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Sarissa (ladyofsummer) wrote in somerealityrpg,
@ 2020-01-07 11:01:00

Entry tags:

inactive: sarissa

WHO: Sarissa and Geralt
WHERE: Lobby of Ostrich Villa
WHEN: Jan 7
WHAT: Geralt needs some help

Sarissa was settling back into mortal life much more quickly and more comfortably than she had in the Summer Court. Although to be fair, she had yet to settle into the Summer Court. It was difficult to do so, when the entire Court believed her to be a spy sent by Winter, and when the one person tasked with protecting her probably blamed her for the death of his love. Being a mortal - or at least pretending to be one - was so much easier.

It helped, too, that she felt useful here. She had picked up many skills over the centuries, including her nursing degree, and she was experienced in showing how the modern world worked to a creature who was accustomed to bygone days.

It seemed that Geralt was in need of both.

She spotted him immediately when she stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, and for a moment she froze. Geralt of Rivia , with his hulking build, white hair and pale skin, could have been one of Winter's Knights.

She forced herself to exhale. The current Winter Knight was Harry Dresden, and he was back in her real world, and she was powerful enough now that she no longer had to fear the Knight of Winter. Still, it took effort to quell her flight response.

She summoned a smile though, one that held the warmth and light of a clear summer morning, and approached.

"Greetings, Geralt of Rivia. I am Sarissa."

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ofrivia
2020-01-08 06:43 am UTC (link)

The kindness offered was met with a look of bewilderment. The Continent had been through such rough times, a warm hand was hard to find. Even the children were hardened and cold at times. Sarissa didn't know him at all and yet she extended a hand to him without question, apart from the initial shock she tried to conceal. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it, and so quietly dismissed the offer with a vague shake of the head.

"Very well," he said, regarding the elevator with the utmost disdain. It looked like they would be trapped in a box. Although he was not at all claustrophobic, the idea of being trapped in some sort of contraption he could not altogether conceive did not set well with him. Then again, it was easily chalked up to being some newfangled sorcery.

When the doors opened to receive them, he immediately pressed against the frame to ensure they would not come back and slam into her. He had no idea of the predictability in these machinations. Gesturing for Sarissa to enter first, having surveyed the interior and deeming it safe, he waited until she'd done so to follow suit.

"A ghoul's bite is ordinarily fatal," he informed, glancing down at the soiled makeshift bandage. "I'm free of those toxins now, but the wound itself may require stitching or further tending." He had buried himself in drink the night of his arrival, and so had yet to bother looking at the injury at all as of yet.

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ladyofsummer
2020-01-08 05:48 pm UTC (link)

Two seconds in, and Geralt of Rivia had already mastered the art of holding the elevator door. He might have a chance yet.

Sarissa, despite her inner amusement at this detail, was all business when she replied. "Fatal, not infectious? You're not in danger of turning into a ghoul yourself?"

The rag looked filthy, and he was right to be concerned about infection from the wound itself. She was acutely aware of the trillions of bacteria crawling around the rag and in his open flesh. And all on his body, in fact. Geralt looked - and smelled - like he'd rolled around in horse dung. Fortunately, Sarissa was used to worse.

The doors opened again shortly - one floor wasn't very far to go - and now she held the door for him to step out. Once he had, she led the way to room 1E, where she pulled out a key from her pocket to unlock it. Such a simple lock didn't require her to use a key to bypass, but she was attempting to pass as a mortal as much as she could. Fortunately, the keys in these times were made from alloys, rather than iron.

"Come, sit on the couch there - that's the long seat." And hopefully Luke wouldn't return until she had a chance to clean it, or he was in for an unpleasant surprise.

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ofrivia
2020-01-13 03:08 pm UTC (link)

Geralt had one thing going for him, he was a quick study. Vesemir had liked that about him, which was precisely why they'd gotten along so well. The witcher had become more than a mentor to him growing up, he'd assumed the role of father he never had. He doubted he would have made it through the ensuing training at Kaer Morhen without him.

"No, fortunately it does not work that way. Not for me."

He nearly jumped as the elevator doors gave a ding and announced the floor. Looking up and around in a bewildered fashion, he eventually shrugged it off and followed after her. It was just another mystery best left unexplored for now. His wound was far more important. While the old man had helped him, and so had his mother for that matter, he didn't trust either of them to have succeeded. Granted Geralt wasn't sure of Sarissa, he was a sucker for a brunette.

Following her orders, he took a seat on the unusually long seat. Surprised lit his face at how comfortable it was, too comfortable. Geralt was unnerved by everything in this realm and it showed, but he disregarded that quickly just as he had all else. So, he focused on unwrapping the dirtied cloth and tossed it onto the table before him. The wound was healing well, but could use some additional doctoring. No stitches would be required, and it would leave a nasty scar. Just one more for him to add to his collection.

He looked at it slightly pleased. "Hmm. Better than I expected."

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ladyofsummer
2020-01-14 04:03 am UTC (link)

"If you expected rotting flesh and a cut to the bone," Sarissa said drily. But it was better than she had expected as well; whatever was protecting him from the ghoul's bite might have fended off any sort of infection from that soiled rag.

She examined the wound a moment. "It's not terribly deep," she told him. "You won't need stitches, but it'll leave a scar for you to talk about. Here, put your leg up on the table, and don't move."

With the order given, she carefully gathered up the cloth - more to preserve the new species of bacteria she sensed crawling around in it than to prevent it from dirtying up the apartment. She was going to have to study them later.

In the meantime, she set it aside in a bag, out of the way, and grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen. Fortunately, Geralt's wound wasn't severe enough to require anything more than some disinfectant and some bandages.

"This will sting," she warned before she applied the disinfectant. Then she reconsidered. "It'll sting for most people. You'll probably just feel a tickle."

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