lusi | 🌊 le déluge

[ there aren't many people here that trevor feels he can relate to. most people seem to come from a time when the world looks very different, from a place that looks very different to wallachia; most people seem more familiar with the idea of talking and walking tin cans than fighting for survival and going hungry and trevor doesn't begrudge them that, or he tries not to, but it makes it difficult to relate.

it's different with geralt.

they're not from the same place, trevor's figured out that much, but at least from places that are more similar to one another than wallachia and wherever everyone else is from. whenever, too. (that's fucking with his mind a bit, but it's fine, he's not going to think about it too hard.) maybe it's that similarity that lets them work together well, whether it's while sparring or trying to get some shelter built. trevor wouldn't normally bother, but —people here are hapless when it comes to survival and they're not the ones who've burnt his family, not the ones responsible.

he should leave it well enough alone. he can't quite manage that.

he's glad enough for the fact that they've managed to construct some form of shelter when the rain starts pouring down and his coat stays (mostly) dry. he means to tell geralt as much, or at least indicate the sentiment in some way (a nod should do, right?), but when he approaches the man after the rain's stopped, it's in the vicinity of some new plantlife that seems to have a mind of its own.

trevor doesn't figure plants would be trying to hurt him, let his guard down —and he's promptly punished for it by a stinging sensation against his neck, some kind of spore buried there. ]

What the shit?

[ not quite what he'd meant to communicate to geralt. ]

[ Time spent with Trevor has felt oddly normal despite the absolute crock of weird shit that is just about everything about this place. They communicate easily, they get along well, and they both know what they're doing when it comes to survival, unlike many of the others here. While normally Geralt might ask for something in return for all of the help he's been giving people lately, there aren't many people who have anything to give right now. It's fine. Favors owed can always be valuable later.

The camp Geralt has made for himself (and for Roach, such a steadfast companion that apprently she'd followed him even here) had been fortified against the possibility of rain already, so he'd agreed easily to help Trevor weatherproof a larger space, one that could be used by multiple people if desired. They've secured a tarp beneath the largest holes in what had once been someone's roof, dragged in enough dry wood to make a decent stockpile, and used some of the less than sturdy furniture they'd been provided to get other supplies off the ground in case of flooding. They have no idea what to expect here, and it can't hurt to be prepared.

They were right to anticipate an eventual change in the weather, because when the rain does come it's a deluge almost all at once. It stops and starts, short bursts that leave the ground soaking and promote--surprisingly--vegetation to begin growing.

Geralt thinks it's a good sign, initially. Until it's not.

In the process of investigating the new growth near his own little campsite, Geralt pauses at Trevor's approach. It's unclear exactly what happened to prompt that reaction rather than a greeting, but Geralt keys into Trevor's confusion quickly. ]

What?

[ Maybe approaching so quickly isn't the best idea, but out of concern, he does exactly that. Having left most of his armor off, Geralt without his usual defenses. There is no thick leather between him and whatever buries itself against the back of his hand. He hisses sharply, eyes darting from the plant to Trevor to the spiky burr still clinging to his hand. ]

Fuck. It got you too?

[ Geralt removes his own carefully, gritting his teeth as he pulls it out, pricking his fingers in the process despite the care he takes. The spore gets dropped into the mud and crushed beneath his boot, but too little too late. It's clear that it had broken the skin and the area around it is already beginning to feel hot. ]

[ geralt approaches and trevor means to explain, he really does, but before he gets a chance to, geralt's already hissing and pulling something from his neck and trevor lets out a breath. ]

Yeah.

[ and whatever it is, it's acting fast. he'd complain that god's shitting in his dinner once again, that he's sick of this, whatever it is, but his mouth is dry and he figures that there are more important things to articulate than complaints right now.

so: ] Any - idea what it is?

[ although he's beginning to get some sense of what its effect might be, at least: he feels a little light-headed already, stomach tightening with a surge of undeniable want. ]

[ From the point of entry, the warmth spreads through his body alarmingly fast. It's not poison, Geralt knows that much immediately; rather than slowing him down or making him feel faint, he feels a newfound energy. And rather than pain, it brings a distinct and specific hunger. ]

None.

[ His voice is just above a growl. There's nothing back home that works like this, or that's strong enough to have an effect on him so quickly. ]

Think I know what it's doing, though.

[ He figures that Trevor probably knows by now too, if it's doing the same to him. Pretty hard to deny a surge of arousal this strong. This has the potential to become very awkward. Better to cut to the chase quickly and get it over with. ]

If you don't want to fuck, we should split up now. [ Blunt, but discretion is less important at this point than making his intentions clear. ] This is gonna to take some time to work through.

[ trevor knows what it's doing, too —he'd have to be a lot more naive than he is to be ignorant, especially given the way his cock is filling out in his trousers already, the way his mouth goes dry when geralt even mentions the word fuck.

this place is messed up, but it's still a lot better than the nighthordes, than dracula's war, than the bullshit the church keeps spouting.

trevor's teeth sink into his lower lip and he has to struggle to contain a moan before he can manage: ]

I'm not — [ god, he wants. ] opposed.

[ to fucking, he means. he's still a lot less used to doing it with men than he is with women and even that is not something that he's indulged in often or recently back in wallachia. even so: the way he steps toward geralt, the way he's reaching out tells its own story. ]

[ It's a good thing that Trevor's answer is affirmative, because Geralt gets far too distracted watching him bite his bottom lip. Thinking about doing that for him. ]

All right. Good. [ His words are already strained as his breath comes quicker. Trevor drifts toward him seemingly without even noticing it himself, and Geralt steps in to meet him, bringing them eye to eye. His hands curl around Trevor's forearms just above his wrists, but to pull in receptively rather than stop him. ] Really prefer to do this inside, though.

[ That way they can avoid being stung further. If this is what one dose of this shit does to him, he doesn't want to know how he might react to more. ]

Don't have much of a bed, but it's held up so far.

[ trevor would love to have geralt do that for him. he'd love to feel geralt's teeth against his lips or his neck or anywhere on his skin, to have geralt's hands on him, to touch and be touched —

the strain in geralt's voice makes his stomach tighten again, want surging, strong enough that he thinks he can taste it at the back of his throat. it's a desperate thing, overwhelming already, and he's barely holding himself together. geralt's hand finds his arm, pulling him in, and trevor moans, the noise startling but not something he could have kept inside, closing the last of the distance between them to fit himself against geralt's body, broad and solid like his own, seeking pressure against his swelling cock, friction, anything —

inside. right. yes. doing this inside would be good, wouldn't it? it takes him a moment to find his voice, throat working. ]

Lead the way.

[ Shit. The sound of that involuntary moan, the feel of Trevor's body against his--warm strong--does something to him. Specifically, it goes straight to his cock, already stiffening rapidly. Geralt's pupils contract briefly before they widen, darkening his eyes as he looks into Trevor's face.

He could just do it now--kiss him, take his mouth and worry at his lower lip, feel the scrape of the stubble around his mouth. The temptation is so strong he nearly gives in. But ultimately, nothing is better than sex in an actual bed--however shoddily made--and he isn't about to pass that up when he has the chance. With a tug on Trevor's arm, Geralt directs him wordlessly back the way he'd come.

Lucky that they know where to find each other. It isn't far at all to Geralt's camp. For once, he doesn't stop to greet Roach; he directs Trevor straight back to the room he sleeps in, which is the only space in the dilapidated house that has a roof that is almost completely intact. Most of his belongings are there, including his armor, swords, and most of Roach's tack. But most importantly: his bed. Which he's now shoving Trevor back toward. It's little more than a thin twin mattress and a mess of blankets on top of a simple frame, but at least it keeps him off the ground, and it hasn't collapsed yet. ]

[ the way geralt's gaze darkens has trevor almost moaning again. it's ridiculous, he thinks--he should have better control than this, should be stronger than this. (shouldn't look at another man like this at all, but fuck the church and their rules, really, this is one he'll more than happily trample all over, for all that it still gives him that instinctive pause.)

the family bestiary mentions succubi and related creatures. to a twelve-year old trevor, that had seemed exciting. now, he thinks it's a good thing that whatever it is, whether succubus or other, that's affecting him, he's glad it's with someone he already knows, that it isn't the sort of thing that happens between two people who'd otherwise be unwilling--or worse perhaps, with one person unwilling.

he runs through these thoughts, although none of them manage to linger, to really take hold in his mind, while geralt leads them back to his camp, into a room that has a roof and a bed, and then geralt's shoving him toward it and geralt has just enough presence of mind to shed some of his weapons, to drop the cape to the side, before he drops onto the bed, grabbing hold of geralt's shoulders and pulling him along. ]

[ As Trevor sheds the more cumbersome parts of his attire, Geralt does the same. For him, it's just the baldric strapped across his chest that holds his swords, which he lowers to the floor beside the bed after undoing the buckle. After that he's all Trevor's, and allows himself to be tugged into his space.

He's really fucking glad he isn't wearing armor.

One knee settles between Trevor's thighs on the bed, nudging firmly and deliberately against the outline of his cock. Geralt balances himself with a hand settled on a broad shoulder, uses the other to slide rough fingertips against the the dark stubble on Trevor's face, meeting his eyes and finding them dark and wide. Geralt inhales slowly, can smell--practically taste--Trevor's arousal, and that pulls on something low and hot in his belly, tugs it loose.

Cupping the firm, sharp edge of Trevor's jaw in his palm, Geralt tilts his face up so that he can lean down to kiss him sharply, both more certain of this and more desperate for it than he'd expected to be. ]

[ one of geralt's knees settles between his thighs, pressing against trevor's cock, and trevor moans helplessly, the sound dragged from deep within him. the sensation of pressure is enough to have him buck up, hips thrusting up and forward, rutting against the thigh that geralt's lodged there. there's little finesse to it, but trevor's not an elegant or sophisticated man by any stretch of the imagination.

it's only when geralt kisses him that he finds himself distracted from chasing the thrill of pleasure, from essentially dry-humping geralt's leg. it's sharp, certain and desperate in equal measure, and for a moment, trevor gives as good as he gets, nipping at geralt's lower lip —and then he yields, going pliant, lips softening, although the kiss grows no less urgent for it. ]

[ The moment Trevor's mouth softens Geralt presses in, sliding his tongue past Trevor's lips. His own sting from the drag of the other man's teeth, but he savors that feeling as he kisses him deeply. His knee rocks gently between Trevor's thighs as he presses back against it, providing the friction he's clearly craving. Geralt's fingers tighten around his shoulder.

It takes an immense amount of willpower to draw his mouth away, wet and aching. ]

Fuck, you're hard.

[ Rasped, almost amazed--like his own cock isn't obviously straining in his trousers. His knee rubs back against the motion of Trevor's hips, encouraging. A hand slides to the back of his neck as the other trails down his chest to the hem of his shirt. Geralt's fingers slide under it, over warm, taut skin, tracing prominent lines of muscle beneath the fabric. ]

Take this off. I wanna see you.

Yeah--

[ yes, he's hard. yes, he's going to take off his shirt. yes, yes, to anything geralt wants right now, in truth. just yes in general to this, to geralt. he's so hard, aching with it, every touch, every shift of their bodies, soothing the ache and deepening it all at once. it's maddening an it's wonderful and trevor wants, needs more.

he manages, after some fumbling, to get his shirt up over his head, to toss it aside. ]

You, too.

[ fair's fair, but it isn't really fairness that trevor's concerned with so much as with being able to feel skin against skin, to be able to run his hands freely over the expanse of geralt's chest, to feel solid muscle and warm skin under his fingertips, against his own chest without the cloth getting in the way. ]

[ Geralt is feeling much the same way. He just wants to feel Trevor's skin against his, the more contact the better. He hardly needs to be urged. As soon as the words are out of Trevor's mouth Geralt is pulling his own shirt over his head, letting it fall from his hands somewhere beside the bed. Unimportant right now. The only thing he's concerned with is getting his hands and his mouth back on Trevor.

He kisses him again with both hands cradling his face, teeth and tongue dragging over his lips. There's a rough edge to his kiss that continues even as he trails from trevor's mouth to his jaw to the curve of his neck, where Geralt scrapes his teeth hard over a pulse point. He inhales deeply, breathes him in. ]

Lay back.

[ Geralt moves reluctantly away as he begins to undo the laces of his own trousers with clear intent. ]

I'll help you with the rest.

Yeah—

[ trevor likes that idea. likes letting geralt pull the shots, determining what happens. some part of him thinks that maybe he shouldn't, that the last son of the house of belmont, the last monster hunter should, perhaps, take more control of a situation like this, shouldn't be quite so happy to submit to someone else —but then, what does 'should' matter these days?

the truth is that he likes this. that his cock jerks at the quiet command as much as the teeth against his pulse point, the hint of danger. geralt can best him in battle and that shouldn't add to the excitement, but it does.

to hell with should. trevor tips his head back, baring it. lying back, the way geralt's told him to, his breathing coming faster, more shallowly. ]

[ While the sight of Trevor doing as he's told and baring his throat in the process is tempting, Geralt manages to keep his goal in mind. It helps that this goal is relatively simple, and involves getting both of them undressed as soon as possible. This is easy enough to do for himself, all quick efficient movements as he loosens his laces and pushes his trousers and the simple undergarments beneath off his hips and down over his thighs, stepping out of them as soon as they're loose enough.

To do the same for Trevor will take a little more finesse, and Geralt is feeling increasingly impatient as the aphrodisiac in his system makes him crave tactile contact. His scarred body is now entirely bared as he shifts back onto the bed, nudging his way between Trevor's still clothed thighs.

Leaning over him, Geralt busies his hands with opening his pants while his mouth is drawn to the vulnerable stretch of his neck. He noses beneath Trevor's jaw again with a sigh before he presses another nipping kiss to the same spot. From there he works his way down, tugging at the waist of Trevor's pants as soon as they're loose enough to budge. ]

C'mon, [ he urges, breath hot. Another scrape of teeth follows. ] Let's get these off. I'll suck your cock.

God, fuck, yes. [ he's an eloquent man, really. (no, he's not. he's never had use for it, never needed to be. he isn't learned or sophisticated, isn't a scholalr. trevor's native language is the physical.)

there are scars on geralt's body; the same holds true for trevor, although there are perhaps not quite as many scars. either way, he finds himself appreciating the reminder that their lives cannot have been all that different, that there are some shared truths between them, even as he finds it increasingly difficult to form thoughts at all, to think of anything but touching geralt. so he does: running his hands over all that skin geralt's bared for him, trailing his fingers over scars and muscle, down geralt's spine.

he's got enough presence of mind still, at least, to lift his hips when geralt starts tugging at his trousers. ]

[ Luckily, fuck yes is all Geralt needs to hear. His lips don't shy from Trevor's scars as he works his way down his body, but neither does he focus on them in particular. A pleased hum rumbles up in his chest when he reaches Trevor's sternum, as the other man's hands explore his body, rough and curious.

With a joint effort they manage to peel Trevor's trousers and what's beneath down and off, baring the remainder of his body. He's built thickly with muscles that testify to the strength Geralt had felt when sparring with him. It's an easy body to appreciate, and Geralt does so without hesitation, nipping a hip bone as he leans down over him, a hand sliding between thick thighs to wrap around his cock.

Rather than getting immediately to what he'd promised, Geralt takes a little time to appreciate the newly bared skin spread out for him. He mouths along the inside of a thigh with kisses edged with teeth, all the way up to the crux of his hip. His hand, rough and dry, pumps slow over Trevor's cock from balls to tip and down again as his mouth sucks a mark into the skin just where thigh and groin meet. ]

[ it rains and it rains and it rains and by the time it stops, the landscape is lush and green and heavy with life. bobbi ought to have expected something odd, probably, and part of her does —but for all that she's pretending to be a civilian for the time being, there's no way she can keep herself from exploring, between scientific interest and her more active drive.

which is why she even comes into the vicinity of the plant that shoots a dart into her neck just after she's passed it. bobbi slaps a hand onto the spot but —too late. the dart works fast, her throat growing dry, stomach tightening with a surge of want that leaves her wet, breathing faster. by the time she stumbles across bellamy in a similar state, she's near-mindless with want, aching for something, someone— ]

[ Naturally after being cooped up out of the rain for so long, Bellamy wants to go back out and explore as soon as it's dry again. He's never seen plant life grow in such a short amount of time and something tells him (a voice inside his head that sounds a lot like Monty) not to get too close to what he doesn't recognize.

But even when he's being cautious, a dart ends up flying through the air and hitting him. The hell? He's pretty sure there's nobody hidden in the greenery, unless they're the best damn camouflagers in existence, which suggests a plant did it. Shit. He starts to panic, thinking he's been poisoned, but instead the attack leaves him feeling something entirely different to being sick. He might be sweating like he has a fever but he's hard—

And suddenly a beautiful woman is in front of him, looking as equally wrecked as he is. He tries to focus on her face but his eyes keep roaming over her body he'd normally be more subtle about sneaking a look at - her breasts, her ass, her thighs - fuck. ]

You okay? [ Clearly he isn't and he's already closing the distance between them like there's no stopping what's about to happen. ]

[ is she okay? the part of bobbi that's still clinging to awareness and rational thought almost laughs at the question because no, she's not at all okay and at the same time, she's great. she can't help but notice the way his gaze drops to her body, the way it lingers. she couldn't blame him for it even if she wanted to, not with the way her own gaze drops to his shoulders, his arms, the bulge in his pants, clearly visible. ]

Yeah. [ god, he looks good. she wants to touch him and he's already crossing the distance between them. bobbi reaches out to curl one hand over his shoulder, dragging him in. ] No. I need -

[He's not terribly bothered by the rain, to be honest, but there's something not particularly nice about the rain here. Maybe that's because the water on the ground has turned rather sludgy. He's not sure how to describe it, but anyway it's not something he wants to get caught in for too long.

Living off the charity and the kindness of bleeding hearts has always tended to serve him well, but the rain isn't letting up and he can't be choosy. He ducks into the first building that looks somewhat lived in and knocks on the first door that has disturbed dust around where the front door swings.]

Hello love. Place I was staying in got flooded. Do you mind...? [Cold water drips from his hair and while his trenchcoat has probably protected him from the brunt of the downpour, his shoes and the lower half of his pants are pretty soaked. With John it's probably two half-truths and ten lies but you never really know, his smile looks the same. He's not yet trying his best impression of the Puss in Boots eyes but he's pretty keen on finding a place to stay until the rain has stopped so he's not above trying other tactics if she's going to slam the door in his face.]

[ bobbi has managed, partially through foresight and ingenuity and partially by roping others into helping her, to get the run-down housing structure she's decided to settle in reasonably rain-proof. there's still a wet spot on the floor in one corner and the rain is loud on what passes for a roof, but it's mostly dry and mostly warm.

she's not expecting anyone, but she's not surprised when a knock comes, either —it isn't like this is the kind of place where everyone has a home, where everyone knows where to go. they're all somewhat reliant on one another, on figuring this out together.

(if she's pretending to be a civilian, it isn't because she distrusts the people who're here with her. it's that she distrusts whoever might have brought them here, no matter what the story is.) ]

Yeah, 'course.

[ she's stepping back already. ]

I'd offer you a towel, but - [ she gestures to the bare insides of the place. ] Decor's still a bit lacking.

[ she's not going to slam the door in anyone's face. bobbi morse swore an oath to be the shield, to protect, and that doesn't usually apply to rain, but it does mean that if she can offer some semblance of shelter, she damn well will.

plus, he's kind of cute. ]

S'alright mate. Cheers. [He has the courtesy not to just stroll in like he owns the place and keep his dripping to where he's standing. Wiping the sheet of water on his face off, doing a quick once-over sweep off his wristband, he takes a quick look around without latching onto anything in particular or saying anything - it's nice and quaint, sure, but mostly he's just checking he isn't intruding on anything.]

Sorry about the mess. [He apologises with a deep breath, flashing her a somewhat sheepish grin as he runs his cold hand through his wet hair, spiking it back up again. Shrugging his water-heavy trenchcoat off his shoulders, he hangs it next to the door. Without his coat he probably looks like a wet mormon come to tell her about Jesus, but that smile really isn't the door-to-door type.]

Actually I was on me way back after grabbing some rations. [He plucks out a sealed pack from one of his trenchcoat's interior pockets, offering it to her. At least didn't show up empty-handed? It might be laced with something a little extra, but that's not from his tampering. A lot of the food he's managed to find around here tends to have a similar effect. It's either that or he got three times randier since he arrived.]

[ honestly, there's really not much he could ruin about the place if he were to drop everywhere, but it's still a pleasant show of decent manners and common courtesy that he doesn't. bobbi wouldn't say she puts much stock in those things, but she still appreciates it. ]

No worries. [ she shrugs. getting caught up in the rain happens to everyone and in this place? bobbi figures not everyone even has shelter set up the way she's made sure to. ]

Yeah? [ she's about to say that she's all right when her stomach lets out a gurgling sound and the words turn into a wry grin instead. ] Guess I could eat, if you're offering.

[He's not going to stand there the whole time, if it's of any consolation. John doesn't really do awkward or proverbial or literal standing on ceremony. As soon as the dripping is a little more under control, soaking a bit into his newly exposed shirt and trousers, he starts moving.

After handing her the latest pack of rations he picked up, John perches on the edge of the kitchen counter.]

Been here since the first night? [He can tell she's done something to the place. It might need a couple more furnishings to be homely but it's functional as far as a safehouse goes.] Guess we're here for the long haul.

[ he hands her the pack of rations and she takes it with a quick thanks, unwrapping it and inspecting whatever's inside. ]

I'd offer you a towel, but I don't have any.

[ it really leaves a lot to be desired, little more than walls and a roof. at least there's a bed in one corner, blankets piled high on it in lieu of a mattress.

she could offer him one of those. maybe she will, if he's still dripping in a minute. ah, hell - ] Do you want a blanket instead?

It's alright, it's alright. [He didn't expect her to have a towel or anything. You'd think for a machine capable of dragging people from all over into one dilapidated city, it could have given a few minutes' warning to quickly throw together an overnighter at least.]

I'll just take this off, if you don't mind. [His shirt will be able to stay a lot drier if his hair isn't dripping all over it. He doesn't quite wait for her permission as he tugs his loose tie completely off and untucks his shirt, unbuttoning it from the top down. Hey it's a free show while she eats. He wasn't expecting any complaints.]

((ooc: let me know if this doesn't work! ))

[ The rain has been quite interesting. It's not something that Wonderland sees all too often (though London saw it frequently ... not that we speak of that place). He wanted to go out and explore in it even, though it was falling a bit too heavily. Being soggy isn't really on the agenda, so he waits until the rain stops again.

Less enthused about the plant life that's appeared, he wanders idly for a bit before deciding to turn in and devote his time to something else - like learning technology for example. That was the plan anyway, until some of the plants decided they'd rather he be a victim of their cursed existence.

He doesn't need any help getting in the 'mood', but as he's minding his own business, a couple of love darts come flying in his direction unnoticed. The first lodges itself in the Queen's back between his shoulder blades. The other might hit whomever is closest to him but he's not really paying attention to that, being far more offended that someone seemed to have attacked him. Even if a little sting hardly counts as an attack-- ] Ouch. Who—

[ His gaze rests upon Trevor, who may or may not have been the other victim of these particular darts. How is the Queen to know that though? ] Do you need something?

[ He is unaware that he may have exchanged thoughts about eggplants with this man at some point. But at least the annoyance he feels is rapidly getting replaced by ... something else? ]

[ this isn't the first time one of the darts has hit trevor. you'd think that he's learned to be more cautious and he has, but the little buggers are fast and —they keep hitting him. there's one ineffectively buried in the heavy cloth of his cape, another he's managed to dodge, but then there's a third that hits him just as he's about to call out to the red-headed guy to be careful,/i>, damn it (and why does he care? ugh), one that he misses.

at the question, he squints a little. ] No.

[ although he's already beginning to feel too warm, throat dry. ]

I might, in a minute. [ these plants deserve to be cut, really. ] So maybe you should-- walk the other way.

[ the Queen really has no idea what he's gotten into just now. All he knows is that one moment he's offended and mere seconds later, he's... interested. Far more interested than he'd normally be in someone who definitely stung him with a dart, and is most certainly another grown man. Definitely! ]

I won't.

[ The true answer is that he can't, really. Suddenly his thoughts are racing, and they all involve this gentleman. He doesn't know how he could escape this if he tried, never having been so fixated upon one person before quite like this. ]

I cannot simply let such an offense pass.

[ Again, more excuses. ]

[ trevor should probably have known better than to venture out, than to trust the fresh air and sprouting vegetation after the rainfall. he should have known better —but he ventures outside of his shelter regardless and while wandering around in search of one of the weird bots to ~~kick~~ ask for food or alternatively some kind of animal that looks like it'll be edible after being grilled, a vine snakes around his wrist.

he notices it a beat too late, the vine already snapping taut, capturing him, and a moment later there's another and then another, binding his wrists and his ankles together, immobilising him. trevor struggles, of course, using every trick in the book and some not even in the book, but to no avail: he's well and truly trapped.

for a while, he just sighs. the plants seem content to keep him where he is, at least, not actively harmful. there may be some muttering about how god shit's in his dinner again, but it isn't until he spots someone else, someone familiar with a very large sword that's surely perfect for cutting through vines, that trevor raises his voice. ]

Uh. A little help, here?

[zack blinks, not expecting to run into anyone on his little venture out in the wild. mostly because he figures that, by now, were there any people who decided to go out would know that they'd be doing it at their own risk—considering how the plants were acting, overall.]

[which is why it's surprising to him, and then he sees his buddy from the other night, trevor.]

Hey!

[he trots on over, the darkening skies allowing for his eyes to glow a little unnaturally, and he's reaching the trapped man diligently, a hand over his shoulder.]

You good? I don't even wanna think how long you've been here.

[but he steps back, no need in being told twice about needing help, and heaves his sword over his head to cut at the vines holding the man in place.]

—watch your step.

Yeah. Hi.

[ trevor's glad to see zack. there's a part of him, stubborn and prideful, that doesn't like that anyone's seeing him this way, but trevor pushes it down. he's grown adept at ignoring it over the years; there's no space for pride or shame in the kind of life he's led. ]

Think my hands are asleep.

[ legs, too, maybe, circulation cut off, so when zack cuts the vines holding him, he stumbles a little, reaching out to steady himself against zack's shoulder.

it's in that moment of distraction that a dart shoots out from one of the flowers growing on the vines, then another. one buries itself deep in the back of trevor's neck. ]

[if his hands are asleep then his feet must be, too. zack hears it and expects the man to come stumbling forward, so he makes a point of keeping the buster sword at a distance so that trevor doesn't cut himself on it—and at the same time provide something of a steadying-point for him.]

—mph, right you are.

[bracing himself and using one hand to hold onto trevor's shoulder, from his position it's for zack to notice what's happening behind the man.]

Shit, darts.

[again, and so zack's stance is to put an arm under trevor and help him move out of the way as quickly as possible. there's no point in standing here like idiots, being target practice. a few more darts shoot their way, a few whizzing past them, but a couple sticking to their skin.]

How're those legs of yours?

[because zack doesn't want to know what an extra dose of those will do to them.]

I'm all right.

[ he's not entirely all right, but he'll get there. he will— if the dart and its effect don't get to him first. with zack's arm beneath him, helping him move, he can. he manages a few steps, stumbling a little but groping at his hip for his whip and managing to pull a few of the darts from the air before they can bury themselves in their skin.

a few of them. not all. ]

🌊 le déluge

» geralt

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» babybell

bless u for using his proper title

ofc!!!

Bobbi Morse

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love darts for trevor

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sorry for the delay!

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het spijt me ✌️

alles goed hoor 😘

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