inbox for aefenglom

[whattaprick]

[ TEXT | VOICE | VIDEO ]

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action; post-black city dream @ the sly seadog

[atouts]

[ Well, Lambert had offered to buy him a drink and, after that shitshow of a mass dreaming, Childermass can't quite help but think that he might actually need one for once. That's why, against all possible belief -- for, surely, the witcher hadn't expected him to ever take the offer up -- he's walking into the Sly Seadog and taking a look around from the entryway. ]

[whattaprick]

[ No, the witcher certainly hadn't expected the magician to show up at the tavern, which he'll find in the Harbor District. It's an establishment that seems to have seen better days, though the rowdy chatter from the patrons inside -- a mix of man and monster, though the latter often look more rough-and-ready -- is lively enough.

There's no immediate sign of Lambert, though there is a loosely-gathered group of people that seem to be watching some spectacle, not visible from the doorway. More immediately, though, Childermass is going to have to contend with the bouncer on duty, a heavy-set chimera who grunts at him and tells him they're no tourist attraction -- if he isn't coming inside, he'd better get out of here. ]

[atouts]

[ That's what he gets for hanging out there, he supposes, simply giving the bouncer a nod and moving on into the tavern without causing a fuss. He does realize he looks a little out of place these days but it's not the first sailor dive he's been in, though those days were long since gone with his youth.

While he does mean to head for the bar and order something regardless of whether Lambert is here or not, it's hard to ignore the group gathered further into the tavern. So, he drifts that way first, curious to see what's happening. ]

[whattaprick]

[ A contest, that much is clear from the murmured betting amongst the audience, but once Childermass gets close enough, he’ll actually see the competitors. A burly faun with impressive ram horns is fixed in an arm wrestling contest with Lambert, the muscles in their arms taut with tension as they try to pin the other down.

It’s a little hard to tell who’s winning at the moment, but the witcher’s mad grin reveals teeth more slightly pronounced than they used to be, and his fingers end in long, blunt claws. ]

Give it up, old goat. [ He sneers. ] We know who’s walking away from this.

[ The exertions of the evening — he’s already more than a few drinks in, that much is obvious— have the back of his shirt riding up, exposing a strip of sandy fur that disappears into his waistband. ]

[atouts]

[ Somehow he's not surprised. By finding the witcher here and that they have an arm-wrestling contest going both. Childermass will ease his way into a spot amongst the crowd, though not directly to the fore or in plain sight of Lambert. He's in no rush and he isn't about to stop any of their fun, even finding some amusement in watching it himself.

He would point out they're both walking away, technically, but, again, he's not here to ruin anyone's fun. Quietly watching will have to do for now. ]

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert isn’t so monstrous as some of the tavern’s other patrons, but he seems curiously strong despite that, or at least confident he’s a match for it. Muscles in shoulders all tense one after the other as he really puts his back into it for one last push, hands shaking as they vie for triumph.

With a resounding slam, the faun’s arm hits the table and there’s a mix of cheering from the winners and groans of disgust from the losers, muttering about how they can believe he’s still going, he’s been at it all night! Lambert laughs and straightens; the bartender calls to him to bstop breaking his co-worker’s arms just because he’s done for the night. ]

[atouts]

[ That Lambert's been at this all night is a skeptical claim to Childermass but he's not the one making it himself, so, perhaps more believable. He takes in the general banter among the tavern-goers, the bartender yelling at him, and comes away with the general idea that the witcher works here regularly enough for everyone to know him.

It means he's definitely the outsider here right now but, as usual, Childermass isn't about to let that bother him. Instead, he'll just linger where he took up watching from while the other patrons depart and the faun grumbles and cusses under his breath before getting up to leave.

Only once it's a tiny bit quieter — it's a tavern, so actual quiet is impossible — will he speak up. ]

I suppose this means your muscles are more than just for looks after all.

[ Which is a joke in itself, considering Lambert isn't exactly an adonis amongst men to begin with here. ]

[niespodzianka]

YOU GOING OR NOT

[ No one's told him he's not texting correctly yet. ]

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert's not going to be the one to tell him, but-- ]

don't know where you're asking about going so probably not

[niespodzianka]

[ Bitch. ]

THE CITYFROM THE
DREAM

[whattaprick]

[ Okay, but bitches turn Geralt on so... ]

oh

then no because like fuck i’m getting ordered around again

what about you?

[niespodzianka]

[ Die jealous of Eskel and Geralt's weird Spartan homoerotic upbringing ]

YEAH

[whattaprick]

gross

have fun i guess

i get your stuff if you die right

voice.

[niespodzianka]

[ Alright now that he's been a dick on the watch network - ]

Burn the house down yet?

voice.

[whattaprick]

[ Look, it's not like he has normal ways of communicating affection or anything. ]

Sure did. Sold the last of the pieces for charcoal and everything.

Having a nice trip?

[niespodzianka]

I might actually care about how you've been. And if there's anything weird going on in Aefenglom with all us hive-pokers away.

[ Geralt's just suspicious enough of this sorceress to think something might be up with the invite, of course. ]

No.

[whattaprick]

Sure took you long enough. [ Yeah, so maybe he cares about how Geralt's been too, shut up.

But Geralt's asking him a question, and as much of a buffoon as Lambert likes to act, he's not that unobservant. ]

You mean besides the full moon crap? Been hearing some rumors around work. [ The perks of working at a tavern part-time. ] Looks like some people have been having the bright idea to go after Bonded pairs. Threatening letters, breaking into houses and businesses that have got to do with the Coven ... harassment, basically, but nobody's been able to prove anything.

[ He sucks in air sharply through his teeth, thinking -- and if his voice sounds slightly off, well, that's thanks to some unwanted new teeth growth that's chosen to stick around after the full moon. Not that Lambert's in letting Geralt see that. He can find out about it later, if he comes back. ]

[niespodzianka]

[ He's been busy, unlike some people. ]

There's no full moon, here.

[ Geralt regrets mentioning it as soon as it's out of his mouth. Maybe Lambert doesn't need to have his decision to stay behind rubbed in. So he moves on quickly-- ] Huh? After all the fucking peer pressure to be Bonded and happy? Wonderful. I'm sure that has nothing to do with abrupt contact with a city running on subjugation instead of balance.

[whattaprick]

[ Geralt's hunch isn't incorrect; as soon as he says as much, Lambert's frowning, but the only thing that saves Geralt from more bitching (are you trying to make me feel bad?) is the bizarreness of the scenario he's describing. ]

No moon? How the fuck does that work?

honey i'm home

[niespodzianka]

[ There's no announcement - the dignitaries had an official reception at the docks, probably, and the first wave of returned rogue agents have likely trickled in already, aided by Resistance members. But Geralt stayed longer, both to help Caster's gang of lunatics and sever a few extra heads.

Geralt dumps his boots, belts, swords in the gear rack that certainly exists in this house, too exhausted to notice any potential damage Lambert has wrought upon the place. Maybe there's a wall missing. Maybe there are hookers everywhere. It is a mystery. Geralt is bloody and reeks of gore and smoke and poison, and he is trudging upstairs.

choose your own adventure
a) Lambert is home, thread proceeds without narrative pause
b) Lambert is not home, greeted eventually by Geralt's shit on the main floor, and his bedroom door absently open, the man himself passed out in bed fully clothed ]

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert’s not at home, in fact, because he has a job like a fine upstanding citizen of Aefenglom beating in the heads of anyone starting trouble in the Sly Seadog. The house is actually cleaner than Geralt left it, not that he’s in any state to notice, and distinctly hookerless.

When Lambert comes home, the mess that greets him makes him wrinkle his nose, but he trudges inside to survey the damage, the fuzzy ears that are only about leveret-length now growing from his head twitching back and pinning as clawed hands sit on his hips. Force of habit has him checking the gear to see if it’s clean, wiping off the worst if it’s not.

However, it’s force of asshole that means Geralt is getting woken up by a hot, damp towel being slapped onto his head. ]

[niespodzianka]

[ Like all witchers, Geralt is able to go from a dead sleep to total alertness in the span of half a heartbeat, and so he does - the brief moment in which his nervous system screams of an unexpected attack quickly dissipates, recognition of Lambert's presence overriding it.

He peels the towel off his head and rolls half way up on his side as to better reach out and sock Lambert in the thigh. ]

Dick.

[ His voice sounds rougher than usual. Fucking exhausted, and the last tinges of just-healed smoke inhalation damage. ]

[whattaprick]

That floor was spotless when I left this morning. [ Lambert answers, unrepentant, taking the punch to his thigh without flinching because ducking away would mean conceding to being a pussy or something ... yeah, sounds about right. ]

The bath's ready, by the way. [ He sniffs. ] Since you're not missing any limbs, I assume I don't have to carry you to it.

[niespodzianka]

[ Some crabby part of Geralt's brain (that sounds an awful lot like Vesemir) prompts him to ask why Lambert's playing housemaid instead of working on actual problems in the city, but he shuts it up on account of 1) stupidly argumentative and 2) immediately distracted.

He leans back on one elbow, and looks up at Lambert. ]

You drew me a bath?

[ Ooo, Mr Darcy ]

[whattaprick]

[ The better question would be what Lambert was cleaning the floor off in the first place, but since the question never comes up, he’s left looking at Geralt incredulously. ]

Yeah? You’re kind of disgusting right now, if you hadn’t noticed. You gonna soak that shit off or not?

[ And being a monster has only made his senses sharper, and not in a good direction. Blood smells pretty bad right now. Anyway, it hasn’t been that long ago since he was drawing baths at Kaer Morhen for Ciri and Triss, and that was a lot harder. ]