gynvael: (318)
Geralt z Rivii ([personal profile] gynvael) wrote2021-06-10 12:45 pm

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Geralt is always reachable by the network. Unless it's an emergency, expect not to hear back for a few hours, if not a few days.

To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.


righteously: (tumblr_inline_n1sdvuNYRQ1sui5vc)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-11-14 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
( Let it never be said Geralt's not intuitive. Dude knows his stuff, he's bang on the money yet again.

There's perpetually something distinctly fatigued in Dean — more and more every day, it seems. Impossibly, somehow, always more tired. That tiredness carries him across the short distance toward the cliff face, to a low boulder he can drop himself wearily onto.

His back slopes. Elbows hit his knees. He drags his palm over his face again as he talks, muffling a couple of the words in its absent passage.
)

I've been trying... not to bring you into more of my bullshit.

( His hand falls away so he can shoot Geralt an earnest look. He has, he really has, he means it.

That agitation ramps up again the more he talks, but it's not directed at Geralt. It's not because of him, so much as it is at everything, or himself, or maybe on Geralt's behalf.
)

From- from practically day freaking one I just keep unloading more and more of my crap on you, I mean- it feels like every other month it's something new. I thought- I don't know, I thought maybe it wouldn't follow me here, or that- that I could shut it down until I could figure something out, or- something. But ever since all that crap went down with the heralds... I don't know. I think it's getting worse.

( Which is a whole lot of words that don't even remotely answer the damn question, so a moment later, he holds out his arm. He bares the mark, angry-red and inflamed like an irritated wound rather than a months-old scar. )
righteously: (tumblr_inline_n1qa20GOWh1sui5vc)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-11-14 03:57 am (UTC)(link)
( The way Dean's expression doesn't seem to shift in the slightest at your memories probably answers Geralt's question immediately. )

No. I mean- yeah, that's where I got it. The memories, back home, however the hell it works, but Lucifer had nothing to do with it. Not exactly.

( Technically everything in Hell is Lucifer's fault as far as Dean's concerned, but for once he's not directly to blame for this particular round of horseshit. )

There was something I had to kill. A demon, except... different. Stronger, older, more annoying. She was- it's called a Knight of Hell. Nothing works on them, not silver, not salt, not the god damn magic knife specifically made to kill demons. Nothing.

( A pause, and then an amendment: )

Almost nothing. We dug up the only blade that would get the job done, but you can't wield it unless you take this.

( Followed by a disgruntled, irreverent slap to the mark with his off-hand. )

The Mark of Cain. Gift-wrapped from the first human on the planet to commit murder. Swell guy. Total douchebag. He said it came with a price, but I didn't exactly have time to get the fine print.
righteously: (3541945_900)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-11-14 04:45 am (UTC)(link)
( He's aware. He didn't have a choice, so at the end of the day, does it really matter? Turn him into a Shih Tzu or make his dick grow backwards, the bitch had to die regardless of the cost. Finding out the details felt like something that could wait until after.

Except, yeah, he didn't get an after. He got an Abraxas. He got this, here, with not a single way to find any answers at his disposal.

He shakes his head, lips pursed unhappily.
)

Aside from joining me and the First Blade in unholy matrimony... no. Not a clue. ( In a tone that suggests it's meant to be a joke, but with nary even a single scrap of actual humor: ) I'm figuring the rest out the fun, hands-on way. Side-effects may include acting like a huge dick, apparently.

( Just so that last part's out there. He didn't mean it. )
righteously: (969)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-11-14 02:32 pm (UTC)(link)
( That's a conclusion Dean's fully aware of, and has been deliberately blocking out of his head. Now that it's out there, though, he answers it with the bleakest, darkest humor. )

Little redundant, don't you think? I'm already a murderer.

( Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. Hell, that's the reason Cain gave it to him in the first place.

The mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy.
You mean a killer, like you?
Yes.


Might seem like he's not seriously entertaining the implication, but he is. He knows where this logic train leads. He also knows he's not gonna let that happen. If push comes to shove and things start looking bad... he'll handle it before it handles him.
)
righteously: (989)

[personal profile] righteously 2022-11-14 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)
( He snorts softly at pet monster, eyes dropping, head slowly shaking. Yeah, no, that sounds like him. His brand of douchebaggery. He doesn't bother commenting, doesn't bother with you know that's not how it is or any of the other platitudes he could offer right now. It's not true, they both know it, it's not even worth entertaining long enough to waste his breath.

This is something he'll think about in the not too distant future — the fact that even after that confrontation, this feels solid. The fact that he doesn't even question it. That he knows with an instinctive certainty that they're both on the same page about where they stand with each other, and how rare that is in his life. He'll think about that about an hour and a half after he realizes he's ruined it.
)

Yeah.

( He grunts finally — if anything changes, he'll speak up. )

Anyway, the blade's not here, so. How bad could it be?

( As long as that thing's far away from him, the progression should be slow enough that he's got plenty of time to figure it out. It's not like he's gonna suddenly wake up with the ability to summon the thing or something, that would just be downright nuts.

They pack up. Get their shit together. Head back into town. Something about the way the conversation ends feels... unfinished. Off somehow, one shade to the left in a way he couldn't put his finger on if he tried. It's nothing specific, it's nothing Geralt says or doesn't say, it's nothing he says, he just feels it. This sensation somewhere deep down in his gut: something is wrong.
)