WOLF WITHOUT TEETH

repost,  don’t reblog

BASICS.

full name. geralt of rivia pronunciation. gare-alt nickname. white wolf, wolf, butcher, butcher of blaviken, mutant, witcher, white haired gender. trans male height. 5′9″ age. around 200 something zodiac. unknown spoken languages. english, northern druidic (polish), nilfgaardian, some elder

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color. milk white eye color. amber, angular pupils skin tone. pale, sometimes tan body type. muscular, athletic, wiry.  wolf like. accent. lightly northern druidic (polish), mostly obliterated voice. deep, rumbling, sometimes described as guttural or rasping dominant hand. ambidextrous posture. straight, shoulders back, head high, arms crossed scars. a massive amount.  most of his body is coated in scars, leaving very little clean skin. tattoos. modern verse only.  primarily the wolf of his medallion tattooed over his heart. birthmarks. n/a most noticeable feature(s). slit pupils, white hair.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. ptaszek (in poland, modern.) hometown. ptaszek for some time, kaer morhen primarily birth weight. average birth height. average manner of birth. vaginal first words. bird siblings. none by birth.  communal upbringing in ptaszek; lambert and eskel in kaer morhen. parents. visenna of ptaszek (mother), korin the wanderer (father), vesemir (guardian) parental involvement. while korin vanished by unknown cause, visenna took some years to raise her child in a fruitful and luxurious life.  it was only when geralt was around four to five years old that she gave him to vesemir for the simple cause that he was a child of surprise, owed to the witchers, and she had come to believe that hiding her child from them had cursed the village.  in visenna’s eyes, this home of hers came first.  geralt claims to have never seen visenna since then, and to have never met korin in his life.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. witcher current residence. absolutely dependent.  geralt is a wanderer at heart. close friends. triss merigold, dandelion, zoltan, lambert & eskel, cerys an crait, mousesack relationship status. open relationship with yennefer of vengerberg financial status. contract dependent driver’s license. who’s to say he’s ever taken the test criminal record. technically all clear, but he’s ended up in a jail cell because of confused and scared cops a few times vices. drinking, sometimes smoking pot, rarely cigarettes

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. bisexual romantic orientation. bisexual-aro preferred emotional role. submissive  |  dominant  |  switch   preferred sexual role. submissive  |  dominant  |  switch libido. high turn on’s. commands (receiving), praise (dependent), hair pulling, biting, scratching, some kinky shit turn off’s. blood play, humiliation (dependent, light maybe acceptable) love language. quiet moments such as star watching, laying together, holding hands or playing with hair.   relationship tendencies. unlikely to pursue a relationship himself unless there’s a base for it -- lack of assurance anyone would or should want a witcher keeps him refrained.

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. human, cities in the dust, wolves without teeth, ofc silver for monsters hobbies to pass time. studying and reading books, working with alchemy, playing card games with his friends, baths, listening to music, going for rides on roach mental illnesses. ptsd, survivor’s guilt, insomnia, possible eating disorder (fear of starvation leading to waves of barely eating and then binging) physical illnesses. limp on his left side when the weather is bad or he’s exhausted left or right-brained. right fears. starvation, losing ciri self-confidence level. semi-high, situation dependent vulnerabilities. a distinct lack of self confidence when it comes to parenting -- geralt is constantly worried with making the world worthy of his daughter and making sure that she’s safe, even if it’s far past something he had any control over anymore.  he has profound empathy for intelligent monsters and a deep love for his brothers in arms.  geralt is also the most self sacrificing son of a bitch you’ll ever meet.

STEEL FOR MEN.  SILVER FOR MONSTERS.  and gold, gold is for witchers.  for the village men who beg him to kill a monster to save their women and children and the police in cities that do not know how to catch their prey, the answer to their problems is gold.  some earn proof of the kill.  others do not, and spit at geralt in return.  validity, he thinks, in their eyes.  just a sign of the monstrosity of men in his.  it makes it simpler to do business only once in a town every few years, returning only when they’ve likely forgotten geralt of rivia and found a new monster to fear.  

and then there is this man.  curious about the truth of good and evil, who pays heavy coin in return for having the bodies of monsters brought to him.  it often matters not what monster geralt even brings, though humanoids are preferable.  cruel werewolves, vampires in monstrous or human form, nekkers and ghouls and drowners and more.  today a siren, beautiful and horrible as she lies hidden beneath a blanket, tied down to roach’s haunch.  

doctor jekyll will have the door ready for geralt’s arrival.  a subtle back entrance already half open when he dismounts and cuts the rope, throwing the siren’s damp body over his shoulder as he passes through and into a narrow hallway.  blood slips from her down geralt’s arm.  dripping upon the floor as he turns into the laboratory, well familiar with the walk by now.  

“she took an arrow to the heart.”  geralt says in lieu of greeting.  “little damage to the rest of her beyond when she fell on the rocks.”  better condition than the last monster, perhaps the best so far.  shifting her higher onto his shoulder he looks at the doctor, silent and piercing.  

do they help with the studies, geralt often wonders.  or is the study something else entirely, the morality a lie kept only for his standards?

HOW OFTEN IS GERALT paired to new agents as anything kindly?  so often it’s a punishment when the older agents know him well enough to sit back in their vehicle.  rest their sore bodies and aching minds as he hunts down the creature and disposes of it for them, returning with a skull or fluid.  a spine or flesh.  whatever they want for study, for proof to earn him cash enough for rent and food over a few more months.  but last trip out with agent kay has earned him nothing but disdain.  

if the fbi was brave enough to slap his wrists, they would.  too many fears keep them from punishing a witcher in any overt way, however.  half his fault and half their own imaginings.  

instead, a new agent.  new to him at least, with deep set, dark eyes and the hair to match.  almost like dandelion if he wasn’t serious down to his core instead of being full of nonsense.  geralt has little hope for dry humored small talk.  less hope for another sentient monster to be saved so long as they’re each other’s shadows.  

❛ … i see. ❜ it would be quite a stomach-turning mental image, if hellhound were anyone else. she is not. so, there is no change in her expression other than the murmured response. ❛ you’re kinder than you let on, witcher. ❜ amusement trickles into her voice, though a very dry form of it. ❛ but a man’s got to make a living somehow. ❜ a moment of pause, as hellhound searches his face. hard to read, honey-toned eyes focused in defense ( dreadful things are known to lurk in the woods, after all, and geralt of rivia is not to be blindsided, she would imagine. ) ❛ is it possible to stop being a witcher, or is this a lifelong contract? ❜

“LIFE WITHOUT VAMPIRES WOULD be simpler.”  geralt answers absently as he bends over, snapping a handful of leaves off of a nearby plant as they walk by.  he tucks them into a pouch on his hip that oozes scents from dozens of plants already within.  life without vampires would also make living easier for all but witchers.  they carry pretty prices on their heads considering their savagery.

and he hardly knows what this fucking vampire does beyond some basics.  an entire town abandoned because of it’s savagery, and now he goes to hunt it.  seemingly not alone.  they walk together in silence, his eyes scattering from side to side every once in awhile to track unclear sounds.  not many monsters he expects to find out here.  aghouls near the town, no doubt.  nekkers or insectoids in the woods.    easy prey, for the most part

(and yet a worry in his chest now that a companion follows him.  familiar, breaking.  nothing can lay hands on someone by his side without failure being written in the bruises.)

her question draws geralt back to himself.  it’s familiar in some ways, but mostly entirely new.  enough to bring geralt pause as he looks back at her, dark eyes already on his skin and hunting for something hidden there.  he can’t blame here.  there’s plenty hidden.  “i don’t know.”  he says quietly, after a long moment passed.  “some have tried.  gone for the title of first witcher to die in his bed.  but no one’s managed it, we all die in battle in the end.”

        she  craved  the attention.    the  stares  and  comments  as her too loud motorcycle turned corners.   isa  loved  the eyes on her.   it was better than  any  drug  she had ever known.   she backed her baby up against the sidewalk,  helmet quickly off of her head as she shook her hair out.    it was all  a  show  —- everything was a show.  she  turned  it  up  even more hearing the man’s voice.

        a proud grin,   like someone was complimenting  her  child  —- complimenting a piece of her.   ask isa,  and they pretty much  were.   she rested her hand on the handlebar, her fingertips trailing lightly over the surface.   ❝   she’s  fucking  gorgeous,  is what she is.   ❞   only flicked up to the man for a moment,  his face  not  familiar  to her.

        her  father’s  voice  was in the back of her mind —–  he could be  anyone.  he could be asking about it just to get her  comfortable  and  talking.   she refused eye contact for a moment,  trying to push that voice away.  she was  twenty  -  five  hundred  miles  away.   there was no way anyone could have followed her  that  easily.

        ❝   sure is.  a  fuck  ton  of money and worth  every  goddamn penny.   ❞    she answered the question, finally  forcing  her eyes to the man.   her grin was still there,  the mask that she had  mastered  in the last five years.    ❝   you ride?   ❞

GERALT MAKES A SMALL NOISE in the back of his throat, considering the bike as she keeps her eyes away from him.  no reason not to -- gods help her if they were real, what’s to say he’s anything safe in her eyes?  more likely a danger, a monster, a secretive and hidden thing that could take her away forever.  there’s no way to make himself any less threatening than he already is.

“she is,” he agrees easily.  “worth plenty.  don’t see them like that very often, usually in garages on display.”  too many people make pretty things and then never use them.  sort of a shame, there.  beauty is a weapon in the world, not a pedestal to place things upon and then abandon them there.  what, after all, would be the point of having something beautiful otherwise?

he crosses his arms loosely and leans against the building.  hard stones digging into his back in a way that’s almost relieving, in face of the pains geralt is used to.  “i do.  older thing, more vintage and not in the best shape.”  there’s a mild embarrassment there.  “never had the money or skills to fix her up though.  someday.”

lin does well to adapt to any changes her surroundings might throw at her , even if they’re circumstances which even she’s unused to 。 for instance , most of the people they keep chained down here in the prisons to wipe away their days until they’re either brought on proper trial or found guilty at the evidence         most of them don’t dare stand on their own when she’s the one hovering on the other side of their cell , as though she might       as she had heard several of even her own officers discuss in the past ,when they thought she was too far to hear them        suddenly find it within her authority to take them down while they’re defenseless 。 she won’t , of course , and never would 。

but he stands now , and she has to adjust herself on her feet , straightening her back , crossing her arms more tightly around herself ,and lifting her chin to keep her gaze on him 。 he doesn’t look so good 。 that is to be expected , of course , from someone who’s been stuck in a cell 。 but it does a good deal to keep her from acting any more abrasive toward him 。 if it comes to it , she’s got the upper hand 。

“ i’ll grant you leniency on your punishment if you tell me who you were talking to 。”   a quirk of the brow , and she comes up to the bars , uncrossing her arms 。 they’ve had enough trouble around her , even knowing the repeat perpetrators and their groups 。 lin isn’t certain enough to guess the man’s been consorting with people they’re already aware of        it’s better never to assume in times like these 。   “ i’ll let you out early 。 that sounds like a good deal for you , doesn’t it ? i’d take it , if i were you 。”

STANDING GIVES HIM A NEW wave of aches through his body, the old and the recent combining into one slow, stirring wave of pain that ebbs and flows with every deep breath geralt takes.  funny to think just how old he is.  and yet here geralt still ends up, regularly locked within jail cells and standing perfectly eye to eye with a woman who looks far more content to abandon him here than truly set him free.  after a moment he leans forward, arms against the bars and eyes digging deep into her as he lets the silence drag out.  linger.  every second is a test for both of them, a danger that she could walk away.  as much a danger that he could hold back the information she preciously needs.

“there’s not many things that are good deals for men where i am.”  geralt answers easily.  “you’d need to let me out.  they’re nowhere near where you can find -- not without me.”  there’s no ego to the words, just a matter of fact honesty as he blinks slowly.  takes in the rest of the jail around him full of curious soldiers and perhaps more fascinated prisoners.  but the truth is those men are long gone.  witcher senses can find them, undeniably, but then.  well.  who’s to say this woman knows just what a witcher is?

does she even know that he is one?

“Not all of them.”

The words pried themselves out of his mouth by their own accord. Yet even then, Dandy was hardly bothered by it. Just like the way he could mutter such a weighted thought into thin air - unshackled by common sense and manners. 

It wasn’t as if he had expected an answer from the other anyways. Was there even an answer to such a delicate subject? Titus would have taken the opportunity to spin lies; goad him to feed into bad decisions and the void of negativity.

Just as any other demon would naturally do.

“Or, well, you’re right. People do die, but some of ‘em don’t stay dead.” Some of them get tossed into a weird limbo, sign off on an ultimatum, and get thrown back into the land of the living. Some of them get resurrected by other unnatural means. The same ones that people like him are bound to deal with - send them back into their shallow graves by brute force. 

“Then there’s the thing ‘bout the way n’ reason they died.” A slight pause. “Guess my ma was right ‘bout havin’ too much heart- bein’ too empathetic.” A double edged sword that had nearly costed him his second life time and time again. 

IF THINGS STAYED DEAD he wouldn’t be here.  or, better said, if cirilla would let things stay dead he wouldn’t be here.  what powers brought life back into geralt’s old bones were profound and deeply rooted in ancient things, the kind of things known to very few.  so, too, he thinks, was this man given something.  new life or simply extended -- the magic that oozes from his very body is unfamiliar.  one could say it’s ill fit in a body of an empathetic man.  

how many deemed magic as the fuel of a monster?  

geralt’s often wondered about how often he’s proved them wrong.

“then they’re lucky,” geralt answers, “or cursed.”  as skjall was, writhing and screaming from his agonizing half death under the black magic from powerful hands.  those screams haunt geralt at night more than many of the things he’s seen.  pungent and tacky, sticking to his bones and filling him with the stench of rot when alone.  

the sword in his hand feels heavy and geralt winces, pulling his arm back to slip it into sheath.  rare to wear it on his spine these days.  both a comfort and oddity, the duality of an old habit becoming new once again.  “not all deaths have a way or reason.”  in a microcosm, perhaps.  geralt, with his cheek bitten between his teeth, can only imagine the thought as agony to go over.  “hm.  most mothers find that a gift in their children.  don’t worry.  you’ll get through this one, almost forget it in enough time.”

with lin, the competition is always close.  her need for justice, complicated and grey as it can be, is what drives her to try and steer a fucking witcher into her control.  geralt still isn’t sure how much she knows about him.  if she can guess what sort of monster he is, how easily he could break from the chains that bind him and the cage he sleeps in at night.  if she knows he’s convincing himself to stay here out of curiosity.  boredom, perhaps.  

or something geralt himself cannot fully name.  

all she certainly must know is that he never bends easily, not unless it’s to crack his neck or look at her with a better angle.  this stare will last forever, geralt thinks.  if lin wishes to win this argument then she must wait until he’s willing to let it go.

most often he just leaves, however.  saves enough coin that he can survive until the next contract.  

except for now.  

for hellhound, who’s bow spins around her head and smacks in a loud crack of wood to flesh against the jaw of an old man who was sneering at geralt no more than seconds before.  spit and blood spills from his mouth.  wounds cut into the insides of his cheeks from his own teeth slicing through his skin, a jagged groan torn out from his throat as he staggers backwards.  the coin bag drops out of his hands.  bouncing and rolling down to geralt’s boots where he bends on instinct to snatch the bag up.  

a second later he looks at hellhound.  all fury and viciousness in her taut neck and narrowed eyes, the teeth bare behind curled lips.  “you are a fool,” she growls over the belligerent curses spilling from the old man’s mouth.  “and you deserve to be punished like a fool, killed like one--”

geralt exhales hard.  “hound.”  his voice cuts through rising tension better than any sword could.  “you’ve managed plenty; now we must leave.”

before more eyes turned their direction, before the guards drew any closer.  a twist of his hand lets axii spill onto the bloody man and soothe him into silence.  damn fool geralt thinks as he pulls at hellhound.  bless her fool heart.