middaeg | Noveuer Quests, Full Moon, & Catch-All [open]

Entry tags:

Noveuer Quests, Full Moon, & Catch-All [open]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and various
When: Throughout Noveuer
Where: Throughout the city
What: Quests and other things
Warnings: n/a

[ 1-A. It's rotten, so rotten here (Many Mans' Trash) ]

[ Tasking someone like Berserker to convince packrats to give up their old junk for Samuin is ... not a great idea. Sure, he's intimidating and willing to do the job -- his methods are just too direct for what may be a delicate task.

He walks stone-faced out of a particular problem house with a bagful of garbage with the source of the problem clinging to his ankle. "You can't take it away from me! That's all I have to remember Jane! She'll be back, I have to keep it to show her I waited!"

Seeing someone who may or may not be familiar, Berserker looks to them. ]

Do you want to help me with something?

[ That something being the now sobbing, desperate man trying to stop the dragon from dealing with his garbage. ]

[ 1-B. You gotta take the trash out (Many Mans' Trash pt. 2) ]

[ Alternatively, Berserker can be found later at night dumping the garbage left in the poorer districts of the city back in the aristocratic district. Petty? Yes. But he was told to clean up the streets, they didn't tell him not to take the garbage back to its source. He's careful not to leave it in front of any known mirrorbound homes, mostly because he assumes it didn't come from them.

If someone questions him or stops him, he simply shrugs. ]

I'm taking care of the trash. This is where it came from, isn't it?

[ 2. Running with monsters in shadow (Collectables) ]

[ Now here's something he's more familiar with and, to some extent, enjoys: hunting. Petalwolves are hardly a threat and are trivial for him to catch. They're still challenging to stalk, though, and that's what he's doing right now. As he makes his way through the underbrush, crouched low, he's not paying attention to anything other than his quarry.

Which is exactly why he barrels into the poor soul in front of him. To his credit, Berserker stops, but he doesn't offer a hand up on anything. He stares down at them instead. ]

Are you catching them, too?

[ 3. With the heart of a dragon we ride ]

[ It's late evening near a less populous area of the city, late enough that it's mostly deserted. Berserker can be found in a less familiar form: his full-sized dragon transformation. About the size of an elephant, he's not exactly the most inconspicuous thing around. His black scales glint crimson in the pale moonlight. Red scales beneath his eyes and along his chest and belly mimic his tattoos perfectly. He's recognizable to those that know him, at least, his horns, wings, and tail also a familiar shape. Unlike in Dorchacht, he's considerably calmer without the impact of feral instincts and a burning rage tearing at him. This means he's capable of talking!!

His head swivels around on his long neck as he hears someone approach. Though he doesn't speak immediately, he does cock his head to one side as if to ask "what are you doing here?" ]

[ 4. Wildcard ]

[ Did we plot something out already? Got an idea? Drop me a start or PM me here or on discord glitzkrieg#0673! ]

((OOC: I'm also willing to match format if you prefer prose over brackets!))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He dismounts but stays nearby, repressing the instinct to pace irritably, for now. He knows it'll just make him look nuts - telling himself It'll pass over and over means it has to eventually, right? Right. Fucking hell. ]

Guess so.

[ Not like he's got another explanation for his bizarre behavior. He tips his head back and lets out a breath, staring blankly up at the night sky. ]

Should probably be using magic more often.

[ Berserker settles on laying down for now. The cold makes him want to conserve as much warmth as possible and this is the best way he can do it right now. His legs tuck beneath his body while his tail curls around him on one side, tip resting just to the other side of his chest. ]

You're not bonded, then? [ It's a question with an obvious answer if he's this bad off. ] I won't pry as to why, but...you need an outlet of some kind.

[ An obvious statement to make. He's not good at this, okay? ]

[ Geralt's not good at any of it, either. As evidenced by the fact that he does start to pace restlessly after all, still feeling like he's about to jump out of his skin. Berserker's presence doesn't agitate him further, though, and that's a relief; most other people would, but he knows the dragon understands his difficulty with emotion. Which is, honestly, the worst part about this. ]

I don't begrudge the Coven here promoting bonds as the way to go, [ he says roughly. ] I get why. It makes the most sense. I just--

[ Can't. Won't. A word like that, not coming out of his mouth. He hates being powerless but he hates the idea of bonding to anyone who's not Yennefer even more. Especially now after all these conversations with people who lie to their bondmates or take them just as a means to an end. It feels like a violation of his loyalty to the only person he's ever been in love with and to make the willing choice to do that--

Geralt scrubs his hands over his face, shakes his head, paces more. A barrel nearby begins to singe. ]

[ Berserker's really not used to feeling concerned for other people. Before his bond with Diarmuid opened up what he'd closed off, he would've let Geralt lose it. This would be none of his concern. Now, though, it's a little bit frustrating. He has no idea what to do in this situation and, for once, he doesn't want to make it worse.

He stays curled up where he is as he watches the witcher. The barrel draws his attention. Ah, he really is that volatile, isn't he? Berserker finally gets up and just sort of flicks it into the harbor with his tail. ]

There is something or someone holding you back from making that choice. [ There's no judgement in his tone, of course. It's the only reason he can figure this decision is causing Geralt such distress. ] ...All I can do is tell you my experience. Only if you want to listen.

[ He has no interest in forcing him to do so. His own experience with bonding is positive, ultimately, even if he didn't like the changes it forced on him. It made him give a shit about something and someone other than himself and his own survival. He will talk about his Bonded with pride, but what they share is harder for him to put into words. ]

I don't intend to lecture you, either.

[ The dragon's sudden movement is almost startling, in Geralt's current state. He moves back, inhuman-quick, but he doesn't go on the defensive. Just watches him, and feels a distant pang he can identify. (When he was sitting down, curled in like that, looking so feline and reminding him of seeing Villentretenmerth for the first time. Catlike is what he thought.)

Magic feels like it could be crackling between his fingers. It may well be. He watches the barrel vanish between the dark water and tries to call up shield practice routines in his head. ]

... You can tell me.

[ His experience. Holding you back from making that choice. Yes, there is, of course. Geralt doesn't bother denying it, but he doesn't elaborate, either. ]

[ The lack of response to his observation tells him everything he needs to know: it's correct. He doesn't want or need to pry, if only because it would make the agitation in him worse. Berserker settles back down, more stretched out than before. A silence falls between them for a few moments as he thinks about exactly where to start. Geralt is safe to be vulnerable in front of, but it's still difficult to open up. ]

I...I'm not supposed to exist. I'm what's known as an "Alter". I'm a corruption of a true Heroic Spirit, an impossibility that could never happen. I exist because a selfish woman wished on the Holy Grail for a perfect version of that Heroic Spirit to be her king. A cruel, ruthless, apathetic king who showed no mercy to those that would stand in his way...The corruption of the Grail and Medb's cruel wish are what made me the way I am. [ He doesn't care about revealing her True Name -- she is someone he deeply resents. ] I was forced to be a one-man war and gave up everything in the name of strength just to survive. A mountain of corpses laid at the end of my path...I knew nothing but slaughter and conquest.

[ It was a terrible existence, reduced to nothing more than an apathetic killing machine because of someone's petty want to control him. ]

When I arrived here, I had no interest in bonding with anyone. I was only focused on my survival -- I've survived alone for so long on my strength alone, why would I need anyone else? I didn't trust anyone to take on that burden, either. It wasn't until I started losing control of my mind that it became a practical solution.

[ Some background may be needed here... ]

Berserkers give up part of their sanity or reasoning for strength. It's a signature skill of Servants of my class: Madness Enhancement. Most lose their mind and can't be spoken to at all. I'm an exception. [ Berserkers don't know what their Madness Enhancement robs them of particularly. In his case, those who are enemies are not to be reasoned with nor spoken to -- they are only there to be defeated. Its pull has been lessened significantly here since his status as a Servant no longer matters. ] I have control over my mind and pride myself on that. When I nearly killed an ally on instinct during the full moons, the decision to bond was made for me.

[ It's so hard for him to talk about this. His tail tip flicks in agitation, much like a cat's. ]

The only person I trusted enough to take on a bond with me was one who disappointed me before. One who I killed for making too many mistakes...He was not from the same time and place, though, and the memories of his failure were not my own -- they were what was told to me. [ It actually happened, but during his original summoning in America. He has no true memories from that time. ] He still wanted to prove himself better than how I knew him. Knowing that he'd likely fail and our bond wouldn't last, I agreed to give him a chance.

[ His eyes close for a moment. That single decision changed so much for him. ]

It's because of that bond that I'm even speaking to you right now. The bond has...changed me in ways I thought were impossible. Feeling his emotions brought back the ones I'd given up in the name of strength. I'd been unable to feel anything beyond brief flashes of anger, irritation, and resentment, nothing positive. Now I can feel more beyond that...I didn't like it, I didn't understand it, but I accepted it because it was worth it for the control it gave me. It was worth it to reward the faith Lancer had in me.

[ The undeserved, unwavering faith. He shifts where he lays, keeping his gaze out on the water. It's easier to talk about it if he's not looking at Geralt. ]

It also made me realize I'm still capable of caring. The "true" version of who I am is here, too -- Caster, if you know him. We tried to kill each other more than once. Lancer was stuck between us in our blood feud and...I sought a truce between myself and Caster for his sake. It made me care what happened to him. I considered the consequences of my actions for once in my life. [ The dragon shrinks in on himself just a little bit, partially because it's cold, partially because his mind drifts back to Dorchacht again. It's still a fresh wound in his mind and he can't deal with emotional pain well at all. ] Dorchacht was the first time I realized how far I'd come. I was fighting for something and not just because I was being used to fight someone else's battles.

[ There's still more he hasn't fully explained... ]

As I've said, I was a Berserker-class Servant before I arrived here. I was summoned by a Master to restore the foundation of humanity. I had no stake in the war nor did I care what happened. I was just a familiar at their disposal, a tool for them to use...Because of my bond with Lancer and the shared dream in Dorchacht, I realized I no longer wanted to be just a tool. I was no longer indifferent to the role I'd been assigned.

[ His gaze finally settles back on the witcher. ]

I finally have a life of my own choosing. I have someone who sees value in me where I could never see it...Someone who loves me. [ And actually loves him -- not in the selfish way Medb constantly declared her love for him. ] I now have a name of my own, too. I found peace. My experience with bonding has been...difficult and it changed me. I wouldn't do anything differently if I had the chance.

[ For as uncomfortable as it was to lay it all out, Berserker sounds at peace with it. ]

A bond is useful, but it's also a sign of mutual trust. To bond with someone is to accept everything that comes with it...That is how I see them. I don't take them lightly and I would never hide anything from anyone who chose to accept that role. I only bond with those who know what they're getting into and will never betray my trust nor my loyalty. [ That...That's everything. The dragon looks up to the sky for a moment in silence before continuing. ] That is my experience with bonding. It's extraordinary and not what's normal...That's why I find them so valuable.

Edited (I swear this is my last edit) 2019-11-09 00:54 (UTC)

[ Geralt wishes he were in a better state of mind. One where his hands aren't trying to shake, where he doesn't have to force himself to listen. Because he does want to listen. And so-- that's what he does, desperately clinging on to every word and letting Berserker's hard-won explanation ground him.

He listens and he imagines each word draining magic from him, even though that's not possible. But there's something about it anyway, because so much of what he says echos in Geralt. Hits him, personal and pointed, not like a staggering impact but like moving his arm to let the knife slide in between his ribs. Familiar, both beautiful and horrible.

He stands rooted to the spot for a long time.

Geralt only moves when he has to, to the edge of the dock to cast a shield spell that turns a post with some old rope on it to dust. He stalks back, the expression on his face unreadable, and he looks over at Berserker for a moment before he manhandles one of the remaining barrels over to him. This one doesn't begin to smoke - though it does glow a little, enchanted to radiate warmth, offered to the dragon before Geralt himself sits down on the cold ground, like all the energy to stand has been suddenly leeched from him.

He wants Berserker to understand how much he appreciates that he told him all that. He wants to offer some kind of respect for the effort he knows it took to share it. He just doesn't know what the fuck to say, so for another moment at least, he'll have to sit nearby and say nothing. At least he's warm. ]

[ The silence doesn't bother him. Truthfully, he wasn't expecting an immediate response; it was a lot to drop on someone all at once. There's a dull ache in his chest he doesn't quite understand -- with his newfound emotions, his own story is painful.

He settles on ignoring the pain for now, moving closer to the offered source of warmth. Not quite as good as a warming rock, but it's a welcome defense against the cold air. Berserker lets the silence linger for a few moments longer before he breaks it. ]

I said I have a name of my own now. Cú Chulainn is my True Name...It's also Caster's name and it wasn't my place to take it from him. [ He didn't deserve it, in his own mind. He's the one that shouldn't exist. ] He gave me another. My name is Ciarán Cú. [ He says it with a bit of pride. ] You can call me whatever you like.

[ After Geralt had learned the truth of his friend Regis' identity - and taken some time to get over himself about it - the higher vampire had joked in private about the possibilities, imagining a mundane scenario of a witcher sitting beside a giant bat creature. It never happened; their company was slaughtered mercilessly. But he thinks of it now, sitting beside Berserker. No-- ]

I'd like to call you Ciarán, [ he says, quietly decisive. If that's the name he's picked as his own then that's what he is. It's much better than 'berserker', just some title. He's wondered at it, about them all, Casters and Lancers and the like. Their whole community here feels distant despite their numbers; he suspects this aspect of servitude is why.

After a while, he says, ] I'm not supposed to exist either. My mother was a sorceress. They're supposed to be infertile, and those who aren't produce magically dangerous, deformed things that die in their cribs. She didn't want to deal with it so she abandoned me with the witchers.

[ It's not as dramatic or horrible as Ciarán's situation, but it still lends to understanding. Geralt's mother gambled with a power she shouldn't have, then lost her nerve and couldn't cope with the thought of having a disabled child after all.

And yet, here he sits. ]

Thank you for telling me.

[ It still feels strange to be called by his new name -- strange, but not bad. There's a certain warmth about hearing it, having his new identity confirmed. Berserker seems content with it...as content as a dragon can look, anyway.

Geralt's story, while not quite as dire as his, feels unfortunately relatable. They're too similar in a lot of ways and this particular way is one he never wants anyone to be able to commiserate with. He lowers his head towards the witcher and gently rests his forehead against his. It's the only way he can think to react: to offer a little bit of physical comfort. This form makes it difficult, so he manages the only way he can.

After a moment, he moves back to where he'd been laying. ]

If you ever do consider a bond...I would readily take on one with you.

[ It's a sincere offer and confession, one he expects to be rejected, but it's one he chose to make, regardless. ]

[ Sometimes, wordless communication is more effective. Geralt understands this, and he appreciates it, holding still and offering a return of the pressure against his skull. To be understood so well is a rare thing; in a way it reminds him of Eskel, the witcher he was raised alongside. With him there's silent understanding and the echo of the community they lost, the last two witchers to have been brought up before the pogrom that decimated their kind.

.. Other times, words are killer. He had reached his hand out to rest his palm against the dragon's neck in silent thanks, after he shifted back, and now Geralt stills, struck with the gravity of that offer. After that tale of how much his bond means to him, how much it clearly cost him to explain himself to Geralt, he's shocked. Fully unexpected. Geralt can't possibly measure up against what Ciarán has experienced, but he's willing anyway? It touches him in a way that leaves him in stunned stillness.

Geralt doesn't want a bond. And yet there's a more practical, half-desperate voice in the back of his head that says he can trust the dragon to take it as seriously as he needs. Geralt wishes he could make use of things for pure practicality and let go, but he just can't. At least.. at least with him.. ]

Will you let me think it over?

[ He feels something like regret. But he's not saying no. Geralt leans forward and rests his head against Ciarán's shoulder, the expanse of dark scales. Fuck. He feels almost dizzy, though whether it's from the intense emotional rollercoaster this quiet conversation has brought, or magic buildup, he has no idea. ]

There are questions I have to answer for myself.

[ There's no long list of suitors he's sifting through. He's not considering a familiar, or black market attempts at a solution to stave off the explosion. Geralt has a feeling that Berserker will know exactly what he's taking time to think about: whether or not he'd simply prefer to let it kill him. ]

[ Berserker lays his tail over Geralt, drawing him just a little bit closer, like a weird hug. He's bad with words and worse with comforting people -- he knows what comforts him and tries to offer the same in return. He hadn't been expecting anything more than a refusal. It's not something he offered lightly and he didn't expect Geralt to take it lightly, either. There's obviously something holding him back and he's not about to make him decide right now.

Berserker lowers his head to gently nuzzle him. Somehow it's easier to be affectionate with anyone who isn't Diarmuid in this form. Maybe it's because it feels less personal because of his size. Though maybe right now it has nothing to do with his form and everything to do with the fact their conversation has been emotionally exhausting -- the affection is the least he can do to soothe them both. ]

Take all the time you need...Don't decide right now. Just find me when you do make a decision. I only need to tell Di...Lancer beforehand.

[ It should feel stranger, at least purely on a physical configuration level, to be practically cuddling with a dragon. But Geralt's interacted with bigger creatures, and he's known since he was a small child that dragons are sapient - the only monsters that witchers won't hunt. There's no strangeness in the way he accepts the contact, and manages to find a comfortable position with minimal shuffling around. ]

Alright, [ he responds, his rough voice even quieter. Like he might somehow disturb this moment if he's too loud. Something about it is significant; intuition tells him that he'll be mulling over it for a long while.

His mind skitters over to the man Berserker's already bonded to; Geralt doesn't know him well, but they've interacted. Even committed somewhat extensive murder alongside each other in Dorchacht. But the concept of how someone might be linked in a web of bonds is too stressful to consider right now, so he sets it aside, instead opting to take this time to clear his mind and breathe. He enjoys the cold silence, even as he radiates heat against cold-blooded scales. ]

[ He lays his head down now, too, completely curling himself around Geralt. It's warmer this way (that's the practical explanation); it's also comforting and protective, made all the more obvious by the low rumble resonating through him, that strange reptilian version of a purr much louder in this form. He's content to lay in silence with the witcher right now -- discussion of anything else can wait.

There is one more thing that needs to be said, completely unrelated to their conversation. ]

Let me know when you want to leave.

[ There's no rush towards that. Even in the cold air, he doesn't mind staying out here as long as Geralt needs him to. It's the least he can do for an ally -- no, a friend. ]

[ Geralt does not need protection, generally, and there are very few beings that exist that could offer him any - so it's a strange experience to have a dragon curl around him like this, like he's something worth guarding. Not bad, but still unusual, almost surreal. He runs a hand over Berserker's side, firm affection.

Leave?

Should he go home, should he walk to the gates and head out past the Bright Wall come dawn? Just go and burn. He's not sure. He'd tell the dragon to come home with him and redefine their mist-fueled connection, but he needs space to consider that offer, which he will carry close and careful until he comes to a decision.

He settles on, ] in a bit.

[ There's no hurry just yet. But he won't make him start shivering. ]

[ Another thought occurs to him, a bit of a ridiculous offer. What's one more absurdity on this already strange night. ]

If you want me to stay with you for the rest of the night...I can do that.

[ It's mostly a courtesy, though he wouldn't mind keeping him company like this, no matter what that might entail. Staying outside in this form until daybreak he can do, even shifting back into his more human form would be fine. This is going to be a sleepless night for him regardless. Sleep doesn't come easily to him most nights and even when it does, it's rarely restful. This is a better use of his time than trying not to keep Diarmuid up with him. ]

[ Geralt will forever have a hard time believing that Berserker is such a scary dude, with how sweet and thoughtful he's been over their last few encounters. Then again, maybe it's just his own skewed perception of the world - everything so brutal, all the fucking time - that makes his behavior appear that way. Even his great love is a total bitch. (He wouldn't have her any other way, though.)

The witcher pets him higher on his neck. A little bit like one might do for a horse, but look, things are what they are, sometimes, and he's configured a particular way right now. ]

Are you just being polite? [ There's the slightest hint of relaxed teasing in his voice, and he hopes the other man understands that he's honestly relieved to be able to lose the gloomy mood he'd been carrying all day. ] Or are you wanting to get re-acquainted after last month?

[ It helps that he's softened some, that his cruelty and apathy have been pushed back. They still come out when necessary (in battle, mostly, when he needs to be decisive and not think about eliminating a threat), they just no longer dominate his personality. It's a little weird, really.

Being treated like an animal in his fully transformed forms is something he's come to grudgingly accept -- Diarmuid scratched his chin like a cat's in his smaller form and carried him around like a pet. The neck pets he's getting are dignified compared to that treatment. ]

Maybe it's both. [ Berserker teases right back -- that's still weird for him to be able to do. He didn't remember much of their encounter from last month, not the details, anyway. The marks left behind afterward helped to jog his memory a bit. ] I...wouldn't mind getting reacquainted, though.

[ Now that they're both more or less in their right minds. ]

[ Geralt has never pet a cat. They hate witchers. It's a rough life. ]

Politely interested, huh? [ He scritches up by one horn. Geralt remembers their encounter in full, even though it's through a slightly hazy lens. He hopes Berserker does, too, but he's also heard of some monsters blanking out entirely in moments of heightened stress, and the mist was .. certainly a thing.

He should probably be responsible and bail out of this, but if there's one thing that overrides almost all of Geralt's instincts is an invite to get off. Stupid mutant chemistry. (That'll be fun, in the event of bonding. Get ready for horny on main to be a default state.) Still he's curious, and though he could kick himself-- ]

How much do you remember?

[ He tilts his head towards the scritches just slightly. A part of him feels like he should be offended and tell Geralt to cut it out, but a larger part of him enjoys the contact. It's still new to him to have anyone touch him at all, much less in this form, so why deny what feels good? The path of least resistance is the one most followed and, for once, it's harmless for him to take that path -- it's just slightly demeaning if he thinks about it.

Berserker hesitates before he answers the question. His memories are so hazy, like trying to remember a dream that's slipping away after waking it. Flashes of faces and moments are there, but not much else. He's not one to lie, so he may as well be honest with it instead of avoiding the topic. ]

You like to bite. [ A gentle jab at his expense. It's easier for him to talk about this if he preferences it with a moment of mostly harmless cruelty. ] I remember...we went at it more than once -- the second time is clearer. I remember what it feels like to touch your bare skin. You against the counter and you on top of me. Your scars and your dick in my hand. [ Ah now he's just being vulgar. It's fine. ] Beyond that, it's hazy and I don't remember much aside from brief flashes.

[ He doesn't quite think Geralt wanted specifics, but that's what he gets. ]

[ There's nothing demeaning about being offered affection if you want it; and perhaps unfortunately, Geralt is pretty handsy when given opportunity and motivation. Some little subconscious bend away from how he holds himself so very apart, otherwise. Doesn't even look funny. Perfectly normal, this, a guy sitting on a dock getting cuddled by a dragon. (If anyone's foolish enough to rubberneck, they're getting flung into the water.) ]

Yeah, maybe I do, [ is a quiet, rumbled snipe-back, about biting. Leaning against him and enjoying the illusion of privacy being coiled around brings. Geralt was part monster before he ever came to Aefenglom, he's always going to be hungry

Vulgarity isn't a turn-off. The opposite, in fact, and Geralt is very susceptible, that touch against the dragon's horn lingering, fingers curling. There's no skin-to-scale tingle, his habitual gloves on to avoid that very thing, but the implication of it. ] I remember everything. Learning a little about what you want.

[ With his rising interest comes increased pressure at the back of his head, a magic-like buzzing. Oohhh nooo it better not. Geralt shakes it off. ]

[ Berserker's so used keeping people away from him that indulging in something as simple as gentle affection is a struggle. A nagging voice in the back of his mind that this is all a weakness has to be ignored. It's all ingrained protective measures -- this makes him vulnerable. If he didn't trust Geralt as well as he does, it would have been harder (if not impossible) to accept this kind of treatment. Wanting it is okay.

The way his touch lingers doesn't go unnoticed and he tilts his head into it more. Berserker's more than fine with him being handsy right now. ]

What I want... [ It still sounds so strange. His wants and desires never mattered before. Things are different now, but it's new. He may never get used to it. ] I wanted whatever you would give me...Maybe I want that now, too.

[ Probably not the best thing to think about while he's in this form. ]

[ What he wants is important to Geralt, because Geralt hates nothing more than inflicting anything that's unwanted, in this intimate way. It's too difficult for him to inspect why, so he doesn't, but it's there in him, a constant insistence. That Berserker remembers enough and isn't confused is a blessing; if he'd blanked entirely, Geralt doesn't know what he'd do. ]

Maybe, huh? [ It's surprising, because it's been so long since Geralt's been entangled with another man. But he's comfortable with Berserker - Ciarán - and he's grateful for what little experience he does have, lending him enough to let them fumble through things. ] Maybe I want to give that to you.

[ Now. It'll be good. And if he's so focused, it'll-- there won't--

Geralt feels it, the magic buildup snapping to the forefront instantly, linked to arousal as easily as anger, and he pushes himself up and stumbles back in a flash. Somewhat literally. As soon as he's clear, a malformed shield spell snaps around him and outward, a small implosion that leaves his ears ringing and one hand glowing. ]

Ah, fuck, really.

[ Oh.

Oh. That's bad.

Berserker jerks backwards, quick to get to his feet and shield himself with his wings. That could've been much, much worse...What on earth triggered it? His experience with witches going nuclear is limited to Caster and his refusal to seek a bond. It slowly dawns on him what the cause was.

... Well, that's unfortunate, isn't it?

His defensive posture relaxes as looks to Geralt with his head cocked to one side. ]

That'll have to wait until you get this under control, won't it? [ A shame. But... ] Even without that, I can still spend the rest of the night with you.

[ Berserker's quite used to denying himself and those urges, so it's no trouble for him. ]

Sorry, [ he grates out, shaking his hand and letting the energy bleed off, fizzing in the air around him, smell of charred ozone drifting by. His breath is short for a moment as the oxygen burns off before the atmosphere corrects almost immediately. Exploding on the dragon would have been incredibly bad.

(In this capacity, anyway. Womp womp.)

What an absolute bitch. Nothing like not being able to get off to make his irritability a hundred times worse. This is not what he meant by needing guidance and motivation, world.

Ugh.

Geralt heaves a sigh. ]

I gotta get out of the city, at least for tonight. I can't put anyone else in danger while I'm sorting my head out.

Noveuer Quests, Full Moon, & Catch-All [open]

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