Sheva Alomar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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middaeg2020-10-20 07:58 pm
partnerinheels) wrote in middaeg2020-10-20 07:58 pmEntry tags:
partnerinheels) wrote in middaeg2020-10-20 07:58 pm
Closed to Geralt | cw: body horror (turnskin transformation)
Four seasons only came after she left Africa. The weather and seasons here though, were even stranger simply between the City and the Wilde, but it’s become her new normal, this weirdness. So might as well make the best of it.
The fresh emergence of living activity draws her, both from a practical standpoint and a more emotional one. Spring always brought the reminder of hope and a fresh start to the young woman. It’s calming and beautiful, even with the added dangers that accompany the new life.
Except today, the peace she expects is not what she finds. It’s not long in her walk that she hears the oddly familiar snap and crunch of bone that pauses her movements, causing her hand to grip tighter around her weapon as she focuses. The increased heart rate of someone (or something) draws her in further, and when the wind kicks up, the identifiable scent allows for a clearer picture of the possible situation to be painted.
It’s then that she resumes her movement, adjusting course to intersect her new objective.]
no subject
After the first interruption -- the redheaded woman -- he relocates deeper into the trees. Quieter, more hidden from view. He sheds his clothes, leaving them on top of a nearby stump. In truth, he's not a clue where to start. His experience with his transformation has only ever been involuntary. Snapping his bones under the force of the full moon is one thing; doing it on purpose is another.
Meditating helps. A bit. He searches, eventually deciding to draw on the bond. With luck, it won't alarm Jaskier too much.
The change that comes along is not near as rapid as it is under the moon. Nor as precise. The joints in his wrists twist with a pop, then spring back with a jolt of pain. Loose teeth fall to the ground, but the usual thicker, sharpened ones don't come in.
Fuck.
He's got a handful of said teeth, stained with blood in his palm, when he catches a scent in the air. A familiar one. Geralt pauses, the nails on his fingers now sharp, black claws. He shakes himself in an attempt to revert the changes before he's discovered. Feels a hell of a lot more awkward being caught mid-transformation than being caught in the nude. ]
no subject
Sheva has never bore witness to her own transformation, nor watched the transformation of another in close quarters, mostly due to personal choice. The noises were bad enough, but to witness the breaking of bones beneath skin into unnaturally transitionary stages, to watch human teeth tumble to the ground, painting blood across residual snow and new vegetation alike?
It should be stomach curling, but she’s deeply aware of the pain he feels. It's a tedious struggle of learning to shift outside the magic of the moons. So instead, she feels empathy.]
Focus on how your body normally feels... If you want to go back. [She suggests as she steps more pointedly into his space, while still allowing him a personal buffer. Might as well help now that he’s noticed her arrival.]
sorry for the long delay!
Geralt takes the advice; he has, at least, mediated enough that he's had practice drawing focus to his body. His claws turn closer to sharpened nails, and most of the fur recedes.
He shifts his weight. Well. She's seen him in worse states, so there's that. ]
Thanks. [ The teeth in his palm shuffle. After a second, he simply puts them on a stump and reaches for his trousers, tugging them back on. ] Didn't expect to see someone this far in.