[GP] Check-in Day: Lurking Out of Habit

[st_ingofthehundred]

The first of the month arrived and Kash took up his usual station at the edge of the Cafe with his eyes on the door. It had been his habit since he first arrived and learned that arrivals had a pattern, and he had kept to it when he realized that a lot of people showed up injured. It had nothing to do with expecting Zahra to come for him any day now. Nothing to do with wanting to be right here should she arrive. He was just doing his work as a healer.

From the new library, he had acquired a text on modern medicine. It sat in front of him, a cup of coffee by his hand that Kitty kept full of fresh, steaming brew, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies by his other hand. He wore the symbol that he refused to consider holy, his dark spear rested against the thigh closer to the wall, and he had prepared all of his healing spells, and a few damage and area of effect spells in case anything came through that posed a threat.

Kitty was on-shift, which used to mean covering the bar, the cafe, and the pool bar. Out of habit, she still watched all of them, but these days, she had plenty of help. Ignis or Emma were almost always in the kitchen and someone usually tended the bakery counter.

In short, there was absolutely nothing unusual about the day, Kitty or Kash. It was exactly like every other arrival day. The only exception, if it was one, was that Kash was almost as interested in his book as Kitty was her research.

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[st_eelremains]

Geralt wasn’t sure what had made him draw his silver sword and push himself to his feet when the first ghoul had crashed through the rotting wood of the Crones’ abode. Habit, maybe, or just an unwillingness to let it end at the hands of a random swamp monster—or, as it turned out, at the teeth and claws of the horde of ghouls and drowners and foglets vomited up by Crookback Bog, as if in one last burst of anger at the man who’d slain the last of Velen’s Ladies of the Wood.

It was so easy to let instinct take over, to cut his way through anything that stood in his way, even if he didn’t really know where he was going, or why he was bothering. Ciri’s medallion clenched so hard in his free hand that he could feel the outline of the wolf’s head through his gauntlet, he lost himself in spinning and slashing, dodging and thrusting. He was just a witcher, after all, just as Ciri had said. Better he died doing what he’d been made to do, and there was a part of him that would have been perfectly happy to die. To leave this world that would never have Ciri in it again.

Except that he didn’t die. Even as his muscles finally started to tremble with fatigue, suddenly, there were no more targets in front of him, and the ground beneath his feet as he staggered to a stop was abruptly different. Dry, not the muck of the Bog, and the air was warm, almost sweet-smelling. Geralt inhaled a bit shakily as he stared out at the unfamiliar landscape, realizing he’d dropped his sword somewhere between the Bog and... here. Ciri’s medallion was still safely in his grasp, and he could feel the weight of Iris still in its scabbard across his back, but he’d lost his potions pack. Doesn’t matter, he reminded himself, but winced as he started to limped forward towards the strange buildings in the distance.

This didn’t look like any place on the Continent he’d ever been. And he’d have felt it, had he been pulled through a portal. Not to mention Yen or Triss or Melitele forbid, Phillipa, would have been here verbally lacerating him if this had been a rescue.

[st_everybodylives]

Normally you wouldn't catch River anywhere near the main building on a day that probably would herald new arrivals but she hadn't adequately stocked up and was out of tea.

And wine.

It was on the return to her room as she walked across one of the laws with wine and tea safely in hand that she found herself face to face with - well... he simply had to be a new arrival.

She would have noticed him if he'd been here for any length of time, and he looked a bit like he'd just been through a war.

"Welcome to the Madonna Inn," she said as she approached him, though she stayed well back in case he went on the attack.

[st_eelremains]

On the long walk up the road, it had become clear he’d caught more than the odd claw-swipe in the fight - nothing that a witcher’s metabolism wouldn’t heal on its own - and so Geralt was feeling a little light-headed by the time he limped across the soft green grass and found himself abruptly facing a curly-haired woman who reminded him oddly of Margarita Laux-Antille. For a moment, the words she spoke made no sense, but when he concentrated, they were close enough to Common to understand. Odd accent, though.

“Where is this?” His voice came out gruff and hoarser than it should have been. “I was—I was somewhere else.”

[st_everybodylives]

"We were all somewhere else once," not helpful, but then again no one has ever called her helpful before. "We're in some sort of pocket dimension outside space and time, or that's my guess. No one really knows."

She eyed him critically up and down, she could enjoy the view later for now he did look a bit worse for wear.

"Looks like you could use some patching up, we have a clinic here and there's bound to be someone hanging about." Since they all knew people could be arriving today. If not, well there were people she could call.

[st_eelremains]

Outside space and time? For a moment, he looked around, half-expecting Ciri to step out from around a corner and explain all of this. His vision blurred briefly, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus on the woman's words. "Nothing that won't heal on its own," he said evasively, not sure what she meant by a clinic and whether he wanted to expose himself to that kind of scrutiny. "There are more people here, then? All... lost?" He didn't know what other word to give to the state of being outside of space and time.

[st_everybodylives]

Lost was a good word for it. But she didn't agree.

"Quite a few more," she took a step toward him, somewhat concerned he might collapse on her as his eyes went hazy for a moment. "Will it heal before you pass out and I have to find someone to carry you to the inn?"

[st_eelremains]

He glanced downwards; the leg was the worst of it, he thought, and there was no gushing or spurting of blood noticeable, so the answer was probably--"Yes," he said, forcing himself to straighten and focus back on her. His voice was still gravelly as he went on. "Not going to pass out. Just... disoriented. I was fighting, and then I was here. "

[st_everybodylives]

"Were you winning?" She stepped up next to him and offered herself more with body language than with words as an assist if he needed it as they walked.

"I only ask because I'd hate to see the other guy if you were. Disorientation is understandable though. I was.. well I wasn't planning on arriving here when I did either, none of us were. But it has been a bit more sudden for some."

[st_eelremains]

"It wasn't a fight I was going to win," Geralt said after a moment, distantly. Not one that he'd intended to win, to be more precise, but he wasn't going to say that aloud to a stranger. "My--I have friends, who could have pulled me out of there magically. I thought that was what had happened, at first."

[st_everybodylives]

"Fights you aren't going to win are the worst." She been in more than one of those herself.

"It's possible one of your friends accidentally misplaced you, it's also possible fate decided you weren't meant to end where you thought you were. I don't have any answers about this place or how people arrive and I've been here more than a year. You'll have a room waiting, the food is plentiful if unimaginative and there's a regular supply of liquor."

[st_eelremains]

Fate decided he hadn't been meant to end in Crookback Bog? He didn't know whether to laugh or put his fist through the wall they were approaching. None of it showed on his face. "Fate has a shitty sense of humour sometimes," he said, more wearily than anything else. "Although I've never trusted magical transportation, either... maybe that's it. A portal finally got me."

[st_everybodylives]

"Remind me to tell you about my parents, and you'll understand why I agree that fate is indeed a bit of a bitch."

When they got to the doors she pulled one open and gestured him inside, "The clinic or the bar. Your choice."

[st_eelremains]

'Bar' seemed as obscure as 'clinic', as word went, but given that he didn't want anyone poking or prodding at him and commenting on his less-than-human qualities, any alternative seemed preferable. "Bar," he said, a bit recklessly. The sight of the inside of the building struck him silent, however, his golden eyes going more wary and puzzled than they had been already.

[st_rikingblueeyes]

Most days lately were for practicing magic, but for Corbie, arrival days were still for sewing. Pike and Piotr kept her the busiest since nothing available fit either of them, but other requests came too. And as much as she liked her studies, there were times she liked to quiet her mind with a simple, repetitive task.

There had been a whole hullabaloo earlier that she'd missed, and she'd wondered if keeping her post was going to be worthwhile today... but the man who came into the lobby when she looked up was definitely new. She smiled a little, sweet and a touch uncertain. "Welcome to the Madonna Inn."

[st_eelremains]

For a moment he froze, but... nothing at all like Ciri, Geralt told himself, pale hair and blue eyes or not. His mind shouldn't be playing tricks like that on him. "Hello," he said after a moment, his voice a touch more hoarse than it had been. "I... met a woman outside. She told me what this place is."

[st_rikingblueeyes]

Corbie had met enough men in vulnerable positions to know that she'd made some sort of impact, even if she hadn't meant to. And given it couldn't have been anything she said... a girl, probably.

She nodded. "Anything I can help with? Questions?"

[st_eelremains]

"Don't think I know what I should be asking, yet." He looked away for a moment, telling himself to focus. "Anything you'd say a newcomer especially needs to know right away?" He'd see what she thought she should tell him. Right. Focus on gathering information, don't think about home, or Ciri, or anything. Vesemir would be disappointed in him if he didn't focus on the situation at hand. Or would have been disappointed, part of Geralt pointed out, if you hadn't gotten him killed too.

[st_rikingblueeyes]

"Bar's that way," Corbie answered immediately, pointing without even needing to look.

But as she lowered her arm, she paused to consider the question seriously. "There's lots of different type of folk here," she began. "Not all of 'em are human."

[st_eelremains]

"Used to that. Good to know, though." There was a handy wall beside him; he laid a hand against it, trying not to look too obviously like he needed the support. "Geralt," he said abruptly, realizing he hadn't introduced himself. Nor had she, but if she was living someplace like this, caution was probably warranted. "Geralt of... nevermind. Doesn't seem to much matter at the moment."

[st_rikingblueeyes]

The girl nodded. "That's good. Not everybody is, so it's worth mentioning.

"I'm Corbie. And no, I probably ain't heard of where you're from, but I don't mind hearing what you wanna tell."

[st_eelremains]

"I know other worlds have names, sometimes," Geralt said after a moment. "Mine was just... the Continent." The word felt, sounded odd in the slightly askew version of Common they seemed to be speaking. "I called myself Geralt of Rivia when I started out on the Path, because I liked the sound of it. Ran into the queen of Rivia on the battlefield a few decades later and she knighted me, so I suppose I'm entitled to keep it."

[st_rikingblueeyes]

That sounded like a hell of a story, and Corbie perked, eyes bright with curiosity. But she made herself keep her questions in. "Nah, I don't know that name. I came from a country called Corambis. Far as I can tell, I'm the only one from my world here." It was lonely in ways she could never have anticipated.

[st_eelremains]

Don't ask, he told himself harshly, but the sudden stirring of hope made him reckless. After all, they hadn't found a body. "You haven't met a young woman with ashen hair and blue eyes, have you?" he asked, his throat tightening as he remembered how many times he'd asked that question during his months of searching for her. "She'd have introduced herself as Ciri... or Cirilla, maybe. She's--she travels worlds, so I thought maybe..." Maybe she was here, and drew you here somehow? Idiot.

[st_rikingblueeyes]

The initial description got Corbie thinking. She was not the only girl here with light hair and blue eyes... but the name made her eyes soften and she shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't know anyone by that name."

The specification of young caught her attention. Not a peer, but someone he was, or felt, responsible for. Cared for. He didn't expect for this Ciri to be here, but the confirmation would still hurt.

[st_eelremains]

"Thank you," he made himself say, and it came out with a sort of detached courtesy. "I suppose I knew the answer already. If she was here I would have dreamed of her. Look," and he wrenched his mind back to practicalities, "is there somewhere I could get cleaned up?" He smelled of the bog, and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't bleeding on the floor.