𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑.

( ⚖️ ) : for our muses to get married at the courthouse.

( 💔 ) : for our muses to fight in a quiet corner of a crowded party.

( 🪞 ) : for our muses to get ready to go out in front of the same mirror.

( 📺 ) : for our muses to have a date at the drive-in.

( 🚬 ) : for our muses to meet outside a building during a smoke break.

( 🕯️ ) : for our muses to talk in a room lit only by candles.

( 🏚️ ) : for our muses to cross paths in an abandoned house.

( 🚓 ) : for our muses to meet outside the police department.

( 🧳 ) : for our muses to be at a bus terminal late at night.

( 🌧️ ) : for our muses to be stranded together in the rain.

( 🏨 ) : for our muses to stay in neighboring motel rooms.

( 🪑 ) : for our muses to sit beside each other in a waiting room.

( 📚 ) : for our muses to be in a quiet library aisle.

( 🕳️ ) : for our muses to encounter each other underground.

( 🎒 ) : for our muses to be paired together for an unwanted task.

( 🪦 ) : for our muses to meet up at a gravesite.

( 🕰️ ) : for our muses to be stuck waiting for something that never comes.

( 🚪 ) : for our muses to talk through a bathroom door.

( 🛏️ ) : for our muses to wake up in the same bed.

( 🍻 ) : for our muses to be at a bar just before closing.

( 🧼 ) : for our muses to clean up after a mess.

( 🪟 ) : for our muses to talk through a window.

( 🚿 ) : for our muses to shower or bathe together.

( 🧥 ) : for our muses to share a coat in the cold.

( 🛣️ ) : for our muses to be stranded on the side of the road.

( 🪵 ) : for our muses to gather at a dying campfire.

( 🎟️ ) : for our muses to be at a seasonal fair.

( 🧃 ) : for our muses to share a drink meant for one.

( 🏥 ) : for our muses to talk in a hospital hallway.

( 🩺 ) : for our muses to accompany each other during a medical emergency.

( 🧠 ) : for our muses to attend a therapy or counseling session together.

( 🖊️ ) : for our muses to discuss signing something important.

( 🏫 ) : for our muses to meet up in an empty school after hours.

( 🪖 ) : for our muses to be in a militarized zone.

( 🔫 ) : for our muses to meet at gunpoint.

( 🪓 ) : for our muses to prepare for a fight together.

( 🩻 ) : for our muses to meet up in the aftermath of brutality.

( 🛒 ) : for our muses to go shopping in a nearly empty grocery store.

( 🧾 ) : for our muses to argue over who owes what.

( 🛍️ ) : for our muses to shop for something intimate together.

( 🏕️ ) : for our muses to share a campsite overnight.

( 🌲 ) : for our muses to get lost in the woods together.

( 🐾 ) : for our muses to track something dangerous.

( 🏖️ ) : for our muses to meet up on an empty beach at dawn.

( 🌊 ) : for our muses to hang out at a community pool after hours.

( ✈️ ) : for our muses to sit beside each other on a turbulent flight.

( 🧭 ) : for our muses to disagree on which direction to go.

( 🗺️ ) : for our muses to be lost, sharing a map.

( 🏙️ ) : for our muses to meet up on a rooftop overlooking the city.

( 🌃 ) : for our muses to wander the city all night together.

( 🎁 ) : for our muses to exchange something small but meaningful.

( 🕊️ ) : for our muses to attempt a truce.

( ⚔️ ) : for our muses to meet on opposite sides of a conflict.

( 🪜 ) : for our muses to work together on a dangerous task.

( 🧗 ) : for our muses to rely on each other to survive a fall.

( 🧊 ) : for our muses to be trapped somewhere freezing.

( 🔥 ) : for our muses to be trapped somewhere burning.

( 🧵 ) : for our muses to fix something broken together.

( 🛠️ ) : for our muses to work side by side without talking.

( 🕶️ ) : for our muses to recognize each other too late.

( 🪪 ) : for our muses to meet under false identities.

( 📸 ) : for our muses to take a photograph together.

( 🖼️ ) : for our muses to meet in front of something symbolic.

( 🎧 ) : for our muses to share headphones.

( 🎶 ) : for our muses to bond over a song they both hate.

( 🧯 ) : for our muses to deal with an emergency together.

( 🚨 ) : for our muses to meet when alarms start going off.

( 🕯️ ) : for our muses to mourn the same loss.

( 🪦 ) : for our muses to grieve over the dead.

( 🚂 ) : for our muses to meet in a place meant to break them.

( 🫀 ) : for our muses to say something they can't take back.

( 🛌 ) : for our muses to share a night they won't discuss later.

the grand palace was abuzz with excitement as staff skittered from one corner to the next with last minute additions to the adornments of the night. despite no longer being clad in servant white, genya couldn’t help but hover anxiously as previously familiar faces whisked past her. they whispered apologies and condolences for not having time for conversation as they whirled past and the discomfort of it all prickled at her skin. she shook off the looming dread that came with her newfound titles and occupied herself with one thing she knew she could handle.

with long strides, she made her way up spiralling stairs and planted herself in front of ornate double doors. genya leaned forward to press her ear against the entrance, intently listening for any commotion. something she would expect if zoya had already come to retrieve her husband or if another servant had gotten to the lantsov before she had. instead, she was met with a silence that could only mean one thing. genya pressed a palm into either door and shoved until they roughly swung open to reveal exactly what she hadn’t anticipated. instead of finding her king sprawled across his bed like she had expected what with his lack of appearance all day, she found a perfectly ready man in front of the mirror.

it had only been a few hours since sunrise but the grand palace had awoken much before — most likely at the hour when genya safina had decided it to be so. there wasn't much that moved differently in os alta unless she commanded it so, especially where serviettes and orchestra arrangements were concerned. and falling under the blanket of that same regime, the king consort was already adjusting the cuff-links of his tailored coat when she had barged in through the doors.

    ❛ insufferable!   ❜ he exclaimed with a grin, turning the word in his mouth like tasting a newly imported bottle of wine.     ❛   one of my better qualities, wouldn't you say?    ❜

there is the gentle cant of head , the eyebrows that arch. perhaps this king did have some sense of semblance or he was either a GREAT diplomat. geralt has known many kings , and EQUALLY as many wars. the words nikolai offers are words that he's heard many lifetimes over. though , it's a comfort to know that there are STILL kings that seem noble and feign honor. in truth , geralt doesn't know enough of the king. he looks over at jaskier , and he hopes that they won't be chased tonight from a castle due to a prick that is never satiated.

' you will perhaps understand that i am a -being- who makes their coins upon the monsters that many fear HAUNT them. it is an interesting trade , and i've almost died at least five hundred times ' he allows a smile to ease upon right cheek , and pull upwards ever so , ' who knew how hard it is to kill a WITCHER '

geralt can't quite understand if he's welcomed within this court , or if it's DUE to the UNIQUE color of eyes. is he here on display , to warn nikolai's enemies that there is a witcher under the kings's employ ? though , geralt has never been ONE TO CHASE COIN.

the comment made him laugh in a manner that was genuine — quiet, but all the more surprising that it escaped him in the first place. ❛   practice,    ❜ he said easily, without a thought. part of him wondered if it was the honest truth or another farcical jest. the smile held. ❛   and a very good tutor, I must say.   ❜

nikolai set his glass down with a particular deliberateness and reassessed his company despite having been sure that he had observed him correctly in the first place. and he may not admit it out loud, but he delighted in being proven wrong. he leaned back in his chair, the candlelight catching the angle of his jaw.  

❛   but that's not what you really want to know.   ❜ he says, quieter now, the performance thinning away at the edges the way it had once already this evening. nikolai was beginnning to suspect it was a pattern specific to dark rooms and glasses of ale. or perhaps it was geralt of rivia with his distinct quality of saying very less and letting silence do the work for him. it was a remarkable skill indeed, opposite to what nikolai had spent honing for years. which was to say, the king knew exactly when to speak and turn the direction of a conversation. ❛ a man who has nearly died five hundred times.    ❜ he repeated the man's words, as if pondering on them.   ❛   and still takes the next contract.    ❜

the overhead light keeps flickering on and off at irregular intervals. vivienne watches it; on & off, as it casts a clinical glow to the rest of what would constitute an empty diner, were one generous enough to name it as its aspiration rather than what it actually is-- a shithole. in her cup, coffee near rancid sits still, untouched for the time being. she will get to the part where she drinks it, of course; she always does. it's a small act of sadomasochism, although the pleasure part never truly registers in her pain-addled brain. perhaps, if one had the time to theorise, it could be said that there is pleasure to be found in a pebble of pain; reprieve, finally, from the mountain of it that one might be accustomed to.

but vivienne doesn't exactly have time to spare to such musings. and, if she was perfectly honest with herself (something she avoids like the plague, a pit of lava that you would find at the very center of the volcano that constitutes her current pain), then she would admit that even with all the time in the world, she would never spare a second for such thinking. the mind is a machine she steers clear off-- it scares her like no other. guns and computers make sense, in a cold and detached kind of way that she appreciates dearly.

this train of thought would lead us to this encounter; the meeting, and its goals. not that the connection jumps out-- but there is something to be said about vivienne's failure to take into account the mind's propensity for fucking up her plans. exhibit a: she didn't take into account the scorching anger that would flare at the sight of the corpo suit, nor did she consider refusing the call when it came on her internal agent. in fact, she thought of little but the eddies, and what she could bargain from someone like him. she should have, of course. it seems absolutely idiotic, now that he comes to sit in front of her, to have ignored such an important parameter as one's own feelings.

she could still walk out, of course, but time would tell you that v doesn't do such a thing: she didn't when she was a corpo rat killing herself for recognition. she didn't when, later, she was sent to the streets, implantless and drug-stupid. she didn't with deshawn. the bullet to the brain didn't teach her shit, because she stayed again and again and again, until now, facing nikolai lantsov, the automatic scanner bipping with recognition. she will do it again, of course, because at the end of the day, it is who she is: someone who climbs the mountain, jaw clenched, pretending the ground has never been anything but miraculously flat.

the diner had a particular quality of a place that had stopped pretending. nikolai lantsov, on the other hand, who had spent the recent part of his adult life in rooms that pretend extremely well, found it to be entirely too refreshing. he sauntered in through the doors in a white suit that hid a bulletproof lining and immediately drew eyes towards himself. and a scanner too. the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smirk.

he found her without difficulty, though he suspected the more accurate account of events would suggest that she had found him first, probably had him at the first moment when he cleared the door ( tagged, assessed, filed ) all before he even had even adjusted to the light. or the lack thereof. the thought pleased him more than he should have.  the data on him caught on the optic scanners would be scattered too. he had made sure of that.

what had brought a shining corpo to a shitty diner? the overhead light flickered, and something in him did too. it was brief, unpleasant. there was a feeling of something hot rising in the air, like the stench of blood left ignored on the barstools where some junkies had throttled each other into oblivion. night city had a very peculiar way of life, after all. the engram that was chipped into his neural network shifted in its architecture the way it did when it wanted to pay attention to something he had not consciously clocked. nikolai swallowed it before it could reach his face. he was getting better that. at least some days.

he settled into the seat across from her with the kind of composure that costs something: learned young and maintained extensively. currently doing a considerable amount of heavy-lifting too.   ❛   good evening to you too, v.  ❜ he replied with a lightness that did not entirely belong to a boardroom or a white suit, something easier underneath it all, more practised in rooms like this one than anyone reading the file of ' nikolai lantsov, director ' would have expected. gloved hands wrapped around the cup she had offered him.   ❛   I see warmth is not included in the rate.  ❜

❛   I will get to the point,  ❜ he continued, knowing that he meant to do the exact opposite. nikolai traced the lip of the cup in front of him, holding v's gaze. ❛   a colleague of mine has found themselves on the wrong end of a very expensive mistake. the kind that night city specialises in.  ❜ his eyes moved over the diner once, unhurried, the kind of sweep that looked like idle curiosity and was not. ❛   there is something in his head that shouldn't be there. not a relic, nor a black market cyberware. something older and more deliberate. something that was put there by people who had a very specific use for it and very little regard for the person it was put inside.  ❜

when was the last time you won a race?

we just gotta hope for some lucky breaks.

hope is not a strategy.

what do you care what they say? it's just noise.

we do what everybody does, we lose.

hey, you lose that lead and i'll kill ya.

i think it's wonderful that they're giving second chances to the elderly.

no fighting!

who's fighting? i'm racing.

our shot is battling in the turns. we need to build our car for combat.

for what it's worth, don't be shitty to yourself. there's plenty of people out there that'll do that for you.

when you look in a mirror, you see this rough-and-tumble old school cowboy. doesn't take orders, goes his own way, huh? a lone wolf.

well, i have news for you. formula one is a team sport. it always was.

may i remind you that you report to me.

cool. just don't ask me to give up position.

hey, lemme ask you something.

a close friend made you an offer that is one hundred percent, positively, too good to be true. what do you do?

how much are we talking?

it's not about the money.

it's rare, but sometimes, there's this moment in the car where everything goes quiet, my heartbeat slows, it's peaceful, and i can see everything, and no one, no one can touch me.

i am chasing that moment every time i get in the car.

i don't know when i'll find it again, but man, i want to.

in that moment, i'm flying.

there's twenty other drivers still out on that track. you think any of them respect us?

i'm offering you an open seat in formula one, the only place you could say if you win, you are the absolute best in the world.

i'm told you're looking for a driver.

what's your name?

we can't pay much.

if the last thing i do is drive that car, i will take that life.

i climbed a mountain to get here!

you're making a mistake, thinking that i'm gonna be some grateful kid who'll bend a knee to an old-timer.

okay, here's another one my dad would say. slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

listen, let's get this straight: we all lose our jobs if you can't pull off a miracle.

when i said i like straight talk, i meant me. from others, i prefer mostly praise, flattery, idolatry. sometimes even gibberish.

i'm here to prove everyone wrong. my ex, my old boss, my first year uni physics professor. and until we win, i haven't.

how did you get here?

what would he want you to do?

just hear me out.

look, i wanna bring you on board.

right here, next year, let's run it back.

we did it, man. a deal's a deal.

what kind of way is that to race?

you just spend your whole life starting over.

take care.

i'll see you down the road.

where is he?

let it go. focus on a clean start.

we'll never win clean.

can we just not break any rules?

the rules are against us though, aren't they?

anything you wish you'd done differently?

basically what i'm trying to say is... i'm sorry.

thanks. you're a superstar.

i'll see you out there.

he's driving angry. not good. it's not good.

who is that asshole?

your man thought i was maintenance. sent me to the backgate.

i'll never live with myself if i can't keep up with you.

how are you feeling?

someone has to sacrifice.

we are the best in the world.

you're crazy bro.

what are you smiling about?

you pull that shit again, i will knock your teeth out.

no one passes us without a fight.

oh, is this funny?

you think you got a seat next year? 'cause you just cut your chances in half. that's how dumb you are.

you failed! why should i listen to you anyway?

look man, i don't give two shits about you.

you wanna sabotage your career, you go right ahead.

i won't let you do it.

get your shit together.

just take care of your tires. you have to make them last.

M . ' how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder? ' / @pritvolny

HOW fortunate for him that someone has indeed taken it upon themselves to have some air of HONOR ... nobility. the stench is great and even greater is the inhale that comes next , GERALT taking his time with a response , though it was EXPECTED for his work and his life to be MISUNDERSTOOD. after all , he was a MUTANT , some thing derived from mages magik. yet ?

TOSS A COIN TO YOUR WITCHER ... !!!

it seemed his work was never over , and he was in demand for such an ABOMINATION. perhaps people do not care for the UGLINESS of such a world , there is the faint smell of a decent kill upon clothing , and geralt does not care to wash off such a scent.

INSTEAD he takes the wording to a to a place of jest. ' perhaps people should root themselves in a good murder ' a slight lifting of tongue as his voice still remains in a rather low octave, ' perhaps i am not the man to ask... ' his brow raises slightly as he raises a cup to lips. ' i have been so fortunate as to change myself so many times that i do not no longer recognize who i was, and if i am ever in doubt then ? ' he pauses , the candlelight plays upon their features as the windows allow for a breeze,

there was something about a witcher that did not allow for comfortable silence. or perhaps it was that nikolai had never been good at sitting inside of one, tapping his finger on the edge of the table. his mouth was pressed into a thin line as the question landed with the precision of a blade finding its mark, somewhere underneath the performance of himself. his gloved hand returned to his glass, tracing its lip, contemplating.

    ❛   war doesn't change you.   ❜ the candlelight flickers as a swift gust of wind rattles the windows. there was something in his voice that did not belong to the king, nor the privateer, nor any other version of himself that he has worn with any particular confidence. ❛   it peels you, I suppose. whatever is left underneath is what survives.   ❜

a moment passed. then two.