I MANAGE BECAUSE I HAVE TO.

Stephen minutely tilted his head to the side, having taken no notice to the energy surrounding him.  He  has  grown  used  to  it,  almost forgetting it was there at times. It wasn’t as if there was anything he could do to somehow suppress it, unless of course someone  found a way to render him permanently weaker.

At the name received he made a low hum, testing the name upon his lips. 

                        “Geralt of Riva, tis a pleasure. I am                          Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme.”

With a nod of his head in accustomed greeting, Strange eyed the antsy horse. Was it supposed to be doing this? He was not familiar with the  animal, though he made no move to get any closer. Having left the Cloak of Levitation behind, however..

                        “Is there a sort of town anywhere nearby? I wish to                          explore it, and I wish not to waste my magics either                          looking for or flying to one.”

However, there was something he wanted to do first. He moved closer, looking into the eyes of Geralt with his own narrowed in concentration. There was something.. Off, about this man that he could not place. Were these eyes natural? —Was he taller than himself? That was rare,  given his height. With a smirk, Stephen put distance between them once more.

                        “I will explore this area first. Have a nice day, Geralt.”

                            Truth be told, the horse just wanted to l e a v e -- move                             instead of stationary ( just like Geralt, a wolf whose hunger                             never sated: hungry for disorder & chaos, death & despair,                             for the more there is the more he l i v e s ) & had no signs of                             discomfort aside the rotten stench of death that hung in the                             air. The ebony-colored cloak hung over his shoulders like he                             was the moon & the night sky always with him. Gilded eyes                             bright & pupils slimmed into diamonds, Geralt gave a small                             nod & was about to grant his horse the movement it yearned,                             but the last sentence the man spoke made him h a l t.

                                                    ❛Are you positive you will find                                                   anything interesting in this area?❜

                                         Besides the three corpses several feet away,                                          throats slashed & a crater with one of them lying                                          within. The victim -- a woman in her mid-twenties,                                          already scurried off minutes ago, whispering his                                          name like a mantra ( thank you, Geralt. many                                          thanks, White Wolf. ) A normal stranger would                                          assume an animal slaughtered these three men,                                          when in fact the animal was the one who saddled                                          the horse ; the one whose fangs were just as sharp                                          as his words: blunt, B R U T A L, & honest.

                                                    ❛I am heading to the nearest village.❜

                              Leather-clad hand pulled the cloak over his face, closing                               off any other questions pertaining to his features. Lips curled                               downward, a flat & neutral line that had people mistaking it                               for hostility & anger.

                                                      ❛-- My eyes are normal, if you                                                        must know. To m e, as it is.❜

                                            He spun his horse in the direction of the                                             village & cleared his throat. The only thing                                             that came out of his mouth were words that                                             dragged across broken cobblestone ; sharp                                             & dangerous to any who cannot handle them.

Stephen was growing restless in his home of the Sanctum Sanctorum, having not left it for more than a few weeks. He was busy with the Incursions, but Wong encouraged him to go and explore the different universes other than those deemed ‘Marvel' in the book of the Vishanti.

This one interests him, even more so when a man with eyes of a predator and white hair greeted him. This couldn’t be common, but.. He wasn’t exactly hard to look at, therefore Stephen took a few paces back to put distance between them. He knew not if this white haired man would harm him, but he would take no chances.

Brushing away a non-existent piece of lint from his long sleeved  outfit, Stephen naturally raised an eyebrow at the offhand comment.

                                        “For you, perhaps.”

With a small smirk now deigning his features, Stephen began to look around at their surroundings. Was this a medieval time period, then? That was.. unexpected, but nothing was completely out of the question.

His blue eye shone bright for a brief moment as he sent this information to be written in his Sanctum, short enough so a blink would cause it to be  missed.

                                   ”And who might you be?”

                          Grip on the horse's reigns showed no sign of slack ;                           neither the furrow of his brows any friendliness, yet                           no hostility graced his expression. The odd, unknown                           surge of magical energy he felt mere seconds before                           came from t h i s man ( the only people he personally                           knew who possessed this kind of power were Tris &                           Yennefer ) -- the air still c r a c k e d with it.

                                        Who w a s he? The Witcher could                                         give him any of his aliases & titles,                                         yet all knew of him & it would do no                                         good to lie about his appellation.

                                                   ❛Geralt of Rivia.❜

                         Whether his name held special meaning or not, it                          may hint at his personality -- Dandelion knew that                          much, & he was a bard with too much knowledge                          packed in that womanizing head of his. His horse                          wanted to gallop away, but he decided to stick back                          a bit -- h e a r the words that come out of this man's                          mouth. Maybe he'll be entertained. Who knows?

                                          ❛-- and a l l that magical energy                                           came from you? Huh. No wonder.❜

           Not all monsters looked like ghastly beings with            blood dripping from their fangs, hands covered in            the flesh & guts of their victims. In fact, most were            like him -- looked like him. Men & women who'd            readily prey upon the weak like it was second nature;            news flash, humans aren't at the top of the food chain            as much as they'd like to believe that. Geralt was the            predator ; ( the white wolf with war beating in his heart,            songs on the tip of his tongue, & death staining the            steel of his blade. ) The Alpha. The loner whose life            was all about death. Death, death, death...

                                           He was Death, &                                            spared nothing.

                & that included himself. The chill of winter warmed                 his bones, yet he wrapped his black cloak closer to                 his burly frame like it was the only thing that can                 protect him against the force of ( Nature ). Three                 men had been eliminated, all who accused an                 innocent women of cannibalism & necromancy;                 they were the monsters in this story, yet Geralt                 eliminated all three in cold blood without so much                 as a word of m e r c y in. ( Mercy? Has Life given                 him that much? No. He was raised upon the princ-                 iples of Truth -- there is no such thing as mercy,                 only sparing a person's life because they weren't                 his target. ) Lips parted & let out a puff of air,                 body turned as he saddled upon one of the horses                 left behind & trotted away from the scene.

                              It was quiet. Too quiet. As much as he                               liked silence, Geralt wanted the reassur-                               ance that there wasn't something, or som-                               one, lurking in the shadows.

                      He thanked his hearing for picking up the                       faintest sound, but... sound? It felt like a small                       shift in the atmosphere, the distortion of air                       that only sorcerers could achieve. He did not                       bother to slip on his hood, & gilded eye gazed                       at the spectacle, brow raised.

His type of person? What type? If the question were posed at Geralt verbally, he'd scoff & lie, telling the person who inquired that he didn't have one. Unfortunately, he was a l i a r -- especially when it came to something as trivial as type. It didn't take long for him to find his answer ; one that was so obvious that only Dandelion can see from afar.

             There was no grand reason for it truly, Iorveth was              not the sort of man who handed out honeyed words and              smiles. He was a sharper sort, more likely to h a r m than              to help. Yet he found something of a companion in the witcher,              a man proven to be worth the trust placed in him. It did little              to abate his hatred for human kind, that burned as strongly              as the sun in the sky─ but Geralt is not entirely human               anymore is he?              Iorveth scoffed.                                  “ I will call you whatever I like, vatt’ghern.                                     Be grateful it was not something worse. ”

                             ❛-- Oh? Then what, if I may ask,                               was one of the far worse options?❜

                Geralt was a man mutant who can take the punches                 just as easily as he can deliver them. Golden eyes peered                down at the elf, & although his lips did not curl upward into                the smirk he rarely sported, his eyes sparked with challenge                that ached to be answered on the spot. A shake of his head,                the Witcher suddenly picked up his pace without so much as                a spoken word.

NSFW ask meme.        + early morning sex or late night sex?

                               ❛— Well, it is a straight-forward answer.❜

                    Truth be told, it wasn’t. Geralt was an enigma whose mask was                    broken by very few people, & although he favored the cool, crisp                    air of the night, there were times he yearned for the sunlight. Of                    course, he recalled a past memory of a moment shared with his                    lover, limbs tangled & dancing under the moonlight.

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