тнє вιg вα∂ ωσℓf (redruby) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-09-06 15:00:00 |
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Ruby didn’t remember the change. It was rushed, it came on quickly. For this first time, as soon as the full moon rose, it felt like agony that burst from her skin - like this wolf had been inside of her for so long but it wanted out, and nothing was going to contain it. The reason it wanted out was because it was time to take what truly belonged to it, possessive and hungry. She’d tried to barricade herself in, just in case. In the backyard of the B&B there was a sturdy shed with a padlock. Ruby made up some excuse about how she was spending the night at Kenzi’s, when her Granny asked, but then she slipped out and into the empty shed before the old woman noticed she was lying. Locking herself in, she hoped that she was being silly and just because she’d dreamed of remembering that she was the wolf when the Dark Curse broke, that didn’t mean she’d change here. But she wanted to take precautious anyway. However, those precautions failed because the wolf easily broke the door of the shed down and ran out down along the beach, paws making tracks in the sand the closer it got to the water. The unfortunate couple on the beach was mid-coitus when the wolf ambushed. It wanted blood, wanted to sink its claws in, it wanted ripping and tearing and the splatters of a heart caught between its teeth. This type of thing called to the wolf, it sang as sweetly as a siren did and was as seductive as a nymph. The wolf was there to claim both the male and the female - first the man, tearing flesh from bone. The woman must have died from fright first before the wolf could kill her though - she busted her head open on a rock trying to run away, but she fell. The wolf just did her a favor, finishing her off quickly. So the wolf dragged her limp body a bit further down the beach, leaving a trail of blood; it was pretty much drained from her skull by this point but the wolf wanted to finish its meal. As moonlight cracked through the few tree limbs swaying overhead, the wolf began to eat the carcass it had claimed. Geralt wouldn’t have known something was wrong if he hadn’t stopped by. His goal, of course, to continue to apologize profusely - from the weekend of hell he spent at home, unintentionally bailing on their plans to the avoidance that followed after. Nothing was personal, and everything was different - his skin shades paler, that peppery aspect of his hair gone and replaced by silvery white, and the blue of his eyes gone, mutated to a molten gold, irises narrowed like snake’s. Mutagens changed his genetic makeup, changed his physiologically down to the most basic senses; the sharpened sight, the sensitivity of smell, hearing, lightning reflexes. Results from enduring the Trial of Grasses (and a couple other additional experimentations, at the stronghold of Kaer Morhen - he was the only witcher to receive the colorless hair because of it), the concoction of herbs that led to a fucking torture that made him what he was. An abomination, mutant, trained to help the very civilians that shamed him and paid him shit for putting his life on the line. He was still wrapping his head around it - he didn’t mean to come off callous, cold, stoic (more so than usual) but the changes had permanent effects. Dampening of feelings that would run rampant under still waters, the conflicting ideas of what to do with his appearance (he’d gotten contacts for work, but figured the hair would stay what it was). Geralt hadn’t the time for much mundanity, but he couldn’t lose himself to what he’d become either. Which is why he came to the B&B, flowers in hand (he didn’t know what else to bring and he was trying to be sweet with whatever the fuck their thing was), but when Granny announced she’d been off with a friend, he left the the red sunflowers - petals like rubies, reminiscent of her namesake - with the grandmother before he decided that something was…off. The witcher kept it to himself, but his nose picked up Ruby’s scent with an odd twist to them. It led him to the shed, the signs of something breaking out, the indents of pawpads in the ground. Deep down he had an epiphany, but that’s where he kept it - deep down, along with all the versions of the Riding Hood tales he’d read to Cirilla when nightmares plagued her long ago. Geralt moved like a ghost through the night, the silver blade slipped from the back of his truck as he followed the trail of wolf in the sand. Her scent provided a path, and the medallion under his shirt hummed stronger and stronger the closer he got (sensing magic - a curse?). Then came the blood. Carnage. And then - her. If he were human still, the emotion the sight conjured would have made him ill. He felt something, no doubt; but it wasn’t seen on his stone-carved face. “Easy, Ruby,” he rumbled, knees bent to a crouch as he stopped several feet away. “Ruby, c’mon - look at me.” Unfortunately, Ruby was gone - if she’d been there, she’d no doubt have been horrified too. But all that remained was the wolf, eerie golden eyes that were less twinkling like treasure and more animal peering out from all that coarse, black fur. Huge paws, sharp bloodstained teeth (all the better to eat you with, my dear). And the wolf didn’t respond, other than to grumble low and deep - a warning, because it viewed this intruder as a threat. It also wasn’t quite full yet either, hadn’t satisfied the urge to hunt and kill all the way. The alpha was usually the leader of the hunt, a well-executed dance that ensured the males did what they did best and the females did what they did best to get enough food - younger wolves would watch to learn. But this wolf didn’t hear any of its pack around, it was hunting on its own, it just wanted to kill. So with a growl, it dug its paws into the sand and strode those few feet, springing to close the distance and take down its prey. Oh, for fuck’s sake - their luck was shit, wasn’t it? Fate’s sick, twisted humor (which he didn’t know if he believed in, but this was a coincidence that rattled him right to the marrow) would turn him into a monster slayer and her into the textbook definition of a monster, a thing he’d been trained to kill. But Geralt couldn’t - wouldn’t - see her that way, even if the maw full of deadly teeth were stained in blood of innocents, the bodies proof of what she’d done. His sight was perfect in the darkness; an eerie, reptilian stare cut from ice as he watched her. His muscles could recall the memory of expert movement from footing to the swing of a blade - it was part of him, an extension, and he hadn’t the time to figure out what the hell to do with such an archaic weapon. Geralt, however, opted to trust in instinct. Instinct, and knowing that he wouldn’t kill her. He couldn’t. That wasn’t an option, not now - not ever. Ruby coming at him (he wouldn’t call her a beast or monster or anything else, it was still her) was what he’d wanted; he taunted once, watched her come at him like a bull seeing red and feinted to the left to swing down his sword. Flatside, of course, not the edge. He didn’t have plans to slice her in half but he put strength behind the hefty whack he delivered to the back of her neck. Normally, hitting the wolf with a sword wouldn’t do anything - even if Geralt had cut into the monster, it wouldn’t have done much either. But the sword - something about it. It was silver. A werewolf’s only weakness. As soon as the wolf was struck, it literally howled in pain - because the burn of the silver seared through fur and hit flesh, practically sizzling. The wolf whimpered and howled again, pathetically, hoping that the rest of its pack would hear the cries for help. But still that pack didn’t seem near. A bit dizzy and unsteady, yet those howls turned into snarls and growls once more, the wolf lunged again. If Ruby could communicate, if she was actually there, she’d have begged Geralt to hit her again - to knock her unconscious so she couldn’t hurt anyone else. Two swords, one for for men, one for monsters. Iron for one, silver for the other - all part of a Witcher’s weapons cache, and while he knew he and Ruby didn’t share the same world, there was a chance some basic commonalities were across the board. Meaning that silver would hurt her in ways a regular weapon couldn’t, and Geralt was right. Part of him wished he wasn’t. He breathed in deep once, twice, three times (force of habit to calm spiked nerves). He was stripped of frazzled nerves, the fright that would come with fighting someone you cared about in a fucking form they didn’t even know they had - and his heart should have been racing too but it wasn’t. The heels of his boots dug into the damp sand briefly before he lept, propelling himself forward for a clash that made him ground his teeth so hard it almost hurt. Another slap of silver was delivered to the woman hidden in wolf’s clothing; and there was a twist this time, accidental more than anything (Geralt wanted to be a fucking expert at his trade immediately, but life wasn’t perfect), with the sharpness of the blade going down her side. That stung, a long cut down the wolf’s side that actually took off fur and drew blood. It wouldn’t kill the beast, but being bashed with a silver weapon was certainly enough to slow it down. A lot. Another howl at the moon, the wolf trying in vain to summon its pack once last time - but by this point, the monster knew it was alone. It went down on its opposite side, hitting the sand and sinking into the dampness slightly. Breathing shallowly, the wolf dug in with its paws and tried to get up but it was too injured so instead it simply whimpered quietly like a dog would - a very large dog, soaked in the blood of innocents in addition to its own blood. That flow of crimson would stop in a moment, since the wolf healed quickly from the cut. But being dazed from the silver, and burned, still lingered. Enough that it finally stopped moving and closed its eyes - still breathing, however. Just out cold. What a mess. Geralt hoped the lapping ocean waves would wash the evidence out, but he wouldn’t leave it to nature’s gamble. First thing he was able to do was whip out his phone and send out a hasty text to a certain cleaner - address, description of the bodies, and a very quick ‘I owe you, will explain later’ - and then, then he was able to quickly assess what the fuck to do next. His truck wasn’t far off, by Granny’s, but he’d have to use the obscurity of night as a cloak. Strips of clouds slipped over the moon, blocking light from shining down, and the time was now. Ignoring the macabre canvas of a bloody meal, he moved to lift the werewolf with all the strength he could muster - over his shoulder with a grunt, the sword under his arm. “Don’t make this difficult for me and wake up,” he rasped. He couldn’t cock this up. No witnesses, minimal noise, and swift as could be. That’s how Geralt made it to the truck, using chains kept in the bed of it to keep her strapped down. Then, he drove to his home. Urgently. To the middle of nowhere, where the neighbors didn’t pry and a soul wasn’t awake to watch someone unload a wounded animal from his vehicle. Tracks of sand from his boots were left behind in the grass as he carried her to the yard, where he had his own spacious shed of equipments - typical household shit for the outdoors (lawn mowers, hedge cutters), other miscellaneous items. It wasn’t the the most suitable place to keep her but for the moment, while Ruby was like this, it was the best option he had. And Geralt didn’t leave her, either. He propped the sword in the corner and stayed with her, on the floor of what was practically a shack, clothes smeared in blood and that wolven-shaped head on his lap. Damn, Geralt. When Garcian arrived to the scene of that goreshow, he really was going to be cashing in on that ‘thing’ owed and also an explanation. But the wolf didn’t awaken during the car ride back. It didn’t awaken in the shed either, not until the sun began to rise and it was the dawn of a new day. Then it jerked into wakefulness and began to change back - the constellation, muscle and bone, of a woman. This transformation was easier than turning into the wolf - it was just a return of consciousness and some painful-sounding popping and cracking (though it probably sounded more painful than it actually was). There was Ruby, her head in Geralt’s lap. Barefoot and wearing a tank top and shorts, her pajamas, grey material printed with flowers and cute little sloths. “What - “ she gasped, coughing, no idea where she was or what was going on. “Geralt?? What happened? Why am I here? I thought you didn’t want to see me.” It was the first thing she recalled, because she’d been concerned that Geralt had cancelled their weekend work session - then when she spoke to him on the phone, he sounded awful. He hadn’t wanted her to come help, though. So she’d stayed away. Sleep did its best to sink its claws in, and instead the witcher meditated. Peculiar concept, wasn’t it, but it was a practice in his trade - not like he ever tried it in this life but what else to do? There was a chance she could stir awake, still in this form, break free and wreak more regrettable havoc. On him, on anyone else, an he couldn’t let her do that. But in that state he was aware of everything, from the song of crickets outside to the pace of her breathe, the scent of blood and grass, sand and sea salt mingled in fur, paws and his own footwear. Geralt sensed the transformation occur under his hand (he’d been stroking her head, gently, having detangled some of her pelt with his fingers) and opened his eyes to watch. Nothing in his face gave away what transpired. It remained frozen, cold, like a sheet of ice. Memory loss, he mentally noted. Not unusual for a werewolf. Problematic, though, because now she’d have to hear the tale from his very lips and that was what filled him with a dull sense of anxiety. Almost fear, but nothing so erratic to change the speed of his pulse. “Take it easy,” Geralt quietly said. Now it was hair that his fingers were tangled in and he stroked, soothingly. “And tell me what’s the last thing you remember. Every detail.” “You look different,” Ruby replied, sitting up a bit and trying to orient herself, pressing a hand to her forehead. The floor was cold, the air in here was chilly too for some reason - she just felt off, though she remained close to him for the warmth his body provided. “Your hair, your eyes - this is...this is what happened when you cancelled at work?” Oh, but he’d asked her a question. She swallowed painfully - her throat was dry and scratchy, and she was starving. Man, she could totally murder some breakfast steak and eggs for the protein right now. “I don’t - well. I don’t really know. I dreamed of the curse being broken in Storybrooke and all the memories came back to me, I remembered being the wolf and I hurt people, I killed...I ate my boyfriend and...was...here, I was afraid I’d change, so I locked myself in the shed.” Shit. Her voice got wobbly and quavery on those last few words. “I changed, didn’t I?” Right, his appearance. Ruby hadn’t seen him since he endured the mutations (he’d taken leave off work until he figured out the fuck he was going to do), but there were more pressing matters to address aside from the colorless hair, the freakish eyes. His shirt was buttoned, long-sleeved, mostly clean so he undressed himself of it and draped it over her shoulders. Geralt wasn’t the least bit cold, but he’d felt her shudder and pulled her close for the warmth she craved - and the comfort she may need. “Yeah,” he answered, grizzled and low, and he found strange comfort in feeling the weight of emotion constricting his throat. Killed people, ate her boyfriend - god, what a fucking revelation. “You changed. I came by to see you but your Granny said you were at a friend’s, but I smelled you - your scent’s all over the place and this trail, it seemed different. Found the shed, then...I found you.” Her scent? “Are you part bloodhound or something,” she chuckled weakly, and curled up closer. Snuggling into the fabric of Geralt’s shirt and leaning against him - he was solid, which was nice, and she certainly wasn’t going to complain about him being shirtless. “You found me, and...” Ruby’s voice cracked. She could feel tears prickling at her lashes because it was like she didn’t even need to ask, she already knew the answer. “Did I hurt people?” The question was whispered against his neck, her face pressed there as her arms came up to wrap around him. God, she must have - she must have hurt someone, it was the only explanation. Her heart was sinking into a sandpit, and she kind of just wanted to have the floor open and swallow her. “Got subjected to mutation experiments,” he explained, motioning to the abnormal eyes, the ghostly hair. “To become a witcher - fancy term for monster slayer, and the job description comes with enhanced perks.” Smell, for one. Geralt’s ability to track by scent alone had played a part in trailing certain breeds of beasts. Detective work with a supernatural twist, if you will. This wasn’t too different, aside from the fact that it tread personal territory. He wished he could tell her she only ‘hurt people.’ That implied they lived to see another day but from what he saw - what he’d ask a friend to discretely clean up - wasn’t the case. Ruby needed the gory, fucked up, shit, horrid truth if she wanted to get through this. His grip on her only tightened. “Two people,” was his dreadful answer. “They’re dead, Ruby.” There was no inflation of his voice that gave away feeling despite the the confession. The words sounded like he’d been reading a fucking grocery list; deadpan, stoic. It wasn’t something Geralt could help. If he could, he’d change it. In a heartbeat. They’re dead, Ruby. She was howling again, but to human ears it sounded more like hysterical sobbing. Waves of misery, tremors shaking her body. Raw emotions, raw feelings, raw wounds. Raw everything. It felt like those sobs ripped through her bones and her muscles, even nervous sloshing in her stomach. Which - she was going to throw up. There was nothing actually in her stomach but she crawled to the closest thing that looked like a bucket and was just sick right into it. As for Geralt’s stoic demeanor, she just assumed he wanted nothing else to do with her after this. Not like he would want to keep dating her (or whatever it is they were doing), knowing she was this. “Then if you’re a monster slayer, you should have killed me too,” she hiccuped. “Because I’m a monster. It’s what I deserve!” Who had she killed? A mother, a father, a sister or brother? Someone’s lover, someone’s friend? They were gone. Two people would never go home again, and it was all her fault. Bile. It tickled his nostrils but it didn’t bother him, didn’t have him look the other way as Ruby sunk her head into the bucket. This was guilt he couldn’t fix, a hurt that words wouldn’t soothe - but he’d try. Geralt knew that’s the best he could do. “Don’t,” he rumbled, a pique of assertion that was effortless to express (some emotions were easier to show than others - he knew he was going to be a fucking mess to decipher). All this was too fresh; it’d be eating her for days, weeks, months, the curse of also being a decent human being. “Things aren’t so black and white like that, Ruby. They rarely are.” Instead of staying apart he insisted on keeping close, behind her, pooling her hair into his calloused hands to hold in case she wasn’t done. “I’ve seen enough of what I do in these - dreams, this life, whatever the hell it’s supposed to be - to know it’s never easy. I’ve killed people who’ve filled in the roles of monsters because they’ve done monstrous things of their own will, and I’ve protected those who automatically fall under the category of monsters that want to live in co-existence, whose auctions are caused by curses and things not of their will. Don’t ever ask me to kill you, and don’t expect me to. You know I won’t. You know I can’t.” She didn’t deserve this. Arguably, no one deserved to get fucked by circumstances out of their control but they were different now. Their realities were forever changed, and now they had to figure out a way to deal with it. “But I can’t control it,” Ruby wailed brokenly. She hadn’t been able to in her dreamworld either, from what she knew - in fact, it was a worry for Storybrooke when she was without her red cloak. It was why she, instinctively, just didn’t get involved with people. Because there was a very real chance she could eat them? Yeah. Not normal. Was it possible that she could learn to control it though? Maybe, but she had no idea how. “My red cloak keeps me from changing but I don’t have it here,” she continued, her words shaky as she wiped at her teary eyes - she was still crying, so it didn’t much matter. No plugging up this dam. “I don’t know what to do. You’re going to have to chain me up, or...or...I don’t know.” Perhaps there were other werewolves she could ask - how did they keep from going on killing sprees? She turned back to face Geralt and curled into him, to tuck her head beneath his chin. Admittedly, she didn’t understand what had happened to him - how and why those changes came about - but she would have to trust that if he didn’t want her near, he would simply say so. Because she was in need of the comfort right now. No, he wasn’t going anywhere - and neither was she. Geralt was too invested in this, whatever ‘this’ was, to let her slip through his fingers while self-hatred devoured her from the inside. “I’ll keep an eye on you,” he promised and pushed his lips against her forehead. “I won’t let last night repeat itself, and I’ll help you figure this out - you’ve got my word.” Whether it’s finding out how to control it, or coming up with a monthly routine to keep her restrained while the full moon wreaked havoc on her. “Let’s get you out of here. Inside. A hot shower will do you good. Coffee too. And you need to eat something.” No arguments, buts, nothing. It was easy how he lifted her, too - arm under her knees, the other keeping Red Hood against his chest. There was an extra toothbrush for her to use, some of Ciri’s toiletries that’d been left behind (clothes too, if she wanted something a little more fresh). Ruby held on, and she definitely didn’t argue. She was too weary, too exhausted - and the guilt she bore felt like barbells tied to all her limbs. If there was a way to move past this, she didn’t know that either - in addition to how to even deal with a curse, how to not be a slave to the moon. “Thanks, Gerry,” she replied quietly, trying to numb herself to the next onslaught of emotion that threatened to get her to start crying again. Eventually she’d forgive herself for what she’d done - but it probably wouldn’t be anytime soon. It was sunny outside, and sunny inside - Geralt preferred natural lighting, the grand windows of his home filtering the outdoor rays, and it was pleasantly warm. It smelled like chestnut, sandalwood, and the herbs from the kitchen windows. Soon it’d smell like coffee beans too, and sizzling bacon. Carrying on like normal when two lives were just lost was odd, he wasn’t going to lie, but what the fuck else to do? He set Ruby on her feet and kissed her forehead again - temple too, hand cradling the back of her head. “I’ll clear out my shed for you tonight, figure out…something.” No, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight for one goddamn minute. “Whatever happens, I’ve got you.” “At least we have another month to prepare,” Ruby said - and maybe by then the OC would throw her a bone and let her have her cloak, however realities managed to collide and objects passed through. If she wore it all the time, for each full moon, she knew it’d be the same problem as it had been in her dreams - she would never learn to control herself, because she’d be suppressing the wolf instead of accepting it. But at the moment? Sure, give her the easy solution. If it kept her from killing people, from feeling this terrible, then she was all for it. She leaned in and held Geralt’s face in between her hands, rising up on her toes to kiss him properly. “I’ll just...grab a shower and come back.” When normally she’d be smiling and offering to help prepare breakfast, she just couldn’t right now. She knew she’d probably break down again in the shower but that was to be expected. It had been a long night, and even longer days were ahead - especially now she knew what she was. A monster. |