lusi | (open) wind's howling

Entry tags:

(open) wind's howling

● WHO: geralt & all
● WHAT: event open post, closed starters, & monthly catch-all
● WHEN: throughout june
● WHERE: anywhere!
● WARNINGS: sex, aphro, violence

i. wind's howling. (rain)

[ When the rain starts, Geralt is glad he'd had the forethought to weatherproof his little campsite. It comes in starts at first, at times even while the sun is still shining, but when the storm really rolls in, it pours nonstop from the darkened sky. There's so much water all at once that Geralt worries about flooding, but the soil seems to be porous enough, thankfully, to soak up much of the water. Still, it means an uncomfortable day and night of hunkering down to wait out the weather.

Used to living outdoors, Geralt accepts it as an inevitable inconvenience; he's got blankets, a mattress on a tall (if shoddy) bedframe, a fire built in one part of the half-collapsed building he's set up in, and makeshift canvas tarps laid out on the floor and beneath the roof of one of the more intact rooms. Roach, his horse and such a constant in his life that the Augur had apparently thought to bring her here with him, is tethered near the fire to keep her warm and relatively dry.

Out of necessity Geralt ventures out at least once while the rain is heaviest, retrieving a bucket he'd put out to collect clean water for both himself and Roach and pluck up some of the grass that's already started to sprout for her to munch on. If anything could convince him to brave this miserable weather, it's caring for his horse.

But he isn't the only one out. Eyes narrowing to see through the gloom and the water cascading from the sky, Geralt approaches. ]

You trying to catch your death out here?

[ His low growl might be hard to hear over the pounding of rain against the ground, so he gets closer, nodding his head back in the direction of his camp. ]

Come on. Got somewhere warm to sleep, if you want.

ii. after the storm (plants, love darts)

[ There is plenty to be done in the aftermath of the rain. Shelters need to be repaired, supplies need to be gathered, and all of this new growth of flora needs to be investigated. With a pretty extensive knowledge of flowers, plants, root, and berries, he's looking for anything that might be familiar or prove useful, whether to create decoctions, blade oils, simpler poultices, or just to eat. A lot of the plants, especially the flowering ones, are entirely new to him. Given his experiences so far he hadn't exactly expected to find a whole lot he'd recognize, but some of these things are so strange-looking that he has to take his time examining them.

Footsteps nearby make him turn instinctively toward whoever might be drawing closer, and as he moves, so does the plant he'd been looking at. Whether with a cloud of pollen, a spray of nectar, or the shooting of a sharp burr, Geralt stumbles back a step with a snarl. ]

Shit. Careful.

[ It's as much a self-admonishment as it is a warning. He has no idea what these things are capable of. While he's immune to most known poisons and toxins, that doesn't mean he won't have a really bad time of it anyway if something proves to be particularly concentrated.

The effects of these plants are varied, from a simple but fast-acting aphrodisiac dart to a nerve-stimulating pollen that draws pleasure out of even the simplest touches to a nectar that brings out baser instincts. ]

iii. wildcard

( open to robot fights--with planning!--and options for other plants apart from passionfruit. open to gen for all, smut for characters 21+. if you're going for smut and we haven't discussed it already, please pm or leave a comment here so we can iron things out. )

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ A day or so after the rain ends and the ground has a chance to dry is as good a time as any to meet up with Diana for the spar they'd discussed. For his part, Geralt has been looking forward to it since that night, and after several restless days spent cooped inside by the rain, he's more than ready to get out and stretch. He'd ventured to guess that she would feel the same.

Despite how inept he continues to be at texting, Geralt at least has the foresight to send a message to confirm this and to choose a time and place to meet. The time is several hours after noon; the place, a small clear area a street over from and past the hospital. Up until a few days ago the ground had been barren and dry, but now sports a carpet of soft green grass and flowers. The metallic skeleton of a jungle gym stands not far away, marking the little square as a former park, though Geralt hardly knows that. He mistakes what's left of the structure for some sort of training apparatus, which, considering his own childhood, checks out.

When Diana arrives he's sitting cross-legged in the grass, shrugging out of the thick layer of his gambeson. He's forgone his armor entirely, leaving him in the quilted trousers that go along with it and a thin linen shirt rolled up past his elbows. ]

Hey.

[ It's gruff as far as greetings go, but his eyes are bright when they fall on her, and there's a twitch of his lips that could be a precursor to a smile. His hands now busy themselves with pulling his hair back into an orderly ponytail at the nape of his neck using a thin leather cord. ]

Didn't know what kind of sparring you'd be interested in, but I can go along with most anything.

[Diana isn't good at sitting still, even when she sets aside time to do exactly that. She tries meditating during the deluge, but it only occupies her for so long. There is still so much work to be done on this island, and she's eager to get started.

But first, she needs to work out some of her pent-up energy. And a spar is the perfect way to do that.

As soon as she sets foot outside the makeshift house she's helped put together, she's struck by the change in the landscape. To see so much greenery puts her heart at ease; it reminds her of her home, in the smallest way. But that doesn't make it less comforting. So it is with a smile that she straps her sword to her back, leaving her lasso, shield, and armor at the house as she sets out to meet Geralt for their spar.

She is dressed simply, in a pair of black leggings and a dark t-shirt. She doesn't look as if she's ready for any sort of fight, but she doesn't seem to notice. Diana raises an arm in greeting when she sees him, breaking into a trot to close the distance between them.]

Hey yourself.

[Her smile is open and earnest, her eyes holding a spark of excitement.]

As can I. [She pulls off her baldric, holding her sword by the sheath and shrugging a little.] But it's been a while since I've used a blade.

[Once upon a time, and not so very long ago at that, her unthinking reply to such a blunt question would've been something like: "Well, yeah." But that was then and this is now, where despite being soaked through and looking like a half-starved drowned rat, Lys just looks up in surprise from the simplistic rain catchment system she's managed to rig up from scavenged materials—makeshift tarps stretched just tightly enough, water filtering through the cloth to collect in buckets below.]

Eh? No, just— [Whatever was supposed to come next is interrupted by a full-body shiver. Then another one, and another. Maybe she overestimated how effective her guild uniform was at offering protection from rain as well as cold, after all.] ....you're sure?

[ She does look pretty miserable out here, though she's got the right idea with her water collection system. Still, Geralt isn't trying to be out here any longer than he has to be. He's not wearing his armor because wearing leather and metal in rain like this is the quickest way to fuck it up, but that also means he's getting absolutely soaked. He shields his eyes against the water with one hand, and the catlike pupils expand so that he can see her face clearly in the storm-dark twilight. ]

Yeah. Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.

[ Gruff, impatient, but sincere. He's already beginning to turn back in the direction of his camp; the light of the fire can be seen through the doorless entryway leading into the half-collapsed building that had once been a house. ]

This way. Bring the water.

[ The first thing Clover had noticed in his bid to escape the downpour was the horse. For one brief, paralyzing moment he could only make out the murky silhouette of the four-legged creature and something either standing by it or erupting out of it. Only his concerns of coming up against some sort of underdeveloped Nuckelavee were allayed when before he could get closer the second figure closed the distance.

It was a man and one who carried himself well. Maybe not comfortable in their shared predicament but clearly familiar with harsh environments to the point of being not noticeable disconcerted. There was a good chance that Clover's fortune favored him and he found himself crossing paths with another professional. Or some sort of survivalists but he wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. ]

More like I was scouting the area, but now you've got me curious.

( ooc: 'winds howling' gave me wandering around novigrad flashbacks )

[It's a thin face, pale and rainswept, with dark hollows under the bright blue eyes, but young and expressive enough to broadcast the surprise still writ large across her face.

It's something about the decided way he turns back toward his camp, the determined set of his shoulders and the gruff edge to his voice, that quells whatever protests or prevarications she'd normally fall back on. Maybe it reminds her of someone; maybe that's not important right now. Pausing just long enough for another clap of thunder to shake the sky, she shakes the wet hair from her vision and grabs the two buckets already filled more or less to the brim.]

Ah⁠— okay, I've got 'em.

[Holding them close in her arms instead of by the handle, she follows behind, careful not to outpace him or get in the way.]

[ Maybe she doesn't look dressed for a fight, but neither does he. This isn't so formal, anyway. They're here to test one another out. That requires little but weapons and the ability to read an opponent. He anticipates a little scraping and bruising, as with any good spar, but looks forward to it.

Geralt pushes himself up onto his knees, then gets to his feet, picking up his own sheathed sword from the grass. It's the steel sword only, the silver stored away back at his camp with the rest of his things. No need to bring it out today. ]

Don't think that means I'll go easy on you.

[ His lips stretch a little wider into a more obvious smile, though like most of his expressions, there is something muted about it.

He draws his sword slowly, letting the scabbard fall from his hand back to the ground. Holding the hilt loosely, he lays the blade flat across the palm of his other hand to display it. It's a pretty weapon, with runes running the length along the fuller, a braided guard, and a wolf's head snarling at the pommel, identical to the medallion he wears. But it shows signs of use as well, though well-made and meticulously cared for. Hardly a show piece. ]

Think this will hold up?

[ He nods to Diana's sword, curious already just from looking at the hilt. ]

[ A soft snort under his breath shows well enough what Geralt thinks of that answer. ]

Could've chosen a better time for that.

[ Still, he doesn't rescind his invitation. He looks the man over, able to see well even in the low light. Tall--taller than him, which is uncommon enough to be notable--broad, carries himself with confidence. But Geralt doesn't comment further. Instead he picks up the bucket of water before turning back in the direction of his camp. His fire is a point of light in the dark some few houses down, casting Roach's distinctive shadow as far as the rain will allow. ]

This way.

( ooc: lmao i'm so glad i could do this for you )

[ Geralt hefts his own bucket, making to slow his pace so that she can follow him with hers. But he finds quickly that there's no need. She keeps up, and when he glances back at her, he can see now what he hadn't been able to while she was crouching. She's thin, but her arms are corded with lean muscle, and she's much taller than he'd initially calculated--taller than him, even, he notes with surprise.

They're both soaked by the time they make it back to his camp, but he'd expected as much when he went out. Just hadn't expected to be returning with company. Past the doorless threshold is what had been the main room of the house. The roof is half collapsed, but other side holds strong, which is where he's built his fire, and where Roach stands in the corner, her tack and gear along the wall nearby. Geralt delivers his presents to her before anything else, emptying a satchel of wet greens in front of her, then filling up his own waterskin before he sets the bucket by her as well. He pulls her saddle blanket up to her withers and pats her neck idly as he turns to his guest. ]

You can put those down anywhere. [ Despite the rumbling quality of his voice, Geralt doesn't speak loudly, or with any particular authority. ] Got plenty of fuel for the fire, so it should be warm enough in here tonight. More blankets, too.

[ Clover is without a doubt sopping wet and by all rights should be shivering like a leaf in a gale from the cold. Only he stands there with an idle smile and near indifference to the frigid downpour despite his bare arms and light clothing.

For a brief instant, Clover's naked shoulders are lapped with an iridescent green-hued color like water catching the light. The active aura protecting him winking in and out of perception. ]

No better time to find the abnormal when everyone in their right mind is seeking shelter. [ Clover pointed out before moving in step with the white-haired man and yielding to his direction. ]

[ That brief flicker of color is more interesting than anything yet. Geralt's first instinct is to suspect magic, but his medallion sits quietly against his chest. Something else, then. This fucking place. Everything here that should be magic isn't.

He leads Clover back anyway. He's made his home in the remains of someone else's. Half the roof of the main room has collapsed, leaving a wide overhang still intact and a smaller room beyond where he's used a tarp to cover the holes in the ceiling. The bed he's managed to collect and most of his belongings are in there. A fire is blazing beneath the overhang in the main room. Roach stands between it and the door, nosing at the ground. As soon as he's out of the rain, Geralt gives her something better: the greens he'd collected outside. He dumps the satchel in front of her and sets down his bucket of water before turning back to Clover. ]

What kind of abnormal are you looking for?

[ Clover was quiet but his expression betrayed a skepticism. The slight curl to his lips when the smell of wet horse hit him downwind. He was used to hard environments, yes. Just ones that were too frigid to hold onto the damp, dirty smells of the wilderness.

Only he doesn't feel entirely judgemental. This place was a clean, well lit for what anyone could manage in these conditions. Truly, he was impressed and only followed in step because Geralt seemed to know what he was going.

Clover watches Geralttend to his steed for a moment, keep a respectful and watchful distance by the fire. Only when spoken to does he speak up. ]

It's a strange world. I was hunting monsters.

( ooc: reaches for a yen account )

[Stepping inside the protective overhang of what remains of the roof, she waits to see if he'll say anything else — and seems vaguely gratified when he does, obediently (and carefully) putting the buckets down where they won't be accidentally knocked over during a moment of inattention. Her gaze lingers on Roach, though, unsubtle and too-direct, the corners of her mouth twitching in an hesitant smile as she keeps her distance. While a rare thing, domesticated animals occasionally spooked if she got too close; instincts rising up and lashing out because of something they smelled, or perhaps only sensed.]

You managed to find all of this? That's really impressive.

[Gaze flickering from him to Roach and back again, she takes a seat by the fire, not yet moving to take off her soaked, dripping-wet outer layers.]

Sorry, that I didn't have another tarp. At least, not one big enough one to maybe cover up part of the roof, block out the wind...

[ Gladio, meanwhile is feeling soaked to the bone. His attire is treated leather for the most part, but even that has it's limits. As the rain fell and it fell to him, an avid outdoorsman, realized he wasn't as well equipped to rough it as he was certain he was. Somehow, between departing his world and entering this one, he had somehow lost all his camping equipment. All of it. Every stake, every pole, the compact tent bag, the folding camp kitchen and chairs... even his damn hammer was gone. He's no wilting flower. For a city boy who could hardly be called dressed for the weather, he seems to be weathering the storm just fine despite being drenched to the bone. The small lens clipped to his jacket casts a cold light to chase off the darkness, and his breath mists in the air as he listens through the sound of rain for signs of life. His own shelter proved too inadequate for days of this downpour, so he'd ventured out in search of supplies.

And that's how he ran into the Witcher. ]

Under the circumstances, I'm inclined to take you up on that offer. Thanks.

[ He swipes a palm through the beads of moisture on his face, a futile attempt at clearing his lashes and brows of rainwater. He hasn't felt dry or warm for a few days now, and he knows the lack of food isn't helping. A little rest, some respite from the wet and the cold would be a remedy for the exhaustion that's turning his limbs into lead. The man has a dangerous look that sets Gladio on edge but with no king currently present to defend, there's no real reason for him to be suspicious -- not when he can literally see the respite of a dry and warm shelter. Trudging after the Witcher, Gladio decides to make small talk. ]

The name's Gladio.

I would never want you to.

[Though she's simply stating a fact, there is a hint of a challenge in her voice. She's found that men tend to underestimate her time and again, and while it's annoying, it has certainly worked in her favor over the past hundred years. Often, unnecessarily. But she doesn't want Geralt to underestimate her; she wants him to fight her on equal footing. Well, as equal as she can give him. She isn't about to unleash the entirety of her divine strength on him, after all.

She spends a moment admiring his blade, noting the runes (which she doesn't recognize, strangely) and the intricate guard. It's a fine piece, and she thinks Antiope would have loved to see it. Then she draws her own sword, tossing the sheath to the grass. She offers it forward as well, laying the flat of the blade against her forearm and holding it out for him to see. Her weapon, too, has clearly seen many years of use, but its edge is sharp and true. It isn't the Godkiller, but the Sword of Athena; she spent many years tracking the ancient weapon down as a replacement for the one Ares destroyed.]

I think so. Will mine?

[ The camp is cozy and well-kept, at least, as clean as any temporary quarters in a half-destroyed building in the pouring rain could be. It suits Geralt just fine. By the fire, he begins to shed his wet outer layers almost immediately. His gambeson is completely water-logged, so he lays it out to dry. Beneath, his white linen shirt is soaked through as well, though at Clover's answer he pauses before removing it. ]

Yeah? [ Though his expression betrays little, his gold eyes are bright, reflecting the light of the fire as he looks intently across the small room. ] Find anything interesting?

[ He certainly hasn't. It really seems like the only living creatures in this city are the ones brought here by the Augur. ]

(ooc: !!!!! 👀 if you test drive...please let me know! )

[ If Lys does decide to edge nearer to Roach, she won't spook easily. She belongs to a witcher, and is far more accustomed than most animals to the presence and the scent of not only werewolves, but most of the creatures Geralt encounters on a regular basis. Geralt, for his part, notices her attention lingering on Roach--can't help but notice, really--but doesn't think much of it. Maybe she's just fond of horses. He wouldn't blame her; he likes Roach far more than he likes most people. ]

Found some, had some already, got some from the robots at the hospital. [ He undoes the ties of his gambeson with practiced motions, then drops the sodden garment beside the fire to dry. The much thinner linen shirt he wears under it is wet all through as well, but he doesn't move to take it off. ]

It's fine. [ He dismisses her apology without fanfare. ] Bed's in the back room. [ There is a mostly-intact door leading from this room into another, one where the roof hasn't caved in. Most of his belongings are there, along with the singular piece of furniture he'd been able to procure from the robots. ] It'd fill with smoke pretty quickly, so no fire. But it's mostly dry.

[ He has a seat after she does, far enough away that someone else could easily sit between them, but companionable enough. ]

You can sleep there or here. Up to you.

No, that's my problem.

[ Clover out his hands on his hips and almost seemed to sound miffed. The way prized game hunters sound when they discover their preferred species of prey up and went extinct. Sure, he didn't want to find anything like the creatures of Grimm here. Just he didn't want to be idle, either.

There's likewise a lack of hesitation as Clover started to remove his sleeveless jacket and the fitted grey shirt underneath. Taking up the offer of being by a fire in earnest in light of his apparent resilience to the cold. Being damp just wasn't pleasant. ]

My friend, James Ironwood, is organizing a reconnaissance to map out that place. I was doing my own scouting but when they said it was desolate they meant it. Guess the only thing we have to really worry about is what comes in.

[ He pauses and turns back towards Geralt with an easy smile. ]

I'm Clover, by the way.

( ooc: you'll be the first to know )

[ bobbi's settled in a small place that she's managed to largely waterproof, but the unfortunate truth is that she's managed to do that, but not to stockpile enough food to wait out a storm —and so when the rain starts but isn't quite a downpour yet, she ventures out in the hopes of getting food and drinkable water for the place.

what she gets instead is a veritable rainstorm, plastering her hair to her head and soaking her clothes. she's got some rations tucked away under her jacket, at least, so the trip wasn't for nothing, but when geralt offers his camp, much closer than the place she's calling her own now, she's glad not to have to keep going. glad, too, that it's someone she already knows (biblically, at least).

so she gives him a thumbs up, shouting over the storm - ] Thank you.

[ she'll repeat the same thing, at a more normal volume, once they're inside, the rain beating hard against the roof and the canvas spanned beneath it but not onto their heads anymore. bobbi reaches up to wipe some water from her face, to push her hair back. ]

I appreciate the rescue.

[ The fact that Gladio is both quick and courteous ingratiates him to the Witcher immediately. Geralt's response to the offered thanks is a silent nod. They don't stand around in the rain going back and forth, but return with haste to Geralt's shelter, where both talking and assessment can take place without being further pelted and soaked.

Gladio speaks up just before they cross the threshold into the small dilapidated house Geralt has been camping in. There is no door, and half the roof of the main room has caved in, but beneath the eaves of the part that is still intact a fire has been built. Roach, Geralt's mare, stands in the corner away from the fire, casting a long shadow. ]

Geralt.

[ He delivers the goods he'd ventured out to collect to Roach, who begins to munch immediately on the greens he dumps before her. ]

I've got more blankets in the back room, but it'll probably be warmest by the fire tonight.

[ As Clover talks, Geralt goes back to removing that last layer, pulling the shirt up over his head to lay it beside his gambeson. Though he thinks little of it, the map of scars covering his torso likely speak more to his own experience with hunting monsters than anything else could, with obvious claw and bite marks spanning over great sections of skin. But the witcher is paying close attention to Clover's explanation even more so than his stripping. Rather than commenting immediately, he waits and listens, responding only when Clover offers his name. ]

Geralt.

[ The way he responds is little more than a grunt before he's continuing with more important topics. ]

That's what I've found, too. No monsters, no other humans. Just the ruins of an empty city. Nothing to show for how it got this way.

[ Geralt, at least, isn't the type to underestimate woman warriors. He's met and fought alongside some incredible ones, and even besides, he knows how to estimate skill. The way Diana moves, the way she handles her blade, even sheathed, show him that she knows what she's doing.

And when he gets to see the sword itself, he's convinced. He lowers his own to his side as he steps in to admire hers more closely. It's both beautiful and sturdy, and--likewise--decorated with symbols that are unfamiliar to him. ]

Don't think it'll be a problem.

[ He leans in to look at the portrait inlay near the crossguard: a woman in profile. The work is stunning. ]

Damn. Impressive.

[ It's a good thing too, despite being treated leather, there's only so much it can repel before the man is soaked through and through. The dry warmth of a fire is just what the doctor ordered, but it'll take time to dry off. His jacket feels like it weighs a ton, so it's the first to come off, and Gladio starts to swipe off excess water from his heavily tattooed body before the his eyes fall on the shadow.

Gladio has a wealth of knowledge of the flora and fauna of Eos, knows a lot about how to harvest the choicest pieces for food or other supplies. He can break off horns and extract scales, divesting from fallen creatures of their valuables as any survivalist might. But he can't place the name of the animal before him. ]

Uh... nice pet.

[ Gladio stares at the animal. It... kinda looks like some creatures he's fought before, but something about it looks domesticated. It's... big. It also smells weird. Not the unusual 'musk' of a Chocobo, but it's definitely an animal. Still, shelter is shelter and he's not about to grouse about sharing it with some enormous, four-legged beast of burden. Gladio keeps a respectful distance because... hell, most long legged creatures he's encountered really know how to kick.

Instead, he jerks a thumb towards the mare and lifts a thick brow at the Witcher. ]

It got a name too?

[ Just his luck that an attempt to make friendly with one of the new arrivals - a guy who, by the look of him, would have been a useful ally out here - would end in the both of them getting sprayed with some kind of mystery pollen. The bright spores stood out on Qrow's dark clothing, sticking stubbornly to both fabric and skin despite his stubborn attempts to brush them away. ]

Oh, fuck. Didn't mean to spook you.

[ He frowned, making no headway in getting any of the gunk off. He didn't like how it was starting to make his skin tingle. ]

The hell is this?

[ The first thing Clover noticed was that there wasn't going to be a lot of back and forth. The odd-eyed man seemed more content to listen and process than chime in. Which was a mark in his favor for Clover; it was smart. Caution around newcomers was as important as it was around the crumbling world they all now found themselves on. Being observant could save your life out here when everything was so uncertain.

Clover took note of the man's scars that marred too pale skin in a jigsaw of patterns. The huntsmen in him noted the size of apparent claw and bite marks in an attempt to ascribe Grimm species to them. Nothing added up. This man may not have fought Grimm, but he was a veteran with the body to show for it. With white hair and face full of lines and stubble he clearly managed to also live well beyond the average hunter.

Interesting. ]

Geralt. [ Clover repeated the name with a friendly if neutral expression. ]

Aside from the robots, I guess we're left with ruins and a few dozen people just as lost as we are. Who's your friend? [ Clover nodded towards the horse. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 5

(open) wind's howling

(closed) for diana

no subject

1, up to you if their tdm thread went to a face-to-face meetup or not!

i'd say this is their first face-to-face meeting!

1

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i. wind's howling (cw: accidental stimulation, rubbing/grinding) - sorry for the wait, work ate me

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wind's howling

ahh no worries!!

no subject

no subject

oops ignore the cw from earlier, got my wires crossed XD

ii. plants (sensory play!)

no subject