trouble, so that's where guys like me come in. Send 'em off to their final rest and all that.

[ He mimes cutting a blade through the air, snicker-snack, then snickers. ]

But being here beats my old job, even with all this crap-- [ He raises a hand, indicating the splendid ears now decorating his head. ] --so I don't mind staying that much, either.

Ah, so a bit of both, but little more fun then I thought it'd be.

['Fun' being a sarcastic word here. So, so sarcastic.]

So are you going to live your best life then, bunny ears and all?

[He's certainly a rowdy bloke, but Theseus can hardly complain or judge, seeing how entranced the children are by his story. Maybe not a tale he would've told, but he can't say he's not entertained by it as well.

So as Lambert finishes his story with a flip and stab, Theseus lets out a small chuckle.]

Quite impressive, sir.

[ Lambert offers Theseus an exaggerated bow, making a surprisingly elegant leg of it as he does so, the sword spinning in his hand in a fancy whirl before finding itself sheathed on his back again. Not the most convenient place to draw from, maybe, but he seems to manage well enough. ]

Impressive enough to get me a drink? Performing's thirsty work.

I suppose so.

[He exaggerates his doubt, pretending to think quite hard about this before letting out a loud sigh. Theseus guesses that his tale was impressive enough to warrant a congratulatory drink.]

But mostly, we can't let our orator's throat become dry. The children look like they're still interested in another story of yours. [But a small break wouldn't hurt anyone.] Have a preference for your drink?

Anything, as long as it's strong. [ Lambert assures, flashing Theseus a smirk. ] It takes a lot to get me tipsy.

[ Said children are already clamoring for another tale sure, but Lambert snorts and gives them a vague wave, shooing them away. ] Ah, come back later, there's plenty of other folk to bother.

Can't vouch for the strength of some of these drinks, but...

[Lambert certainly seems like the type to drink something really strong, with his general countenance and showy personality. Theseus thinks it's charming, really, which is why he's wandered off for a bit to grab him one of the customized drinks they've been passing around here. They assure him that it can knock down the greatest of men and that seems awfully fitting right now.

He sniffs it and there's definitely a strong sort of smell coming from it. That's always a good sign, right? He passes it along to Lambert.]

Try that.

[Red Wine has quickly realised that he is already in the position of not being able to conceal what he is, regardless of whether or not he is an actual vampire (and that, really, is a fear for another day... or several days). He shoots a brief, sidelong glance to the man he's silently been keeping pace with since they began their patrol--

(And normally, he'd do something like this with Steak, but...)]

A game?

[Not above finding something to divert his attention, Red Wine taps his palm against the pommel of his sword.]

What kind of game.

"I spy." [ The witcher answers promptly. He waves a hand at their surroundings. Which are, overall, kind of drab. ]

Do you know how to play, or do you need me to teach you?

[Sigh.]

It's a child's game. Of course I know how to play.

[You know, just saying.]

Go ahead.

Knowing how to play a game doesn't mean you're good at it. [ Still, since he's taken him up on it, Lambert's in a fine mood. ]

I spy, with my little eye ... [ He glances around the relatively barren landscape, then back to Red Wine. ] Something that starts with an 'S.'

[He sighs, letting his dark eyes move slowly over the space around them while they walk. There isn't much to 'spy', by his reckoning. Probably a better game they could play.]

Sword. [Red Wine says, becoming briefly conscious of the one he's still balancing his palm against the pommel of.]

Nope. [ Lambert sing-songs, lips curling. ] Try again.

[ Despite the inanity of the 'game,' he's alert, too, scanning their surroundings. ]

Mm.

[Somehow, Lambert is still less annoying than Steak. Not that it's particularly difficult. He huffs out a low sigh and looks around again, pressing his lips together.]

... Have you ever fought anything out here?

[A question, first.]

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october catch-all

wildcard. witcher house.

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3-a. turnt-up turnips

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