witcher. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niespodzianka) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-11-09 05:59 pm
niespodzianka) wrote in middaeg2019-11-09 05:59 pm
you'll stay frozen in time ( open )
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. ]
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. ]