you'll stay frozen in time ( open )

[niespodzianka]

Who: Geralt & you !
When: this month!
Where: various places!
What: Some open prompts and I'm as always happy to do specific starters/let you write one, just shoot me a pm. He's not going to the masquerade because he sucks. & I'm cool with both prose and action!
Warnings: some violence, others tba as needed.



quest - out of the city (ota!)
[ Getting out of the city's walls feels, unsurprisingly, less claustrophobic. Aefenglom has been nothing short of miraculous with hospitality for mirrorbound, but as the weeks press on, Geralt feels more and more agitated with being there. And not just because of the worsening magic buildup in his system; being a life-long nomad with only brief periods of formal residency dotted throughout the decades means this is a hell of an adjustment.

Useless in many practical domestic things, Geralt makes up for it in being an excellent fighter. When they tell him that magic is potentially dangerous out here, he thinks Thank fuck, even though that's not going to help his unbonded predicament. Oh well. He's happy to get into the thick of it, whether it's against infected creatures creeping up to the edges of the outer settlements, sparring, or training. ]

during the masquerade (limit 1 person please, preference for new cr!)
Parties are the fucking worst, especially formal ones that have dress codes, and Geralt's taken far more drastic measures in the past to get out of them than simply not being available. He's left his watch at the house and avoided all questions that sounded like they were leading to invites, deeply grudging about his avoidance. It eats at him. Sure, he hates them to begin with, but the thought just reminds him of Yennefer, drilling the point of her absence (here, and at home) into him like a splinter he can't dislodge.

He picks a bar he's never been to before, one whose name he hasn't seen bandied about as employing any familiar faces, and minds his own business. And that should be that, a quiet evening away from nagging chatter and free from the headaches that crop up with increasing frequency - until another patron starts in. Aren't you one of them? Shouldn't you be at that fancy party the Coven put up? Too good for even that? You should all be put outside the wall, I wonder how Morgana would treat the mirrorbound--

Geralt has the man's head on the bartop, nose down, crunched up and bloody, before he really realizes what he's doing. He feels calmer than he should, but shutting up jackasses in taverns is pretty routine for a witcher. It's only when he hauls the man back and slams him down again that the horrified scream of someone else nearby really registers, and he steps away. Which is when another patron punches him in the back of the head. Gonna be one of those nights.

sleepless // later in the month (limit 2 people plz)
[ It's always at night when he runs out of shit to do that the pressure gets worse. He's been using magic more often, working on projects that require it when he can, and that's probably relieved some - but overload is still creeping inexorably closer, and he feels it in every atom. Restlessness to the extreme and irritation, he finds himself biting back his shortening temper more times than he can count. For someone with a limited ability to even experience emotion in the first place, it's particularly disorienting.

Cold rain comes down on and off, but Geralt's out walking anyway; there's no hope of escaping to the other side of the wall this late at night, but maybe that's for the best. Sometimes he finds himself in a mood where just leaving and going to find whatever horrible end in the Wilde sounds appealing. It'd certainly be safer than blowing himself to gooey pieces somewhere populated.

Instead he walks aimlessly, avoiding the Coven stronghold (as if some witch will leap out of the shadows and drag him away to be bonded to a stranger, right), only once playing a lackluster superhero and punching a would-be mugger in the face. It's a dull affair. Criminals in a walled city with a plague outside can't be that bright. Where are you gonna fucking go, dude.

He walks along the river until he finds a quieter stretch and hops over the barricade, opting instead to trek muddy, rocky outcroppings beneath bridges, powering up rocks and chucking them into the water, trying not to fucking explode. Not thinking about anything that might crawl out of the darkness. ]

Comments

sleepless.

[trouvaille]

( no stranger either to insomnia or a general tendency to keep odd hours in odd places, gwen still isn't expecting the rock that careens past her face through the water, and geralt probably isn't expecting a different rock to fly wetly back at him with equally haphazard aim. she emerges from the water a moment later, pushing her hair out of her face with hands newly webbed between the fingers, ready to—

oh. )

Hey.

( this feels like a very sudden vibe shift. )

[niespodzianka]

[ Instinct makes him smack the rock like blocking an incoming arrow, sending it skittering away. A lightning-quick move that snaps him out of his sullen tunnel vision.

He's not actually sure, but he has the idea that nothing's supposed to be in the river, between the plague and the number of people who probably dump shit (literal and figurative) into it, like most cities. Not like he's got room to talk, having taken plenty of dives into urban rivers in far worse shape. ]

Uh. Might wanna be clear of wherever that one went.

[ Magically charged rocks gonna go boom. ]

[trouvaille]

There are substantially easier ways of going fishing, ( she informs him, hauling herself up the side of the riverbank just a little further down to steer clear of the underwater boom, not remotely under the impression that he is, in fact, attempting to fish in the river. arguably this is an extremely successful unintended fishing expedition, in that he has turned the tables on the usual way that "merrow" and "luring" and "water" tends to go.

she's naked, but despite the fact they haven't slept together, that's neither particularly unusual nor anything geralt hasn't seen before. dreams included, he'd seen her naked before he'd seen her wear shoes, which of late she's done selectively anyway. probably her clothes aren't far away, anyway, but she sits down beside him instead of going to look for them at once. )

It's a bit late for terrorist acts against defenseless tuna.

[niespodzianka]

[ Geralt paces away from her, not out of revulsion - he's seen plenty, and he figures she knows he's not bothered by her appearance - but with cagey restlessness. It's not out of the recent usual. He's been increasingly weird for weeks, but also increasingly absent from the house; maybe she's noticed, maybe she hasn't. ]

I'm just blowing off steam.

[ Somewhat literally, given the apt comparison to a teakettle. Except instead of screaming he'll just detonate and kill himself. This is nothing, he knows, but the larger efforts he's been making haven't been enough, he's still getting these spells where he feels like his whole being is on the verge of disintegration. ]

Wasn't aiming for anyone.

[trouvaille]

( she's not sure he likes how she looks, but she is comfortably certain that he doesn't dislike it and that comfortable sense of...positive neutrality is a large part of why she'd taken his invitation to stay with him 'while she got settled' and turned it into 'settling in'. settling in, on the other hand, has involved a lot of being down in her (yes) basement, keeping her own company and that of putin, and she hasn't known geralt long enough to be sure whether the off behaviour she has managed to glimpse and the absences she's noticed are aberrant or just his normal.

like, he's kind of weird. maybe he's just like that. )

Yeah, I know.

( in that she's comfortable assuming he wasn't, in fact, aiming for her, and she's the only person around. it'd be a weird way of going fishing, but probably not the weirdest. still. she's not an idiot, for all her general social ineptitude: she can plug in this new information and get he's probably not just like that. )

Are you—

( she grimaces. they share a house and he's been kind, but she doesn't know him very well, not well enough to know how he'd take being asked, or if he's going to think it's inappropriate for her to ask, or if just the fact that she's so fucking bad at this will be irritating, but she started so she barrels on, ) Are you okay?

( obviously not, but she'd probably let the lie pass if he wanted her to. )

out of the city!

[bitr]

[ the farm was her job, and she’d expect nothing less of herself. as evening begins to set, lagertha stays more alert. it’s a tough predicament, being a greenhorn to magic and finding so little comfort in brewing it herself—who knew what the gods had in store for her, and after much deliberation, speaking and seeking, she finds herself a growing balance.

somewhat. enough to bring only saga, a barn owl, with her tonight, and entrust the barn grounds to the petalwolves she’s honed for a month coming. they could do closer patrolling, all she needs is to hear their howls to return. she comes across the figure of something large and uncanny walking about, and to that she clicks for the owl to take flight, and flex her magic into a command. watch.

the barn owl’s silent flight allows it to tell her of what it sees as it survey’s the vicinity of a tree it lands on. a mouse is the message lagertha receives, and with an agitated click she tries again, raising her bow and arrow, at the ready. the next message comes as man. better than the last, faster than the first. ]

Would you like me to mistake you for a Shade?

[ she says, with edge in her voice. robbers were just as common as the sick. ]

[niespodzianka]

[ He doesn't walk so silently near inhabited areas, even in the outskirts - aware people don't appreciate being sneaked up on. So it's no surprise to be spotted; he can practically smell the magic on the owl, anyway. (Get a familiar, someone's already suggested to him. But what the fuck would he do with it? It feels wrong in another direction, just a delaying tactic that doesn't sit well with him.)

Well. Hi. ]

It'd be more interesting than chasing mice.

[ The only thing out here. No infection-mad creatures, and few healthy ones; the petalwolf cull into domesticity seems like a shame, to him. This dying world is trying to regrow and everyone's tripping over themselves to gobble them up. ]

[bitr]

[ such is humanity being either greedy, wanting to survive, or both. lagertha would argue that she aligns with the second option— she does what she must, and takes only what is necessary. she sacrifices to the gods that create this world, and hopes she does well in keeping this little slice of it healthy.

hi, stud. arrows are still aimed. ]

Is that your business here? [ she asks, questioning again and hoping for answers more than folly. ] Chasing mice?

where are my cookies

[niespodzianka]

[ She looks like she'd get him in the eye with that arrow. At least one. (Eye, or arrow?) But she also hasn't just nailed him immediately, and so he isn't actively worried.

Still on guard, though. She has the air of a Skelliger, a shield maiden like Jutta and Cerys, battle-hardened women of the islands. Freya makes them different than Melitele, a druid had told him, and Geralt had just snorted. Tell that to the dwarves. ]

The Wilders asked for aid from those experienced, [ he says, shrugging with one shoulder. ] I'm just taking a walk, as asked.

wilde card.

[tryhard]

It's later in the month, a little after Waver is sure the full moons won't be making him act weird or affecting his ability to focus, and after he's had time to plan out some ideas and potential things to try out. He asked if Geralt would accompany him outside, beyond the Wall, today. The hour isn't late, but it's foggy and threatening to rain, clouds obscuring the sunlight enough that all day it's looked like dusk. Gloomy weather or no, though, Waver's determined.

He's been reading up and experimenting, and there are perhaps some things worth considering that might only be found in the Wilde. The magic here is thicker, even if it is darker. The plants and rocks absorb it, but the infection is a problem. If he can get some samples of rocks and earth, or even amber if they can find anything like that, but avoid the Cwyld-infected kind...

Anyway. He's probably been rambling at Geralt about this nonsense the whole trek out of the city. Waver's borrowing an enchanted cloak from a coworker that's supposed to help decrease risk of Cwyld infection and carries in his satchel a mask he bought from a kind-of-shady-looking shop on the outskirts of town: not exactly full Wilder gear but enough to make him at least feel like he's taken logical precautions.

"Does your magic feel different when you're using it within the Walls as opposed to outside in the Wilde?" Waver asks, hitching up his shoulder to keep his bag from slipping. It's stuffed full. Who knows with what. Nerdy things.

"I don't think I've heard anyone mention it... What do you think?"

[niespodzianka]

Having been beyond the Bright Wall enough to be considered experienced at this point, Geralt made sure to check over the protective gear Waver brought along, and has given it the nod of approval. It'll do. His own is from the Wilders, but it's all slap-dash. There's a lot of work that's purely reactive out here. At least he can cast water-repelling shields on the both of them in the event of rain, having been instructed to the point of perfection while working on constructing shelters.

Waver's question doesn't garner an immediate response. He's never considered that before.

"Sort of," is the eventual answer. "But I don't know if it's not just by necessity. I'm much more cautious about what I do in the city, because I have a tendency to fuck things up."

It's safer to let loose when he might not accidentally hurt someone, and so he feels more confident using magic out here. Potion-making doesn't count; it's a different ball of wax, so to speak, and the application of magic is entirely different.

[tryhard]

"Are you still having trouble controlling your magical output?"

Waver has of course been helping with what he can, but it's difficult for him to gauge specifics. Even though he can sense magic, thankfully, it feels very different than it had when he'd been a proper mage.

He sighs. Knowing how cagey Geralt gets when he points out that Bonding is the best way to balance his magic, Waver goes a different route this time.

"I've been doing some research. Focusing your power into an object is supposed to help not only get rid of excess in your body but also help you fine-tune your focus. In other words, exactly what we both need. Let's find some materials and get to work."

[niespodzianka]

He shrugs. "It's just gotten worse." Waver will know that even from the start, Geralt's magic would go full blast no matter what gentle or precise application he tried, most of the time. Like he was earmarked for overload right away. And now that he's staring down the barrel of that very thing, it's even more unpredictable.

"Yeah, I've been chucking rocks in the river." Like a lunatic. Whatever. Nearly blew up one of his housemates, but he opts not to mention that. Opts not to mention, also, who's offered to bond with him, and why he's debating so seriously. It's not a matter of who to pick (there's not exactly a line), it's a matter of: dedicate himself to this way of life, or take his chances with death. He's been dead before. He isn't afraid of it.

"Alright."

The spot he leads them out to is a currently unoccupied Wilder campsite, with a dug-out fire pit near some heavy wooden tables and a rudimentary wooden structure left up, lonely skeletons left behind, waiting for campers and their equipment and tarps. It'll have been cleared out in the recent past, though Geralt still takes the time to listen closely and inspect the area for tracks. Nothing pings.

"No company close by," he observes, "but keep your ears open." It'd be dumb as fuck to be completely at ease out here.

out of the city

[captenacious]

[ It's some combination of restlessness and a need for training that drives Steve out beyond the city walls every so often. He's used to a fair amount of physical activity on a regular basis, and even if his body doesn't have quite the same demands as he's used to without the serum, there's something to be said for old habits. He tries not to go too far out when he's on his own, but good intentions do have a tendency to go right out the window when he finds himself tracking something.

The current something is large and four-legged, and that's about as much as he's gotten so far. It moves faster than he'd like but it doesn't seem to have noticed him yet, so that's something. Steve's got his shield in his hand, ready to move, and when his increasingly-sharp eyes catch movement through the trees, he spins neatly to throw it.

It's only registering at the last second that the figure moving is upright and very definitely not what he's been following that has him check the throw a little, just enough to ricochet off two trees and then back into his hand rather than right into the man who steps into view. ]

Geralt.

[ He straightens a little, shield back in place on his arm. There's a slight tension there, mostly covered. But things had been a little on the uncomfortable side where they'd left things last. ]

[niespodzianka]

[ What the fuck.

Geralt had staggered to one side, and maybe he would have dodged successfully had Rogers not course-corrected at the last second, but maybe he wouldn't have. At least he tracked the throw before the disc left his hand and knew to duck, but still. ]

Nice to see you'd instinctively go for the kill on an unknown entity but would have scratched my eyes out to save child traffickers.

[ He hasn't actively held a grudge, and seeing that it was him out here didn't deter Geralt from coming over to check in on him. He's reconsidering that instinct. ]

[captenacious]

It wouldn't have killed you.

[ The reply is almost too mild, but there's a faint hint of humor underneath. Given him a headache maybe, though Steve can't help but wonder at even that.

There's the sound of something moving, though, and even that faint smile slides right back out of his expression. ]

I've been following something big. Did you see anything when you came through?

[niespodzianka]

[ To Geralt, that retort is weak like watery shit; if he knew who was creeping up, he wouldn't have had to abort that throw in the first place. His gold eyes narrow slightly at him, unimpressed. ]

Yeah, I dunno what they're called here, but it looks like a small chort.

[ That's helpful, right? Internal sigh. Nobody's a professional here, it's a drag. ]

Cow, kinda. But worse.

during the masquerade

[quickwhip]

[ Well shit. If this isn't some freaky deja-vu.

At some point during the evening, Trevor had wandered off from the masquerade. Yes, he went. Yes, he mingled. Yes, he chewed on practically every fucking straw he could find at that shindig. But despite the energetic pull of the evening air, he felt tired being around so many people and so that's why he's gone and made himself comfortable in this little tavern here. Away from it all. Enjoying a drink or two by himself. Ok, they're not free like the ones back at the masquerade but he's got peace of mind here at least and doesn't have to keep making chit chat or avoid trying to get a dance out of him. So, here he is. Tucked away in a corner of the tavern, straw still in mouth, and half a glass empty of whatever ale he's secured for himself. A nice quiet end of the evening.

You know, until shit starts to fly. Like always.

At first, Trevor just sits there hunched over in his chair and watches it all go down. Straw chewed to hell, the sound of the crack from the man's head hitting the table practically vibrates within his own head. Yeah that's got to hurt alright. On the surface, it looks nothing more than your average bar fight and something he should just leave alone. But it's what those assholes had said to the Witcher that just hits something inside Trevor and it's with a sigh that he stands from his table. ]

Should have picked another bar.

[ Words he mumbles to himself before the sound of metal rushing through the air is heard and the Morning Star whip tightly wraps itself around the patron's arm who decided throwing a cheap shot from behind was fair. Tight, he yanks the patron back by the arm, throwing him down to the ground as he stands there and smiles. ]

Look at that. Didn't even rip your arm off. I thought for sure I would. Must be your lucky day.

[ So proud. ]

Why don't you fellas take this outside? You're interrupting the peace in here for those of us who just want to have a drink.

[niespodzianka]

[ The thing about small populations in closed cities, especially ones still humming with anti-outsider sentiment, is that it's easy for the locals to know who isn't one of them pretty quickly. There's no dramatic pause or outraged silence in between whip guy's drawling invitation and a response - no, at the very heels of his words, someone's hurling a spell at his head. Not just humans in this bar, of course, a big chunk of Aefenglom's citizens have magical ability. ]

Get them! [ someone roars, which is negative a million points for creativity, but effective. Very few people scurry out of the way, movement erupts everywhere, one woman shifts between an unassuming feminine form to a massive panther, the bartender leaps over the counter with a glowing staff. ]

Thanks for the help, [ Geralt manages to deliver in a dry tone before he has to throw someone over his shoulder and into the wall. ]

[quickwhip]

[ Ok, so, admittedly... this could have gone better? But somehow, he had a feeling this would happen. His sorry is shown in the form of a hand rubbing against the back of his neck and a groan leaving his lips. ]

Don't suppose I can finish my drink first, can I?

[ But with a woman shifting into a panther and the bartender wielding some glowing staff thing... he figures that's a no and he coils his whip tightly around his wrist. ]

Right. Didn't think so.

[ He kicks the chair closest to him out and uses it as a boost, leaping from it in a rather swift movement right as the panther decides to lunge for him. Thankfully? Paws and claws are evaded and he drops down to floor, spinning on his heel quickly. ]

Bad kitty. No treats for you.

[niespodzianka]

[ Wonderful, a talker. But as Geralt isn't, he has no quip about it, and just busies himself jamming his first into somebody's face. He's dressed how he would be on the road at home, but doesn't have his swords; it's not appropriate around town, with some thinking the dagger on his waist to be pushing it already.

Good thing he doesn't need a weapon. It feels good in a way, to let loose. Someone barrels into him, the collision making a noise like a door slamming, magic against magic as something unconscious bleeds out of him to make a near-explosion on contact. His assailant goes for his throat and Geralt grabs his arm, tweaks him to one side, throwing him and feeling the bone snap (hearing the guy shriek).

The handful of patrons who didn't come in hoping for a brawl are rushing outside, screaming for city guards. Not great. Geralt notes it, but for a moment he's too consumed with the immediate violence. Like chugging water after being in the sun for too long. He knows it's going to be bad, he knows it's an indication of his lack of a bond staring to go off the rails, but the flat voice in the back of his head isn't currently loud enough to dissuade him from snapping the bartender-mage's staff in two over said bartender-mage's own head. ]

Out of the city

[boneofsword]

[Someone else apparently had a similar idea, for Geralt can hear a soft thunk of an arrow hitting a wooden target. Archer has choosen a nice clearing to test his newest bow. He nocks another arrow and draws the bow, each move fluid and precise. Being completely focused on target he doesn't react to any sound or movement until he releases the arrow. Only after it hits the target (a bit off the mark, but Archer seems satisfied) he turns his head and relaxes his stance.]

Geralt.

[niespodzianka]

[ He's used to archers in two contexts - soldiers sent to die en mass for human wars, and elves. The latter of which are hard to beat; he himself only ever bothers with a small crossbow that he's middling with. After traveling with different factions of non-human guerrilla forces, he's come to learn enough to recognize expertise.

Geralt nods. Ey. ]

Breaking it in? [ His mutant hearing can pick up the brittle creak, like a new pair of shoes, or a spatula. ]

[boneofsword]

[Archer nods, the corner of his lips curling into something that's more of a smile than his typical smirk.]

Testing my newest work. It still needs some tweaking, but is good. [honestly, if there's anything he can talk a lot about it's weapons - history, making, famous weapons and its wielders... yes, he's a huge nerd. However he did not mention anything about being able to make weapons.]

[niespodzianka]

[ Out of all of that, Geralt will only be able to talk about making, as he's not from Earth. You people are all weird, utterly unfamiliar entities with wacky names. (And no one's managed to work any Arthurania into a conversation yet.) ]

I could never get the hang of proper bows, but most of what I hunt wouldn't be bothered by an arrow. [ Bolts from his crossbow just kind of annoy many airborne monsters. ] Is that your preferred weapon?