Who: Killua Zoldyck and ANYONE! When: throughout August Where: Aefenglom city and the Wilde around it What: full moon, quests, shenanigans, etc. Warnings: undead-creature-related gore; awkward full moon teenage ust......
Back home, these deer wouldn't have posed a problem. His Signs would be more than enough to keep them calm while he picks the fruit. It's different now. A vague annoyance, but at least he's got Jaskier's little magic devices for assistance. Geralt's not about to say it out loud to the bard (his bonded now, which is a thought he isn't reflecting on at the moment), but they're useful.
He's got one of them with him now: a round grenade-like object that releases a sleeping cloud into the air. He's waiting behind a thicket of bushes and trees when it seems they both realize at the same time they're not alone. His eyes flick upwards, not so much seeing who's there as catching his scent in the air.
Geralt pauses. He doesn't know if the boy realizes the deer can't be wounded or not, but either way, he doesn't want to knock him out with the deer. Waiting until he can catch the boy's gaze, he gestures for him to come over this way.
It seems he's not the only one after this prey. A minor annoyance. Killua's brows draw together in a faint scowl when he meets the gaze of the stranger hunting the same herd, but he realizes that at this point, their best option is to split the loot. Killua's not about to give up, and if he tries to move first and causes a ruckus or tries to chase off the stranger, it's more than likely the deer will escape.
Making a show of rolling his eyes, he acquiesces. Fine. He'll go over there.
Silently, Killua slinks around the edges of the clearing where the deer are resting, moving quickly but somehow almost entirely soundlessly. When he gets close enough, he mouths without speaking, making sure not to alert the deer: What are you doing?
His goal here was the fruit. Or it had been. Then Geralt sees him move and his attention is suddenly diverted. It's not that he's never seen anyone move so silently with ease. It's that the only time he's seen it is in another Witcher.
He watches the boy through the brush. After a second, he holds up the round metal ball, not yet triggered. It sits in his palm, no larger than an apple. (Jaskier had assured him a proper blacksmith had produced the shell this time.) Then he tips his head towards the lazing deer.
That's all the explanation he gives before he rolls the object gently across the ground. It slows to a stop near the deer, hidden in the tall grass. A quiet click sounds before a puff of smoke is released in the air. The dusting powder settles over the deer. Steadily, they slump over -- though the rise and fall of their bodies makes it clear they're still alive.
Hmm. That is much better than the last one Jaskier had given him, which had effectively blown up in his damn face.
Geralt plucks off one fruit of a deer slumbering near his feet. He tosses it over to the boy. The flash of nails sharpened into claws can be glimpsed. "Something tells me you didn't need the magic."
Killua has no idea what that ball is. He frowns, opening his mouth as if to argue, but--
Ah. Too late. There it goes.
Startled by the smoke, Killua instantly jumps back further -- closer to the man who'd thrown it, with the assumption he'll have done so in a way that wouldn't affect him and so being in the same place will prevent whatever the smoke is from reaching him too.
"Magic?" He stares incredulously at the deer, now obviously knocked out. "What kind of magic is that? It's like a weird sleep smoke bomb. Where'd you get it?"
Killua hadn't even considered looking for something like that. He's been learning magic at the Coven but focusing on actual spellwork, not enchanted items. This is a whole new area to explore.
In any case--
"Yeah, no. I was just gonna grab 'em and go. But I guess you made it easier to get more in one trip. Not that it matters. I'm still taking half!"
It's not his fault he was interrupted. He still tracked the deer here fair and square, and definitely looks ready to argue if this guy thinks otherwise.
The glimpse of pointed teeth when he speaks suggests he's not the one who enchanted it. He doesn't bring up Jaskier as his bonded, largely because the topic still feels private to him. Perhaps it says something that he's even referred to Jaskier as a friend at all, for once.
Either way, he's not here to fuss about who gets what. Especially not with a kid. His eyebrow lifts and he simply pockets one of the fruit. Even a handful is plenty of coin. He's got not much to worry about here, anyway, with free lodgings and plenty to hunt in the summer weather.
"Mm-hmm." They're easy enough to gather, though there's not a lot of time, either: the deer will stir in just a couple of minutes. "Just be quick about it."
Killua brought a satchel. He quickly shrugs it off, approaching the deer and efficiently tugging the fruits off to place them into the bag one by one, careful to arrange them in such a way they won't be crushed.
It doesn't take long. He buckles the bag shut securely when he's done, grinning about the load of money he's about to make. It's hard when you're used to never worrying about cash to suddenly find yourself unable to afford takeout every day!
After a couple of minutes, some of the animals begin to stir slightly, still asleep for now but clearly starting to come around.
"You done, old man? Let's go before they freak out."
Eager, huh? Geralt simply hums in reply and heads off in a specific direction: that is, towards his horse, tethered not too far from here by a stream. He's not exactly inviting the boy along, but he doesn't leave him behind, either.
He shifts the bag on his shoulder. Given the nature of the contract, there's no sword on him. He's left that with the horse, too.
If there's silence to fill, he appears not at all bothered by it. Eventually, though, he does speak up: "Back there. Where'd you learn to move like that?"
Is it a spell? He doesn't see any visible markers on the boy that suggests he's changing, which means he's likely one of the witches. But the changes can be subtle, too.
Killua follows. He could also just leave and run home on his own, but he's curious about his companion too. He has no trouble keeping up, and apparently no trouble with the silence either for now. While they walk, he looks around the forest, ears pricked for any potential danger but mostly just exploring.
The question turns his attention back to the man.
"Like what? Quietly?"
Big eyes blink at him innocently. Killua hikes up his backpack more comfortably, then shrugs.
"You're impressed by the weirdest things, old man."
A little more than quiet. The look Geralt gives sidelong suggests that's hardly what he means.
"And if I am?" he replies, mild. He leaves his commentary at that. No point in pressing. He can tell from the reply the boy doesn't want to talk about it. He's no stranger to unwelcome topics and they've only just met.
Still curious, though.
As he keeps going, it might grow clearer where he's headed as a brown mare comes into view in the distance. Jaskier is somewhere out here. He wants to take Roach, then look for him before the bard gets into some shit.
It's not a secret, exactly. He just doesn't particularly care to talk about his family, and people get weird apparently when you tell them you used to be an assassin.
"You were pretty good at hiding too. For an old man. I didn't even notice you right away." They way he says it, it's clear that's highly unusual and he's a bit impressed and certainly curious, as well.
When they approach the mare, his eyes widen. Killua grins.
"Ooh! You have a horse! You're not scared it's gonna get eaten out here?"
Something thoughtful crosses his expression, however briefly. If it were someone older, Geralt might not have thought twice about it. But a boy his age saying When I was little suggests something much younger than standard boyhood.
"Learned when I was little, too."
Which was a long time ago for him. Geralt fixes the bag to Roach's saddle. Given the nature of the job, he'd left his swords behind. They're here instead, strapped to the side of his horse and tucked into a leather bag. The pommels are visible, plain and not especially decorated.
He glances over his shoulder. Horses not a common sight, huh? He's noticed that about some here.
"She's followed me into worse," he replies. He decides not to add that former Roach's have been eaten. It happens. Though he's rather hoping this one will stick around for awhile.
Killua blinks, surprised by that answer and its apparent sincerity. He knows what he means by his own phrasing, but to hear it echoed is strange. Most people question him, straight up don't believe him or think he's being flippant.
The swords catch his eye, but they're not that strange. It only makes sense to bring weapons into the Wilde. It doesn't make an impression on him that there are two of them, either; he's seen far more extravagant weapons, after all.
"Yeah?"
Killua catches up, leaning in to peer at the horse's face curiously. It's not his first time seeing one, obviously, but they're a little unusual to him. Without asking, he tries to place a hand on the mare's neck.
"What kinda worse stuff? Hang on-- did the horse come with you through the mirror?!"
"Mm-hmm. In the mountains." That may or may not be the most useful detail about what he means by when I was little, too, but it's the one he's currently willing to offer.
He lets the boy touch Roach if he wants, as long as he's only rubbing her neck. Her tail flicks, sweeping away the gnats that buzz in the forest. Geralt glances over his shoulder. Yeah. Those were pretty much his thoughts, too, when he landed here with Roach beside him.
"Don't ask." He's got no fucking clue, either. She simply did and the mirror didn't break. Could be worse. At least it means he didn't have to buy another horse. Would've felt a bit bad knowing she'd been left behind in those ghoul-filled woods, too.
He reaches over to adjust her saddle, circling back to the previous question. "I take her hunting with me."
In the mountains? What mountains? Killua's not entirely sure if he's talking about the horse or himself now...
Pleased that the horse isn't getting mad about being petted, he strokes her neck slowly. Honestly, he half expected her to try to bite him. Gon's the one who's good with animals between the two of them.
"A man of many words, aren't you?" he quips, amused. So, after being told not to ask, naturally he continues asking. Not about the mirror though -- it's obvious no one knows enough about those, but now he knows animals can come through too sometimes. Weird.
"A hunting horse... That's cool. What kind of hunting do you do? Oh-- you mean back home, or here? I guess you wouldn't need to hunt when there's stores in the city."
Unless he doesn't mean for food. But Killua's enjoying watching the man try to answer his questions in apparently as few words as possible, which just makes him want to keep asking just to see what he'll do.
The freezing wind is starting to pick up as they talk, howling through the trees. At least, it's probably the wind.
"So I'm told." There's a time when he would've been told he chattered too much for his own good, but those days are long gone.
Geralt sighs. Kid's just full of fucking questions, isn't he? And yeah, he could not answer. But something makes him humor the conversation. For now, anyway.
"Both. Creatures, mostly. Of a kind." Monsters, in other words, but now that the term carries a different connotation here, he's chosen another to avoid explaining or clarifying what constitutes a monster in his eyes. The answer to that, as it always has been, is both complicated and extremely simple.
His gaze shifts, attention caught by the same howling. A scent drifts through the trees, one that doesn't belong to any deer or wildlife. He wraps a hand around his sword on instinct, though he doesn't draw it. "You should go."
"Seriously, can you be any more vague?" Killua scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You're practically making a parody of it, answering in a way that's barely answer at all."
The tension in his companion's shoulders immediately draws Killua's attention, though, even before he reaches for his sword. Killua hasn't stopped petting the horse in slow, lazy strokes of his palm down her neck.
"Go where?"
He presumes the old man means away from here, largely because of whatever's coming for them. Killua shakes his head.
"I don't feel like it."
Finally, he moves away from the horse, a few steps toward the sound that's definitely getting closer. He glances over his shoulder with a smirk.
"I wanna see what you do against something that isn't asleep, Mr. 'Creature' Hunter."
The boy gets an ambiguous grunt in reply, to indicate that yes, he can be even more vague. He glances over his shoulder. Not gonna leave, huh? How is it he always ends up meeting the most stubborn of people?
Fine. He's not going to waste his breath. "Then don't get in the way."
Geralt takes his sword, following the distant howl. He's spotted Shades before; this sound and the smell, it isn't like a Shade. Not in any recognizable way. What the hell is it? The answer comes soon in a set of tracks that resemble hooves. Horse hooves. Traveling in a pattern a horse rider normally wouldn't.
He glances up. The second howl is almost banshee-like. Closer, too. Coming closer. And unlike deer, this creature, it doesn't blend into the woods. Amongst the green and brown, its flesh-like, twisting, sinewy frame stands out.
"The fuck." Is that -- ? Yeah. Must be. Only one thing he's heard of fits this very specific description of a man fused with a flayed horse and screaming.
Geralt puts out a hand instinctively, in case the boy has any ideas of diving in headfirst. Usually, he'd watch. Study it for a bit. The creature has picked up his scent, though, (or one of theirs, at least) and it's moving forward with purpose.
So he steps out, flipping his sword in his hand. It's holding a weapon of its own: a dull-looking hatchet, stained with old blood. When it charges, it charges fast. He ducks under its wild swing, his blade catching it across the chest. But where he might have hoped it'd slow down, the wound draws no blood and only seems to piss it off as it spins sharply for a second charge -- not at him, but towards the boy.
"What the hell is that?!" Killua blurts more or less what Geralt is thinking, immediately falling back into a ready crouch.
Luckily, he's not the type to just rush in headlong with no idea of his enemy (his brother made sure of that, perhaps too well), so he hangs back a moment, eyes darting between the creature and his Turnskin companion, watching the way each of them moves. It's not surprising the white-haired man stepped out in front of him; Killua knows he's assuming he can't defend himself, or at the very least that the stronger of the two is the one with the sword. That's fine. It gives him a chance to analyze the opponent-- and see what doesn't work against it.
Damn, that noise is horrible. The screech it lets out when injured is far worse than the injury itself, which doesn't even seem to slow it down. The blade slices through open flesh and exposed muscle, but it doesn't impair the creature's movement for some reason; the wound isn't as deep as Killua's sure it was meant to be. Without skin, it sure doesn't seem like it'd be that tough, but it must have some sort of protection. Or just very, very solid muscles.
Where's the weakness? The humanoid part of it? The underbelly?
Killua's not confident in his magic yet. It takes too long, doesn't always work the way he wants it, and is way too different from the intuitive way he'd been able to incorporate his nen in his fighting style. Magic will take a lot more work. But his killing instinct is as sharp as ever.
When the beast charges, Killua reacts instantly-- not to run away, but to take advantage of its wild swinging and anger. Suddenly, his hand changes. At the same time, he sprints forward to meet it, right into the hatchet's path... and then under it, ducking low and using the momentum to slide beneath the creature's equine underside.
His claws rake across its belly horizontally, before he ducks and rolls out on the other side, ready to defend himself against hooves and hatchet alike.
The briefest flash of concern passes when the beast charges for the boy. It doesn't last long: he's fast, obviously well-trained, and apparently comes equipped with a weapon that's a part of him. Geralt doesn't question it. There's no time. He doesn't need to worry about the boy and that's all that matters.
Instead, he takes advantage of the creature's split attention. Its body doesn't seem to be injured in the way a living thing would; he can see the wound, where his sword has cut down its sternum, but it simply doesn't bleed as it should.
It is not, however, armored. And it can be cut. Geralt has encountered enough men on horseback to know their weak point. He doubts it makes a difference just because this one's...melded with its rider. Still has legs. Those legs are what he aims for when he swings next. His sword takes off its front leg, just under its knee, stopping its second charge midway as it collapses in front of the boy. It's already struggling to get up, but there's a split second where the horse's head tips back with an angry shriek, throat exposed.
Killua rolls back into his defensive crouch, turning at once to see the horse-thing is already being taken care of. He has to admit the sword is a bit more efficient at chopping off legs-- since apparently the creature doesn't seem to care about getting wounded and less drastic methods of incapacitating it aren't slowing it as much as he'd thought.
There are a couple of sure-fire methods that take care of most things though. At least if they're living creatures. Killua's not sure what the hell this is, but between going for the heart or the head, it's clear which is easier. And since it has two (of each??) he doesn't hesitate to take advantage when the beast falls quite serendipitously right in front of him, exposed equine neck straining.
His slashing hadn't done much earlier. This time, Killua braces himself and tries a different approach: he reaches out with both hands, lightning-fast, grabs the horse's head and twists.
Bones and sinew snap. The hatchet comes at him. Still holding onto the horse head, Killua jumps back and yanks.
As the beast collapses forward, Geralt's already moving to catch up to it to put it down for good. He expects the boy to slash at it again. Instead, he grips the horse's shrieking head and pulls. It comes right off, with the kind of force that shouldn't be possible with his slender frame. The remnants of its snapped spine hang from the detached head -- though just like before, little to no blood spills from the gaping wound.
What the fuck.
The hatchet comes up at the same time his sword comes down. There are two heads. Geralt's not about to wait to see which head is the right one to take off: he removes the other, sending it rolling. The hatchet drops, body prone.
More than just a sneaky kid, apparently. He knows exactly what it takes for a boy to tear off heads without blinking. He doesn't comment or ask. Doesn't matter, in the end, how they got where they are.
He steps over the severed leg, eyeing the boy to see if he's been injured anywhere. "Hell of a skill."
Killua backs away, letting him finish the job. He's still holding onto the horse head, watching as the white-haired man cleanly finishes the creature off. It collapses in a grotesque, fleshy heap of tangled limbs and exposed bone.
Killua himself doesn't even have a scratch.
"What skill?" He blinks. An interesting reaction. The man is clearly a seasoned fighter, so the lack of disgust at the gore doesn't surprise him, but he's noticed in this place people tend to be more surprised than he expected at someone his age being able to fight monsters. Now that he expects the surprise, the lack of it is what catches him off guard.
Killua laughs, a short, quiet snort.
"I just pulled it off."
He looks down at the head, wrinkling his nose a bit. Gross.
Just pulled it off is one way to put it. Geralt eyes the boy. The casual way he holds the head should be unsettling. In a way, it is: Geralt can tell it isn't the first time he's done so. But there's familiarity in how quickly the boy thinks of getting paid, too. For a head that he's pulled off with his bare fucking hands.
In return, Geralt considers his question. "Someone might be interested in research."
The rest of the body, they might as well leave behind. Doesn't seem worth bringing back, in lieu of the fruit. Geralt roughly cleans his sword -- stained only with the smallest amount of fluid that he isn't sure is the creature's blood or something else -- and sheathes it. For the first time, it seems the boy has drawn more than enough of his curiosity to ask after him.
Normally, he wouldn't have thought of it-- except here he doesn't have a ton of money, and it turns out life sucks when you have to watch how much you spend and also cook for yourself, etc...
"Hmm. That's a good point. All right, let's bring it to the coven."
Oh, right. Names. He shifts his grip on the head, trying to figure out a comfortable way to hold it where it's less obvious somehow. Uuh. Nope, it's just very obviously a severed skinless horse head.
"I'm Killua. Also, this head's definitely gonna draw attention."
Geralt watches Killua shuffle the head as if it's a cumbersome sack and not a severed head. He gets it. He's carried back heads and parts in equal amounts. Always a pain the ass. At least this one's not dripping gore and blood.
He tips his head towards where Roach was left. "Put it on my horse."
It'll be more subtle hitched to the side of Roach's saddle between them than casually tucked under the arm of a boy.
He starts back in that direction. "Never seen anyone do that with their hand. You also learn that when you were little?"
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b.
He's got one of them with him now: a round grenade-like object that releases a sleeping cloud into the air. He's waiting behind a thicket of bushes and trees when it seems they both realize at the same time they're not alone. His eyes flick upwards, not so much seeing who's there as catching his scent in the air.
Geralt pauses. He doesn't know if the boy realizes the deer can't be wounded or not, but either way, he doesn't want to knock him out with the deer. Waiting until he can catch the boy's gaze, he gestures for him to come over this way.
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Making a show of rolling his eyes, he acquiesces. Fine. He'll go over there.
Silently, Killua slinks around the edges of the clearing where the deer are resting, moving quickly but somehow almost entirely soundlessly. When he gets close enough, he mouths without speaking, making sure not to alert the deer: What are you doing?
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He watches the boy through the brush. After a second, he holds up the round metal ball, not yet triggered. It sits in his palm, no larger than an apple. (Jaskier had assured him a proper blacksmith had produced the shell this time.) Then he tips his head towards the lazing deer.
That's all the explanation he gives before he rolls the object gently across the ground. It slows to a stop near the deer, hidden in the tall grass. A quiet click sounds before a puff of smoke is released in the air. The dusting powder settles over the deer. Steadily, they slump over -- though the rise and fall of their bodies makes it clear they're still alive.
Hmm. That is much better than the last one Jaskier had given him, which had effectively blown up in his damn face.
Geralt plucks off one fruit of a deer slumbering near his feet. He tosses it over to the boy. The flash of nails sharpened into claws can be glimpsed. "Something tells me you didn't need the magic."
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Ah. Too late. There it goes.
Startled by the smoke, Killua instantly jumps back further -- closer to the man who'd thrown it, with the assumption he'll have done so in a way that wouldn't affect him and so being in the same place will prevent whatever the smoke is from reaching him too.
"Magic?" He stares incredulously at the deer, now obviously knocked out. "What kind of magic is that? It's like a weird sleep smoke bomb. Where'd you get it?"
Killua hadn't even considered looking for something like that. He's been learning magic at the Coven but focusing on actual spellwork, not enchanted items. This is a whole new area to explore.
In any case--
"Yeah, no. I was just gonna grab 'em and go. But I guess you made it easier to get more in one trip. Not that it matters. I'm still taking half!"
It's not his fault he was interrupted. He still tracked the deer here fair and square, and definitely looks ready to argue if this guy thinks otherwise.
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The glimpse of pointed teeth when he speaks suggests he's not the one who enchanted it. He doesn't bring up Jaskier as his bonded, largely because the topic still feels private to him. Perhaps it says something that he's even referred to Jaskier as a friend at all, for once.
Either way, he's not here to fuss about who gets what. Especially not with a kid. His eyebrow lifts and he simply pockets one of the fruit. Even a handful is plenty of coin. He's got not much to worry about here, anyway, with free lodgings and plenty to hunt in the summer weather.
"Mm-hmm." They're easy enough to gather, though there's not a lot of time, either: the deer will stir in just a couple of minutes. "Just be quick about it."
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Killua brought a satchel. He quickly shrugs it off, approaching the deer and efficiently tugging the fruits off to place them into the bag one by one, careful to arrange them in such a way they won't be crushed.
It doesn't take long. He buckles the bag shut securely when he's done, grinning about the load of money he's about to make. It's hard when you're used to never worrying about cash to suddenly find yourself unable to afford takeout every day!
After a couple of minutes, some of the animals begin to stir slightly, still asleep for now but clearly starting to come around.
"You done, old man? Let's go before they freak out."
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He shifts the bag on his shoulder. Given the nature of the contract, there's no sword on him. He's left that with the horse, too.
If there's silence to fill, he appears not at all bothered by it. Eventually, though, he does speak up: "Back there. Where'd you learn to move like that?"
Is it a spell? He doesn't see any visible markers on the boy that suggests he's changing, which means he's likely one of the witches. But the changes can be subtle, too.
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The question turns his attention back to the man.
"Like what? Quietly?"
Big eyes blink at him innocently. Killua hikes up his backpack more comfortably, then shrugs.
"You're impressed by the weirdest things, old man."
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"And if I am?" he replies, mild. He leaves his commentary at that. No point in pressing. He can tell from the reply the boy doesn't want to talk about it. He's no stranger to unwelcome topics and they've only just met.
Still curious, though.
As he keeps going, it might grow clearer where he's headed as a brown mare comes into view in the distance. Jaskier is somewhere out here. He wants to take Roach, then look for him before the bard gets into some shit.
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"I learned it when I was little."
It's not a secret, exactly. He just doesn't particularly care to talk about his family, and people get weird apparently when you tell them you used to be an assassin.
"You were pretty good at hiding too. For an old man. I didn't even notice you right away." They way he says it, it's clear that's highly unusual and he's a bit impressed and certainly curious, as well.
When they approach the mare, his eyes widen. Killua grins.
"Ooh! You have a horse! You're not scared it's gonna get eaten out here?"
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"Learned when I was little, too."
Which was a long time ago for him. Geralt fixes the bag to Roach's saddle. Given the nature of the job, he'd left his swords behind. They're here instead, strapped to the side of his horse and tucked into a leather bag. The pommels are visible, plain and not especially decorated.
He glances over his shoulder. Horses not a common sight, huh? He's noticed that about some here.
"She's followed me into worse," he replies. He decides not to add that former Roach's have been eaten. It happens. Though he's rather hoping this one will stick around for awhile.
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The swords catch his eye, but they're not that strange. It only makes sense to bring weapons into the Wilde. It doesn't make an impression on him that there are two of them, either; he's seen far more extravagant weapons, after all.
"Yeah?"
Killua catches up, leaning in to peer at the horse's face curiously. It's not his first time seeing one, obviously, but they're a little unusual to him. Without asking, he tries to place a hand on the mare's neck.
"What kinda worse stuff? Hang on-- did the horse come with you through the mirror?!"
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He lets the boy touch Roach if he wants, as long as he's only rubbing her neck. Her tail flicks, sweeping away the gnats that buzz in the forest. Geralt glances over his shoulder. Yeah. Those were pretty much his thoughts, too, when he landed here with Roach beside him.
"Don't ask." He's got no fucking clue, either. She simply did and the mirror didn't break. Could be worse. At least it means he didn't have to buy another horse. Would've felt a bit bad knowing she'd been left behind in those ghoul-filled woods, too.
He reaches over to adjust her saddle, circling back to the previous question. "I take her hunting with me."
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Pleased that the horse isn't getting mad about being petted, he strokes her neck slowly. Honestly, he half expected her to try to bite him. Gon's the one who's good with animals between the two of them.
"A man of many words, aren't you?" he quips, amused. So, after being told not to ask, naturally he continues asking. Not about the mirror though -- it's obvious no one knows enough about those, but now he knows animals can come through too sometimes. Weird.
"A hunting horse... That's cool. What kind of hunting do you do? Oh-- you mean back home, or here? I guess you wouldn't need to hunt when there's stores in the city."
Unless he doesn't mean for food. But Killua's enjoying watching the man try to answer his questions in apparently as few words as possible, which just makes him want to keep asking just to see what he'll do.
The freezing wind is starting to pick up as they talk, howling through the trees. At least, it's probably the wind.
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Geralt sighs. Kid's just full of fucking questions, isn't he? And yeah, he could not answer. But something makes him humor the conversation. For now, anyway.
"Both. Creatures, mostly. Of a kind." Monsters, in other words, but now that the term carries a different connotation here, he's chosen another to avoid explaining or clarifying what constitutes a monster in his eyes. The answer to that, as it always has been, is both complicated and extremely simple.
His gaze shifts, attention caught by the same howling. A scent drifts through the trees, one that doesn't belong to any deer or wildlife. He wraps a hand around his sword on instinct, though he doesn't draw it. "You should go."
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The tension in his companion's shoulders immediately draws Killua's attention, though, even before he reaches for his sword. Killua hasn't stopped petting the horse in slow, lazy strokes of his palm down her neck.
"Go where?"
He presumes the old man means away from here, largely because of whatever's coming for them. Killua shakes his head.
"I don't feel like it."
Finally, he moves away from the horse, a few steps toward the sound that's definitely getting closer. He glances over his shoulder with a smirk.
"I wanna see what you do against something that isn't asleep, Mr. 'Creature' Hunter."
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Fine. He's not going to waste his breath. "Then don't get in the way."
Geralt takes his sword, following the distant howl. He's spotted Shades before; this sound and the smell, it isn't like a Shade. Not in any recognizable way. What the hell is it? The answer comes soon in a set of tracks that resemble hooves. Horse hooves. Traveling in a pattern a horse rider normally wouldn't.
He glances up. The second howl is almost banshee-like. Closer, too. Coming closer. And unlike deer, this creature, it doesn't blend into the woods. Amongst the green and brown, its flesh-like, twisting, sinewy frame stands out.
"The fuck." Is that -- ? Yeah. Must be. Only one thing he's heard of fits this very specific description of a man fused with a flayed horse and screaming.
Geralt puts out a hand instinctively, in case the boy has any ideas of diving in headfirst. Usually, he'd watch. Study it for a bit. The creature has picked up his scent, though, (or one of theirs, at least) and it's moving forward with purpose.
So he steps out, flipping his sword in his hand. It's holding a weapon of its own: a dull-looking hatchet, stained with old blood. When it charges, it charges fast. He ducks under its wild swing, his blade catching it across the chest. But where he might have hoped it'd slow down, the wound draws no blood and only seems to piss it off as it spins sharply for a second charge -- not at him, but towards the boy.
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Luckily, he's not the type to just rush in headlong with no idea of his enemy (his brother made sure of that, perhaps too well), so he hangs back a moment, eyes darting between the creature and his Turnskin companion, watching the way each of them moves. It's not surprising the white-haired man stepped out in front of him; Killua knows he's assuming he can't defend himself, or at the very least that the stronger of the two is the one with the sword. That's fine. It gives him a chance to analyze the opponent-- and see what doesn't work against it.
Damn, that noise is horrible. The screech it lets out when injured is far worse than the injury itself, which doesn't even seem to slow it down. The blade slices through open flesh and exposed muscle, but it doesn't impair the creature's movement for some reason; the wound isn't as deep as Killua's sure it was meant to be. Without skin, it sure doesn't seem like it'd be that tough, but it must have some sort of protection. Or just very, very solid muscles.
Where's the weakness? The humanoid part of it? The underbelly?
Killua's not confident in his magic yet. It takes too long, doesn't always work the way he wants it, and is way too different from the intuitive way he'd been able to incorporate his nen in his fighting style. Magic will take a lot more work. But his killing instinct is as sharp as ever.
When the beast charges, Killua reacts instantly-- not to run away, but to take advantage of its wild swinging and anger. Suddenly, his hand changes. At the same time, he sprints forward to meet it, right into the hatchet's path... and then under it, ducking low and using the momentum to slide beneath the creature's equine underside.
His claws rake across its belly horizontally, before he ducks and rolls out on the other side, ready to defend himself against hooves and hatchet alike.
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Instead, he takes advantage of the creature's split attention. Its body doesn't seem to be injured in the way a living thing would; he can see the wound, where his sword has cut down its sternum, but it simply doesn't bleed as it should.
It is not, however, armored. And it can be cut. Geralt has encountered enough men on horseback to know their weak point. He doubts it makes a difference just because this one's...melded with its rider. Still has legs. Those legs are what he aims for when he swings next. His sword takes off its front leg, just under its knee, stopping its second charge midway as it collapses in front of the boy. It's already struggling to get up, but there's a split second where the horse's head tips back with an angry shriek, throat exposed.
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There are a couple of sure-fire methods that take care of most things though. At least if they're living creatures. Killua's not sure what the hell this is, but between going for the heart or the head, it's clear which is easier. And since it has two (of each??) he doesn't hesitate to take advantage when the beast falls quite serendipitously right in front of him, exposed equine neck straining.
His slashing hadn't done much earlier. This time, Killua braces himself and tries a different approach: he reaches out with both hands, lightning-fast, grabs the horse's head and twists.
Bones and sinew snap. The hatchet comes at him. Still holding onto the horse head, Killua jumps back and yanks.
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What the fuck.
The hatchet comes up at the same time his sword comes down. There are two heads. Geralt's not about to wait to see which head is the right one to take off: he removes the other, sending it rolling. The hatchet drops, body prone.
More than just a sneaky kid, apparently. He knows exactly what it takes for a boy to tear off heads without blinking. He doesn't comment or ask. Doesn't matter, in the end, how they got where they are.
He steps over the severed leg, eyeing the boy to see if he's been injured anywhere. "Hell of a skill."
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Killua himself doesn't even have a scratch.
"What skill?" He blinks. An interesting reaction. The man is clearly a seasoned fighter, so the lack of disgust at the gore doesn't surprise him, but he's noticed in this place people tend to be more surprised than he expected at someone his age being able to fight monsters. Now that he expects the surprise, the lack of it is what catches him off guard.
Killua laughs, a short, quiet snort.
"I just pulled it off."
He looks down at the head, wrinkling his nose a bit. Gross.
"...you think we can get paid for this?"
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In return, Geralt considers his question. "Someone might be interested in research."
The rest of the body, they might as well leave behind. Doesn't seem worth bringing back, in lieu of the fruit. Geralt roughly cleans his sword -- stained only with the smallest amount of fluid that he isn't sure is the creature's blood or something else -- and sheathes it. For the first time, it seems the boy has drawn more than enough of his curiosity to ask after him.
"What's your name?"
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"Hmm. That's a good point. All right, let's bring it to the coven."
Oh, right. Names. He shifts his grip on the head, trying to figure out a comfortable way to hold it where it's less obvious somehow. Uuh. Nope, it's just very obviously a severed skinless horse head.
"I'm Killua. Also, this head's definitely gonna draw attention."
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He tips his head towards where Roach was left. "Put it on my horse."
It'll be more subtle hitched to the side of Roach's saddle between them than casually tucked under the arm of a boy.
He starts back in that direction. "Never seen anyone do that with their hand. You also learn that when you were little?"
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