shok_ebasit_hissra | [For Geralt]

Bull needed to get out of the house. Since Dorian made his wish, after the initial floodgate of things Bull didn't necessarily want to share had been broken, the mage had spent a solid week needling things out. It wasn't even always on purpose, but Bull had no recourse. He couldn't censor himself, he couldn't lie, and he couldn't hedge.

He'd been avoiding work, but he needed to do something, and helping Geralt with the house seemed as good an outlet as any. He'd been out to the site frequently since Geralt broke ground; sometimes with Krem and Gannicus, other times not. More hands made fast work, and more than that, he kind of liked seeing the progress. He liked knowing he had a small hand in that. So much of his life before coming to Darrow had involved playing the long game, the end of which he might never see.

On his way through the woods, Bull took off his shirt. It was a warm day and he didn't want to wear it, and there was no point in trying to hide the scars anymore. Geralt certainly wasn't one to judge.

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Geralt swore, loudly, from where he was sorting on a picnic table, hammering together the legs. He hadn't been well since the shooting star, or rather, he had been well enough. Just human.

And his nerves were frayed. And he'd hammered his thumb.
Senses dulled, Geralt didn't even notice the Bull's approach.

Bull lifted his eyebrow when he heard the swearing. He'd heard Geralt swear before, of course, but he was kind of surprised to realize it was because he'd hit himself with a hammer - or that was his guess, seeing as how he'd been hearing hammer falls before the cursing started.

"You distracted, witcher?" Bull called as he got closer. He tucked his shirt into the hem of his pants so he wouldn't lose it.

"The least of it," Geralt growled, standing to his feet with a chorus of groans over needing to put weight on his bad leg. He wiped his forehead with a damp towel before throwing it over his shoulder to meet Bull at the edge of the property.

"It's been ... a week. And then some."

Edited 2018-06-30 18:34 (UTC)

Bull huffed. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours-- did you do something to your hair?"

Now that he was closer and Geralt was out of the sun, the change in color was much more obvious. And he smelled different. Maybe Geralt was having a worse week than he was.

"What happened to you?"

"Funny." Despite his newfound humanity, Geralt was deadpan. He tilted his head in consideration, before deciding to tell Bull the situation. He'd kept it under wraps. He had enemies even in Darrow that would pay handsomely for such information about him. That he was vulnerable.

"The star. Somehow, I'd made a wish without knowing or understanding. Not the first time." He groaned softly and pressed his palm to his forehead. "It undid the mutations. I'm human. For the time being."

He hoped.

Bull frowned at that; it left Geralt vulnerable in a way that he probably hadn't been in decades.

"Dorian made one. Since the star passed, I've been unable to lie, directly or indirectly, or withhold information."

It left him vulnerable in a different way: Bull had been juggling secrets and information for most of his life. Letting things slip could cost lives, could cost missions. Perhaps the stakes were considerably lower in Darrow, but he didn't like not having control over himself, not having control over the information he chose to give or he chose to keep.

Besides, Dorian had been asking a lot more direct questions lately.

"You alright? Other than suddenly being human."

"Do I have much of a choice?"

There was only one, after all. To accept it or not. And Geralt felt frankly too old and too thin and too tired to keep raging about the fact constantly. His emotions were suddenly too bright and too transient and left him exhausted in their wake. So he'd made a decision to let it be, to waut and see what happened, with Nina's counsel.

Her counsel was often wiser than her years ought to have permitted, or maybe Geralt had become too jaded.

"Come in and have a drink with me."

They could at least get out of the sun before he burned or made himself sick.

"No, not really. Shok ebasit hissra, Geralt."

He couldn't let go of the Qun entirely, there was too much in it that helped to keep him grounded in moments like this. Bull liked to think that Dorian understood, at least somewhat, the comfort it brought to him. He had re-prioritized his life, put the people he cared for before dogma, but he still needed parts of it.

A drink sounded good, though, and Bull followed Geralt inside as he took his shirt off his shoulder. The scars on his chest and back were not quite the bright tone of new healing, not like they had been in November, but they were still fresh compared to others.

"House is looking good."

Geralt nodded his thanks for the compliment, but said nothing else about the cabin, as Bull had done much of the heavy lifting himself. He pressed on through the doorway, moving out of the entryway so the tall man could make his way in easily.

"What does that mean?" he asked in open curiosity, moving to the cupboards for a bottle of vodka he kept on hand, and the last of the drink that Bull brought over. Maaras-lok or something.

"Struggle is an illusion. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun - the tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. Maraas shokra - there is nothing to struggle against."

Bull could smell the maaras-lok as soon as Geralt got the bottle down and he chuckled. "Have you tried the maaras-lok as a human?"

Most non-Qunari he'd met choked on the first swallow, and had trouble with the rest after that. Geralt had been the only person he'd met that looked human that could handle it.

[For Geralt]

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