Bull looks up at the noise, alert suddenly, a part of him thinking-
But no. No, of course it's just a deer. He should know better. He knows no one comes out to the woods any more. His own fault, probably. Now if he could just get it through his head that he's decided to stick around anyway, that this is just how things are until he's done, whatever 'done' ends up meaning, if he could just ignore that pull inside him making him so alert for anything that can think and speak and fill this heavy, empty thing inside of him-
The berries he'd been picking pop in his fist, red juice spilling over his hand. He grimaces, watching as it stains his skin, and rubs what isn't already drying there off onto his pants. Pants today, even if the fleshy tail sticking out over the low-slung waistband and the black, furred legs and hooves coming out from their cuffs all sort of ruin the look. Leaving the shoes back in his tent just helps remind him that there's not going to be anyone around to put that particular show on for, with the Chargers gone, and leaving the skirt in his tent with the shoes means he can dig around here looking for anything sort of almost fruit-like without worrying about stains. The pants are casual, approachable, so stains are fine; the skirt's for the kind of immediate distraction that might stop a stranger's fight or flight crap from kicking in, so he should probably try to keep that looking nice.
Not that that's going to be a problem, probably. Having to look good for anybody. Which is fine. It's only been, what, two months? A little more? One of those girls had needed a distraction, something good instead of thinking about everything she was about to leave behind, and he'd been happy to give it to her. That'd been early on, before all the rumours about the monster in the woods - a fiend, surely, waiting to hypnotize the good hardworking people of this town - started to fly around, and people decided they had a good reason to stay away. It's fine. The one round a couple months ago, with how well fed he'd been up until then - fine. Not really a big deal. He's held out longer than that.
Some of those rumours must be his fault, too, and not just because of that string of missing girls. The guards are part of it probably, their injuries, and he wonders if he should have just killed them, if hiding bodies would have kept people from getting as worked up as they did seeing their friends come back from patrol all bloody and, in a couple cases, a little gouged.
Too late to do anything about it now. They're already alive to tell the tale: a monster coming right into the town under the cover of night! Stealing women! Attacking the brave, well-trained, and totally alert watchmen before they could blink! It'd given him a chuckle, the first time one of the girls told him about it. It's always funny, hearing someone talk you up just because they don't want to look bad for getting their ass kicked.
Got a little less funny when some of his regulars stopped coming around, when the rest got a bad case of cold feet and started warning him off. But he probably should have known that it was going to happen.
So. Berries. He thinks fruit has something to do with it, and fermentation, and sure some of this is poisonous to humans but with none of them coming around, he's going to be the only one drinking it. He focuses, pushing through some bushes, grabs another couple berries - and stops again, looking up at the sky in time for the first heavy raindrops to hit him right in the empty eye socket.
"Come on," he growls, like there's anyone around to hear. "Really?" Another round of thunder rumbles across the sky and he takes a slow breath, lets it out. Even when that guy with the cottage at the outskirts of the town isn't giving him the cold shoulder, when staying out of the big storms that way was still an option, thunder's not his favourite thing. Makes it harder to hear anything, including threats. But the town isn't big enough to have the kind of actually trained soldiers who'd have a chance at taking him on, and he thinks they know that. Otherwise they'd have started sending parties out into the woods by now. He'll just go back to his tent, he'll wait it out, and it'll probably be fine.
The rain, the thunder...it would be hard enough for The Bull to hear a regular man coming through the forest-- though, really, most of a village's untrained soldiers make such a noise in what passes for their armor-- but what's coming now isn't a man. It's death perfected, on near-silent feet.
But he's not coming for The Bull's head, not immediately anyway. The village had put out a contract but Eskel had been unable to identify the monster based on witness description (and one hilariously crude drawing), piquing his curiosity. Not a lot of novel experiences in the world when you've lived for more than half a century. He'd gotten a general direction to move in from some people who clearly knew more than they were telling, but could not be pursuaded to say more. Sure, he could have Axii'd the truth out of them, but it always made him feel dirty. So he'd set out in an approximate course and did it the hard way: studying every little detail of the landscape.
So he's moving quietly enough, and his silver sword is drawn but it sits defensively in a relaxed grip. The "monster" that's been attacking the town clearly isn't some kind of ravening beast, or there would far more bodies. Whatever it was was snatching women, but they weren't turning up violated or eaten (or both), and the guards had been badly hurt but as far as Eskel can tell the beast didn't have truly murderous intentions.
He was reminded of a man his brother Geralt had met long ago: an avaricious nobleman turned into a lonesome beast who accidentally found himself fielding "sacrifices" of local maidens (who were fed, clothed, fucked silly if they asked nicely, and sent home with caskets of priceless treasure). Perhaps this monster had appetites beyond the merely digestive. Eskel was a little amused by the idea of coming upon the great horned beast and his harem of missing women having a marvelous time in some forest bacchanal.
Ugh, not that the weather was conducive to such things, he thinks, as far drops of rain start to run down the neck of his flashy jacket. By the time he follows the almost imperceptible trail of tracks, tree damage and little bits of unidentifiable fur, the thunder rattles in his very bones as he keeps all his sense on high alert as he steps out into a clearing where an immense shape is just slouching towards a sort of tent that must be where it lives. It's wearing clothes, which is always an encouraging sign that it might be a beast of reason.
Funny, he can almost identify the scent he catches on the wind, something in the fiend category...but not quite. It's weird that it's almost something he's intimately familiar with. But that doesn't make any sense, so he shakes it off.
"You must be the guy that's grabbing girls from the village." He says, by way of announcing himself. He doesn't sheathe his sword, but he keeps it relaxed at his side, the posture of his approach open and non-threatening.
"Shit," Bull says, a reflex on being surprised - with ears like his, it's not something he's used to - and then, "Shit," once he spins around and sees what exactly it is that snuck up on him, a reflex on realising that he's fucked.
Krem's going to be so pissed off, he finds himself thinking with this wrenching, heavy feeling he doesn't have time to try and put a name to. When he comes back and finds out that I'm dead.
His eye flickers over the witcher. His short outings with the Chargers taught him enough about swordplay to know the difference between a grip that's just holding a sword and a grip that's about to use it, so he has that. He has what passes for armour too, painted all in black angular shapes up over the grey of his arms and shoulders, his chest and his back - not that it's enough to do more than give him an edge in a normal fight, like it'll do him any good against the kind of shit a witcher's going to be packing. And it's not like the witcher's loose grip can't turn into something deadly in an instant. But Bull's counting his advantages here, and this is what he has. And he has fire, too - well, sort of, unless this damned rain lets up.
He has all that, then, and he has the talking. That talking could be a good sign, if Bull can figure out what's making the witcher want to chat in the first place and figure out how to use it. Lust would be a good sign too, if he could swing it - keep the guy talking long enough for this rain to finish plastering Bull's pants, thin, shapeless cloth things, down against his skin, and maybe he'll be able to tell if there's anything in this witcher he can work with. Bull doesn't do it for everyone, he knows, and there's only so much you can do with someone who looks at you without any kind of spark, but maybe, maybe-
That maybe is his best chance. Keep him talking. Learn what he can, build from there.
"And you must be a witcher. Didn't think they had enough reach to swing one of you guys. Mayor manage to get a message out to somewhere important, or you just happen to be passing by?"
Oh, good, he can talk. Eskel's feeling more ever more optimistic about this encounter.
"Passing through." He explains. "It's a light purse to be sure, but beggars can't be choosers." He says, candidly. "The Mayor's holding out on me and thinks he's so clever I won't know. And he thinks I'll bring their missing womenfolk back alive." He looks around the clearing. "Don't seem likely, but I figured that." He blinks slowly at Bull in the blue-gray premature dusk that the rain has wrought, his eyes glowing like those of a night-creature. "Never seen anything like you." He says. "And the fact that you're standing here talking to me's got me curious. And it's saving your neck, for the record: we're always careful with sentient species, so as long as you don't try anything stupid, I'm not gonna hurt you. What happened to the women from the village? They seem to think it's something to do with you."
"They're okay," Bull says warily, eyeing him. "Alive. But you know I'd tell you that either way."
So maybe the witcher thinks he'll get more money if he does find the girls alive, if he can talk Bull into telling him where they are. Not that the witcher seems too invested in that, but it's worth paying attention to in case it turns out more important to the guy than he wants to let on. There's the 'sentient species' angle, too - Bull's not sure he buys that one, though, too wary of the sliver of hope that he might live through the day after all to believe in it. It'd be a good trick, make the monster think it's going to die and then offer a little hope, enough light at the end of the tunnel to blind it into thinking honesty might be the way out.
Not that he's going to give those girls up either way. No witcher's got a reason to keep a monster alive, not really, and what happens to any human mercenaries who were - whatever they'd call it, 'morally corrupt' enough to work with one? It depends on the witcher, he guesses. Any witcher who found the Chargers out might just want to be bribed, or he might turn around and just kill them. Krem and the boys are good, but Bull's heard too much about witchers to risk it.
Buy time.
"Mayor's trying to stiff you on your fee though, huh? Don't let him give you that shit, guy's loaded. Got enough money to do anything he wants, especially in a tiny town like that. Whatever he said he'd pay you, he can afford more." A little love-package for the mayor, there - even if the witcher kills him, he might go back to town and give the guy shit about his fee afterward, so. Got to make your silver linings where you can get them.
"Yeah, you could tell me that either way." Eskel says. "But I would know you were lying, if you were." He shrugs, considering Bull for a long moment. "Don't think you are." He holds up one hand, but only to make an innocuous, reassuring gesture as he raises his sword to put it away. He knows he can get it back in his hand fairly quickly but the new creature seems calm, measured in his answers and willing enough to give them, within reason. "Let me talk to you a while. Figure out where I need to go from here." The witcher flicks a bit of dark, silver-shot hair out of his face, where it sticks in the steadily worsening rain. "If you haven't hurt anybody, there's no reason to kill you, not really. And I'm...curious, I don't recognize you from any bestiary." He looks Bull over, his gaze skimming where the beast's clothing is sticking in the rain before circling warily back to his face.
"Somewhere out of the elements?" He suggests. More comfortable and a show of trust from both parties.
Bull gives a slow nod, for lack of anything else to do. Might be a good thing, sitting down in close quarters; if the witcher decides Bull's hurt somebody after all his fire will work better in the tent, as much as it would suck to lose what he's got in there, and there might not be enough room for the witcher to use his sword as well as he would out here.
Plus: close quarters, a little more intimate. Yeah the witcher's gaze didn't seem to stick on the way Bull's pants are clinging to him in the rain, but an intimate touch to the atmosphere doesn't usually hurt, even when there isn't a lot of obvious attraction there.
"Just let me clear my stuff away first, don't want to get everything all wet." He doesn't turn his back to the witcher, just ducks into his tent sideways, and hurries to wrap his shoes inside his skirt, the skirt inside the bedroll, wrap the whole thing up and set it off to the side. Not that they'd for sure give the Chargers away, but they're the ones who had the shoes made up for him in the first place and it feels safer to keep that little hint at a connection out of sight, and the succubus outfit out of sight, too. If the witcher's curiosity's helping keep Bull alive it's probably a good idea not to give up any more clues than are already out there.
Then he pulls the tent flap aside and pokes his head out, jerks it in an invitation for the witcher to come inside, and backs up to make some room. It's bigger than a normal one man tent, but only out of necessity; long enough for him to stretch out, tall enough for him to sit up, almost wide enough that his horns don't have to scrape against canvas every time he turns his head, and it all used to be smaller, a different material sewn onto the edges to extend the thing.
Bull lounges along the tent's left side with his arm draped over his hip, leaning on an elbow so the witcher will be looking down at him and stretching his legs out, tucking his hooves behind the bundle of his stuff at the tent's other end and keeping them out of sight. Not like the witcher hasn't already seen them, but if he isn't actively looking maybe he won't be thinking as hard about what other monsters walk that way. And the rest of the lounging posture he's taking, sure, that's making space for the witcher to sit down but it's also comfortable, instinctive. Some people like it better when Bull keeps looming over them, reminds them how big and powerful he can be, but with his life hinging on coming off like a good, agreeable monster that's not going to hurt anybody, somehow making sure the witcher gets to feel a little bit taller feels like a better way to go.
"Nice to find a guy who appreciates honesty when he hears it," Bull says, even though he isn't really convinced that the witcher actually believes him. "What part of it convinced you? Just out of curiosity."
Eskel doesn't disguise the way he looks around the tent with those bright, inhuman eyes of his. Scrutinizing, filing little details away here and there. He does feel somewhat encouraged by the way the creature lays down, a position more at ease than he was expecting. He would be reduced to using signs and a hunting knife in such close quarters, with limited options at that. No way to swing a sword. And what close quarters it is, as Eskel's hardly a small man himself, tall and with broad shoulders made all the more absurd by his gaily-colored jacket. He kneels down opposite his host, eyes glittering like the mirror-nightshine of a wolf.
"People give off certain clues." He shrugs. "We learn to watch for them. I know you're not lying but that you're also keeping details to yourself. Your expressions, your heartbeat, sometimes the smell of people's sweat...all tells."
Speaking of, in close quarters, Eskel can catch that half familiar scent again. But it doesn't make any sense. There's no sign of another occupant in the tent, no hide nor hair of what Eskel could swear was a succubus. And they tended to be flashy bitches who wouldn't have stood for living rough in a tent--
He shakes his head, trying to shake it off. That scent had too many sense-memories tied to it now and none of it was things he needed to revisit now. He finds his gaze wandering over Bull again, even as he wrenches his brain away from the pleasure and abandon he remembers.
"Anyway...so it seems like you're the one that took the girls, right? But they aren't here with you and you said they were safe." He rolls his shoulders. "So what happened?"
Bull studies him, thinking about his answer. He wants to make it sound like there's a chance he'll lead the witcher to them, give him all the reasons he can find to keep Bull alive, but Bull also doesn't want to give away too much. But there's that lying thing; his heartbeat, the smell of his sweat - that's familiar, good ways to read someone, but Bull's not used to being on the other side of it. Especially not with someone - something - he can't really predict, doesn't really know. Witchers haven't been a whole lot more than scary stories up till now, based in fact but vague, distant. How much exactly can he smell? If they were back in the rain, would that help hide the beating of his heart, whatever smells a witcher's nose might be sensitive to?
No point in overthinking it. Be careful, instead, don't lie but pick out the truths it won't hurt anyone to show.
Alright. Yeah. He can do that. He's tense, sure, maybe a little nervous, maybe enough that it shows to whatever senses the witcher's got, but he's always been good under pressure. He can let the nerves sharpen his mind, think past the pull of months without so much as a friendly face - some of the girls were grateful, some of them were scared of him, most of them weren't really feeling that chatty so he's not sure how much they count - and he can figure out how to give the right answer.
"You don't smell that bad yourself," he says first, off the witcher shaking his head like that. He doesn't know what the witcher's thinking about, if something's getting to him or not, but he can try to use it, say that, give the guy a flirty little grin, and if he's lucky, if nothing else it might throw the guy off a little.
"The girls, though. Few of em aren't that far away." Relatively, anyway. Make it sound like the Bull could lead him there, not like it'd take at least a couple days hard ride to catch up to the closest one. "Let me ask you something, though. What if some of them didn't want to go back? Still worth the extra money to round them all back up, one by one?"
"I don't think anyone in the town actually believes they're alive. Figured them for murdered, eaten, whatever. The mayor says he wants them back but surely he doesn't actually believe that? Something's not right with that guy. For one thing, he's obsessed with the missing women, knows them all by name, detailed descriptions right down to their temperaments. But it was like he was describing things, not people. Anyway..." He regards Bull with an impassive expression. "So, what did you take them away for? I've never met a monster that's taken up with slavers." Which would be a pity as Eskel would probably kill him on private principle for such a thing, Code or not. He does have questions about the"don't want to go back" bit though, that part is curious. "In fact, I've never met a monster who just took women away and then let them go at all, especially ones that never came back to their village."
And that's when something clicks for him, almost. There's one monster he can think of that catches humans and then lets them go. Usually exhausted and dehydrated and dizzy with lust, but alive.
"What are you, anyway? I've been studying bestiaries since the minute they taught me how to read and I've never seen anybody like you."
"Not a damned slaver, is what I am." Bull grimaces up at him, but it's not like the witcher's got a whole lot of reason to believe any different. Not on a personal level. "Does this look like the kind of place you sleep in when you're getting slaver's money, anyway?"
Just then thunder rumbles sudden and loud enough - at least, loud enough to his ears - to make Bull twitch, his grimace coming back for a second. Still, the noise is kind of right on cue.
"If I got into that kind of crap I'd at least make sure I got to stay out of these shitting storms. If you write me up into one of those bestiaries after you take me out, it'd be nice if you left those kinds of ideas out of it.
"So," he adds, not quite able to help himself. "You got weird vibes from the mayor when he hired you? He say anything else that sounded off?"
Eskel holds up his hands, mostly placatingly but he's not above preparing a sign in his mind just in case.
"Easy..." He cautions. "I believe you." Mostly, enough to follow Bull's line of questioning over further and more aggressive interrogation for the moment. "And, yeah. You'd think he'd personally catalogued these women instead of just being the authority figure charged with finding them. It was kind of...I dunno, creepy, you know? And there's definitely people in town who know more than they're telling. I figure some of them know you and some of them know what's up with the mayor-- or both-- but couldn't get them to budge on either. So...you're the kind of guy people trust, I guess. Or fear. Familiar with that feeling."
Bull huffs out an amused sort of noise, eyeing him. "Yeah," he says, not admitting to anything except that last point, sounding thoughtful about it. "Guess you would be. Never thought I'd have something in common with a witcher." He says it with a grin to soften the comment into something friendly, then eyes the witcher some more.
It's weird, having someone in here with him. Weird having someone in here for this, knowing he needs to stay alert and feeling a part of himself wanting to relax anyway, wanting company, wanting to believe that he can have that here, with a guy who'd kill him in a second if he decided Bull was dangerous enough. Might need to keep reminding himself about that, especially the longer this goes on.
"You never answered my question, though," he says, a little bit to remind himself there's info he's trying to get out of the guy too, and a lot to try and figure out how much of the witcher's suspicion of the mayor is coming from actually caring about whatever might be going on. "Say you did find them, and most of them didn't want to come back. But you know what you're getting paid for. You still do the job?"
"Well, to be honest," Eskel says sheepishly. "You've kinda put me in a bind here. Code says I should at least hear you out and I've got no reason to kill you and I get the feeling you're about to make a case for why I shouldn't find those missing ladies either." The witcher shifts to sitting properly, stretching out his stocky legs (a little anyway, not wanting to impose in what little personal space Bull had for himself on that side of the tent) instead of kneeling as if in meditative readiness to spring. "But I'll figure something out. Usually do in these situations. Man's gotta eat and have somewhere to lay his head, after all. But I'm not above cheatin' a little." Another shrug.
Bull makes an appreciative noise, watching the witcher's legs move, watching him start to make himself comfortable and feeling a couple inches closer to making it through the day without his head getting chopped off and turned into some witcher trophy. "How little's a little? Lying about the girls? Lying about me? I guess I can't swing talking you into going back into town and looking into that crap with the mayor some more, but maybe we can work a little something out."
"Dunno yet. Times like this I usually bring back some bloody article of clothing and some hair or fur or whatever-- my blood, usually, since humans can't smell the difference-- tell 'em your head was too big or too damaged to bring back. Tell them the girls are dead. Probably get less coin for it but I can stand to sleep rough a while longer." He cocks his head. "You get a weird vibe off the mayor too, huh? Your contacts in the town or the girls have something to say about it?" Since he doubts the Bull has had the occasion to sit down and talk to the man.
i'm giving in to temptation and giving bull wiggly ears since he's sort of a goat person and all
Bull nods slowly, still looking wary but thoughtful about it now. "The girls. Some of their parents. A bunch of the mayor's friends started getting married at about the same time, which was sort of weird in the first place, but then some of the courtships were... off. I don't know all the details. Some of the guards are in on it, mayor's brother, people like that. People started getting worried, I started hearing about it-" Nevermind how, half because keeping the witcher curious about what exactly Bull is still feels like a good idea and half because he doesn't know how the guy feels about the kinds of things Bull does. "-figured out how to get some of em out. I want to stick around until I can figure out how to do something about it, but-"
But. But it's been two months, and here's a friendly face, maybe even a decent guy, and Bull takes a long, slow breath, breathing him in, and he finds himself leaning forward just a little-
Then he snorts, ears pressing back flat to his head just for a second before he forces them up again, makes himself look neutral and unmoved, acknowledges the empty space inside of him and reminds himself it doesn't need to get filled up just yet. Here and now, with this guy who's just barely decided not to take Bull out? Not exactly the best idea.
He takes another huffing breath, like he just paused because he was frustrated. "I don't know. With all this monster in the woods crap I'm probably going to have to move on soon anyway.
"You really lied about killing things like me before?" he adds, wanting to move the topic away from just why he's going to have to move on but also just really wanting to know. "More than once? That doesn't sound like any witcher I've ever heard of."
Eskel is unsure what to make of the creature's expression, his momentary shift towards Eskel, but Bull settles himself again with what is admittedly a kind of charming flick of his ears.
He has to shake off the notion.
"Trade secret. Gotta swear you to secrecy." He says, only half joking. "Can't let that get around. But, yeah. Sometimes, if the monster's the type to be reasoned with, and not all that dangerous, we've been known to do just what I'm doing now." Okay maybe not quite this, stretched out companionably in this very intimate little tent. He returns to the other matter at hand; it's interesting, this little dance they're doing. He's glad Bull is willing to move out of the area on his own, that makes things easier.
"We don't really get involved in human social problems or legal matters." He says, candidly. "But that is weird. Any of the women say what happened? Or just the usual 'not wanting to be married off to some old guy'. Understandably."
"I heard a lot about that part-" because, you know, he would, at least from a couple of the hornier ones who thought they had to seduce him into helping, which is kind of funny when he looks back at it, "-but I think there was other stuff going on. Some of the, uh- the mayor's cousins, I think some weird stuff went down after they got married but everyone's too focused on their own stuff to tell me much, and I don't know where the cousins live. Some of the courtship gifts sounded off too - some of the girls got these special teas and the one I smelled, there was this kind of... there's this mix I know about, gets people seeing things, makes them want to fuck, but you don't see it in this part of the world, the plants don't grow around here."
Now that he feels like he's probably going to live through this - unless the witcher's the best actor Bull's ever seen, or unless he has some hidden hangup Bull ends up tripping over - his tail's not pressed so tight against the backs of his legs any more, and curls tentatively around Bull's thigh as he thinks. Then he looks up with a grin that says he knows what he's about to say is blatantly just an excuse to get involved and leans a little forward again, his whole manner meant to invite the witcher in on the joke. "You get involved with human problems when they're up to weird magic shit? Because, I don't know, those ones that make you see crap get used in some really crazy stuff. Could be some kind of ritual. Monsters usually come into those at some point, right? That kind of heinous shit? Maybe you'd better make sure."
Eskel cocks the eyebrow he's capable of moving at Bull as the creature leans forward so conspiratorially. Bull does seem more relaxed, which means Eskel is too. Conflict doesn't feel immediate or inevitable so he stretches out closer to the Bull in return, a lopsided grin on his ruined face.
"You'd think you were trying to seduce me with a compelling mystery. A partner in well-intentioned crime. A first for a monster I've taken a contract on, I gotta say." Versus just regular seducing him, though it feels oddly familiar. "Since I assume you can't hire me took into the matter to see if mages or higher vampires or whatever might be involved."
"Yeah, you'd think." Bull gives a rumbling chuckle, his ears lifting a little more from something neutral into something a little more friendly and alert. Maybe he should have tried harder to get the witcher this relaxed before now but he is starting to relax, and it's a relief to see. Makes things easier. "If you need the money, though, I know someone who could probably spot me something. Might be a little bit before I can talk to him, but I'm pretty sure he'll do it."
He'll bitch about it forever, Bull thinks, a little more wistfully than the thought actually deserves - smuggling people out of a place means the Chargers haven't been able to stay that long, so they haven't really gotten to talk - but he'll do it.
He focuses back on the witcher again, willing the wistful expression off his face and replacing it with a sly little grin. "You ever taken a job from a monster before? Maybe I could be your first time there, too."
"Well, I'm not exactly in a position to turn down coin and if I'm gonna potentially forfeit the mayor's money getting mixed up in this, I really won't be in a position to say no." He says, lazily scratching the shadowy stubble along his mastiff-heavy jaw. "So... supposing you're good for it, and supposing there's magic, summoning and shit involved, could look into it for you." He looks down at where Bull reclines, eyes glittering with amusement.
"Yeah, you'd be my first there. Done this before." He gestures to the tent, the comfortable space between them. "But never been hired by one in all the half century I've been doing this."
"I guess we'll have to work through it together," Bull says, his words themselves innocent enough but his tone all low and suggestive, and his tail starts a slow, almost reflexive curl, trailing itself up his thigh-
-and then thunder pierces his ears again, making them press flat to his head and making him twitch and grimace, take a slow breath in through his nose as the noise goes on one second, two, three. Once it's done he lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh, rolling off his hip to sit up. He should be thanking the crappy weather, shouldn't he, even if it's a pain in the ass when it gets loud like this. What the shit does he think he's doing?
"I'd offer you something to drink while we wait this shit out," he says, reaching toward the bundle at his feet, "but even if the kind of drink I'm trying to make was done fermenting, I'm pretty sure the stuff I used isn't going to be great for humans. Want some water, though?" He pulls out a canteen from the bundle, holding it out toward the witcher and giving it a little shake.
"Hm." Eskel says. "On the one hand, I'm not human and my poison tolerance through the roof. But if it's not guest-ready then that's alright." He shrugs, taking the canteen with genuine gratitude, tipping his head back for a drink. "Thanks. Long walk from town." He offers it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Another strange moment had almost just passed between them. For half a moment he could swear the cloying floral-and-musk scent he associated with succubi had floated back to the front of his mind, but once again it seemed only an improbable sense memory for which he could find no trigger. For half a moment there had been an identifiable but surely misplaced tension. And then the creature had rustled himself and it was gone again. He oughtn't think too much about it, tearing his burning yellow gaze away from Bull.
"Alright. I'll go back to town when the weather lets up, see what I can find out. Pretense'll be that I need to do some more research in hopes it'll help me find the girls." He agrees.
"And you can tell them you don't know what I am," Bull offers, taking the canteen back and taking a drink out of it himself. Sure, he doesn't need food so maybe he doesn't need water either, but who knows, with him? No one knows how the shit he works anyway, not completely, so maybe he does need it. Drinking it feels better than not, anyway, and that's a good enough reason to do a lot of things.
Not everything, he reminds himself, leaning over to set the canteen where the witcher can get to it easily and then moving back into his own space again, sitting up on his hip, legs curled up and horns brushing the canvas where the ceiling of the tent starts to dip. He makes his ears stop pressing themselves against his head, giving them a little flick to try and work the tension out.
Feeling good's a good enough reason to do a lot of things. But a witcher who isn't even into him? Some things are just stupid, and he damn well knows that.
"Maybe you found more than one lair, underground tunnels or something, and don't know where to head first. Some of the villagers are going to know that's crap, unless they think there's another bloodthirsty monster around, but they're all gonna keep their mouth shut. So, maybe you need to do some more research to figure out what I am so you know what to do. That'll get you an in into a couple places, right? Maybe not everyone but, you know."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
witcher au for wolfdogwitcher
But no. No, of course it's just a deer. He should know better. He knows no one comes out to the woods any more. His own fault, probably. Now if he could just get it through his head that he's decided to stick around anyway, that this is just how things are until he's done, whatever 'done' ends up meaning, if he could just ignore that pull inside him making him so alert for anything that can think and speak and fill this heavy, empty thing inside of him-
The berries he'd been picking pop in his fist, red juice spilling over his hand. He grimaces, watching as it stains his skin, and rubs what isn't already drying there off onto his pants. Pants today, even if the fleshy tail sticking out over the low-slung waistband and the black, furred legs and hooves coming out from their cuffs all sort of ruin the look. Leaving the shoes back in his tent just helps remind him that there's not going to be anyone around to put that particular show on for, with the Chargers gone, and leaving the skirt in his tent with the shoes means he can dig around here looking for anything sort of almost fruit-like without worrying about stains. The pants are casual, approachable, so stains are fine; the skirt's for the kind of immediate distraction that might stop a stranger's fight or flight crap from kicking in, so he should probably try to keep that looking nice.
Not that that's going to be a problem, probably. Having to look good for anybody. Which is fine. It's only been, what, two months? A little more? One of those girls had needed a distraction, something good instead of thinking about everything she was about to leave behind, and he'd been happy to give it to her. That'd been early on, before all the rumours about the monster in the woods - a fiend, surely, waiting to hypnotize the good hardworking people of this town - started to fly around, and people decided they had a good reason to stay away. It's fine. The one round a couple months ago, with how well fed he'd been up until then - fine. Not really a big deal. He's held out longer than that.
Some of those rumours must be his fault, too, and not just because of that string of missing girls. The guards are part of it probably, their injuries, and he wonders if he should have just killed them, if hiding bodies would have kept people from getting as worked up as they did seeing their friends come back from patrol all bloody and, in a couple cases, a little gouged.
Too late to do anything about it now. They're already alive to tell the tale: a monster coming right into the town under the cover of night! Stealing women! Attacking the brave, well-trained, and totally alert watchmen before they could blink! It'd given him a chuckle, the first time one of the girls told him about it. It's always funny, hearing someone talk you up just because they don't want to look bad for getting their ass kicked.
Got a little less funny when some of his regulars stopped coming around, when the rest got a bad case of cold feet and started warning him off. But he probably should have known that it was going to happen.
So. Berries. He thinks fruit has something to do with it, and fermentation, and sure some of this is poisonous to humans but with none of them coming around, he's going to be the only one drinking it. He focuses, pushing through some bushes, grabs another couple berries - and stops again, looking up at the sky in time for the first heavy raindrops to hit him right in the empty eye socket.
"Come on," he growls, like there's anyone around to hear. "Really?" Another round of thunder rumbles across the sky and he takes a slow breath, lets it out. Even when that guy with the cottage at the outskirts of the town isn't giving him the cold shoulder, when staying out of the big storms that way was still an option, thunder's not his favourite thing. Makes it harder to hear anything, including threats. But the town isn't big enough to have the kind of actually trained soldiers who'd have a chance at taking him on, and he thinks they know that. Otherwise they'd have started sending parties out into the woods by now. He'll just go back to his tent, he'll wait it out, and it'll probably be fine.
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But he's not coming for The Bull's head, not immediately anyway. The village had put out a contract but Eskel had been unable to identify the monster based on witness description (and one hilariously crude drawing), piquing his curiosity. Not a lot of novel experiences in the world when you've lived for more than half a century. He'd gotten a general direction to move in from some people who clearly knew more than they were telling, but could not be pursuaded to say more. Sure, he could have Axii'd the truth out of them, but it always made him feel dirty. So he'd set out in an approximate course and did it the hard way: studying every little detail of the landscape.
So he's moving quietly enough, and his silver sword is drawn but it sits defensively in a relaxed grip. The "monster" that's been attacking the town clearly isn't some kind of ravening beast, or there would far more bodies. Whatever it was was snatching women, but they weren't turning up violated or eaten (or both), and the guards had been badly hurt but as far as Eskel can tell the beast didn't have truly murderous intentions.
He was reminded of a man his brother Geralt had met long ago: an avaricious nobleman turned into a lonesome beast who accidentally found himself fielding "sacrifices" of local maidens (who were fed, clothed, fucked silly if they asked nicely, and sent home with caskets of priceless treasure). Perhaps this monster had appetites beyond the merely digestive. Eskel was a little amused by the idea of coming upon the great horned beast and his harem of missing women having a marvelous time in some forest bacchanal.
Ugh, not that the weather was conducive to such things, he thinks, as far drops of rain start to run down the neck of his flashy jacket. By the time he follows the almost imperceptible trail of tracks, tree damage and little bits of unidentifiable fur, the thunder rattles in his very bones as he keeps all his sense on high alert as he steps out into a clearing where an immense shape is just slouching towards a sort of tent that must be where it lives. It's wearing clothes, which is always an encouraging sign that it might be a beast of reason.
Funny, he can almost identify the scent he catches on the wind, something in the fiend category...but not quite. It's weird that it's almost something he's intimately familiar with. But that doesn't make any sense, so he shakes it off.
"You must be the guy that's grabbing girls from the village." He says, by way of announcing himself. He doesn't sheathe his sword, but he keeps it relaxed at his side, the posture of his approach open and non-threatening.
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Krem's going to be so pissed off, he finds himself thinking with this wrenching, heavy feeling he doesn't have time to try and put a name to. When he comes back and finds out that I'm dead.
His eye flickers over the witcher. His short outings with the Chargers taught him enough about swordplay to know the difference between a grip that's just holding a sword and a grip that's about to use it, so he has that. He has what passes for armour too, painted all in black angular shapes up over the grey of his arms and shoulders, his chest and his back - not that it's enough to do more than give him an edge in a normal fight, like it'll do him any good against the kind of shit a witcher's going to be packing. And it's not like the witcher's loose grip can't turn into something deadly in an instant. But Bull's counting his advantages here, and this is what he has. And he has fire, too - well, sort of, unless this damned rain lets up.
He has all that, then, and he has the talking. That talking could be a good sign, if Bull can figure out what's making the witcher want to chat in the first place and figure out how to use it. Lust would be a good sign too, if he could swing it - keep the guy talking long enough for this rain to finish plastering Bull's pants, thin, shapeless cloth things, down against his skin, and maybe he'll be able to tell if there's anything in this witcher he can work with. Bull doesn't do it for everyone, he knows, and there's only so much you can do with someone who looks at you without any kind of spark, but maybe, maybe-
That maybe is his best chance. Keep him talking. Learn what he can, build from there.
"And you must be a witcher. Didn't think they had enough reach to swing one of you guys. Mayor manage to get a message out to somewhere important, or you just happen to be passing by?"
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"Passing through." He explains. "It's a light purse to be sure, but beggars can't be choosers." He says, candidly. "The Mayor's holding out on me and thinks he's so clever I won't know. And he thinks I'll bring their missing womenfolk back alive." He looks around the clearing. "Don't seem likely, but I figured that." He blinks slowly at Bull in the blue-gray premature dusk that the rain has wrought, his eyes glowing like those of a night-creature. "Never seen anything like you." He says. "And the fact that you're standing here talking to me's got me curious. And it's saving your neck, for the record: we're always careful with sentient species, so as long as you don't try anything stupid, I'm not gonna hurt you. What happened to the women from the village? They seem to think it's something to do with you."
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So maybe the witcher thinks he'll get more money if he does find the girls alive, if he can talk Bull into telling him where they are. Not that the witcher seems too invested in that, but it's worth paying attention to in case it turns out more important to the guy than he wants to let on. There's the 'sentient species' angle, too - Bull's not sure he buys that one, though, too wary of the sliver of hope that he might live through the day after all to believe in it. It'd be a good trick, make the monster think it's going to die and then offer a little hope, enough light at the end of the tunnel to blind it into thinking honesty might be the way out.
Not that he's going to give those girls up either way. No witcher's got a reason to keep a monster alive, not really, and what happens to any human mercenaries who were - whatever they'd call it, 'morally corrupt' enough to work with one? It depends on the witcher, he guesses. Any witcher who found the Chargers out might just want to be bribed, or he might turn around and just kill them. Krem and the boys are good, but Bull's heard too much about witchers to risk it.
Buy time.
"Mayor's trying to stiff you on your fee though, huh? Don't let him give you that shit, guy's loaded. Got enough money to do anything he wants, especially in a tiny town like that. Whatever he said he'd pay you, he can afford more." A little love-package for the mayor, there - even if the witcher kills him, he might go back to town and give the guy shit about his fee afterward, so. Got to make your silver linings where you can get them.
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"Somewhere out of the elements?" He suggests. More comfortable and a show of trust from both parties.
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Plus: close quarters, a little more intimate. Yeah the witcher's gaze didn't seem to stick on the way Bull's pants are clinging to him in the rain, but an intimate touch to the atmosphere doesn't usually hurt, even when there isn't a lot of obvious attraction there.
"Just let me clear my stuff away first, don't want to get everything all wet." He doesn't turn his back to the witcher, just ducks into his tent sideways, and hurries to wrap his shoes inside his skirt, the skirt inside the bedroll, wrap the whole thing up and set it off to the side. Not that they'd for sure give the Chargers away, but they're the ones who had the shoes made up for him in the first place and it feels safer to keep that little hint at a connection out of sight, and the succubus outfit out of sight, too. If the witcher's curiosity's helping keep Bull alive it's probably a good idea not to give up any more clues than are already out there.
Then he pulls the tent flap aside and pokes his head out, jerks it in an invitation for the witcher to come inside, and backs up to make some room. It's bigger than a normal one man tent, but only out of necessity; long enough for him to stretch out, tall enough for him to sit up, almost wide enough that his horns don't have to scrape against canvas every time he turns his head, and it all used to be smaller, a different material sewn onto the edges to extend the thing.
Bull lounges along the tent's left side with his arm draped over his hip, leaning on an elbow so the witcher will be looking down at him and stretching his legs out, tucking his hooves behind the bundle of his stuff at the tent's other end and keeping them out of sight. Not like the witcher hasn't already seen them, but if he isn't actively looking maybe he won't be thinking as hard about what other monsters walk that way. And the rest of the lounging posture he's taking, sure, that's making space for the witcher to sit down but it's also comfortable, instinctive. Some people like it better when Bull keeps looming over them, reminds them how big and powerful he can be, but with his life hinging on coming off like a good, agreeable monster that's not going to hurt anybody, somehow making sure the witcher gets to feel a little bit taller feels like a better way to go.
"Nice to find a guy who appreciates honesty when he hears it," Bull says, even though he isn't really convinced that the witcher actually believes him. "What part of it convinced you? Just out of curiosity."
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He would be reduced to using signs and a hunting knife in such close quarters, with limited options at that. No way to swing a sword. And what close quarters it is, as Eskel's hardly a small man himself, tall and with broad shoulders made all the more absurd by his gaily-colored jacket. He kneels down opposite his host, eyes glittering like the mirror-nightshine of a wolf.
"People give off certain clues." He shrugs. "We learn to watch for them. I know you're not lying but that you're also keeping details to yourself. Your expressions, your heartbeat, sometimes the smell of people's sweat...all tells."
Speaking of, in close quarters, Eskel can catch that half familiar scent again. But it doesn't make any sense. There's no sign of another occupant in the tent, no hide nor hair of what Eskel could swear was a succubus. And they tended to be flashy bitches who wouldn't have stood for living rough in a tent--
He shakes his head, trying to shake it off. That scent had too many sense-memories tied to it now and none of it was things he needed to revisit now. He finds his gaze wandering over Bull again, even as he wrenches his brain away from the pleasure and abandon he remembers.
"Anyway...so it seems like you're the one that took the girls, right? But they aren't here with you and you said they were safe." He rolls his shoulders. "So what happened?"
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No point in overthinking it. Be careful, instead, don't lie but pick out the truths it won't hurt anyone to show.
Alright. Yeah. He can do that. He's tense, sure, maybe a little nervous, maybe enough that it shows to whatever senses the witcher's got, but he's always been good under pressure. He can let the nerves sharpen his mind, think past the pull of months without so much as a friendly face - some of the girls were grateful, some of them were scared of him, most of them weren't really feeling that chatty so he's not sure how much they count - and he can figure out how to give the right answer.
"You don't smell that bad yourself," he says first, off the witcher shaking his head like that. He doesn't know what the witcher's thinking about, if something's getting to him or not, but he can try to use it, say that, give the guy a flirty little grin, and if he's lucky, if nothing else it might throw the guy off a little.
"The girls, though. Few of em aren't that far away." Relatively, anyway. Make it sound like the Bull could lead him there, not like it'd take at least a couple days hard ride to catch up to the closest one. "Let me ask you something, though. What if some of them didn't want to go back? Still worth the extra money to round them all back up, one by one?"
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And that's when something clicks for him, almost. There's one monster he can think of that catches humans and then lets them go. Usually exhausted and dehydrated and dizzy with lust, but alive.
"What are you, anyway? I've been studying bestiaries since the minute they taught me how to read and I've never seen anybody like you."
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Just then thunder rumbles sudden and loud enough - at least, loud enough to his ears - to make Bull twitch, his grimace coming back for a second. Still, the noise is kind of right on cue.
"If I got into that kind of crap I'd at least make sure I got to stay out of these shitting storms. If you write me up into one of those bestiaries after you take me out, it'd be nice if you left those kinds of ideas out of it.
"So," he adds, not quite able to help himself. "You got weird vibes from the mayor when he hired you? He say anything else that sounded off?"
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"Easy..." He cautions. "I believe you." Mostly, enough to follow Bull's line of questioning over further and more aggressive interrogation for the moment. "And, yeah. You'd think he'd personally catalogued these women instead of just being the authority figure charged with finding them. It was kind of...I dunno, creepy, you know? And there's definitely people in town who know more than they're telling. I figure some of them know you and some of them know what's up with the mayor-- or both-- but couldn't get them to budge on either. So...you're the kind of guy people trust, I guess. Or fear. Familiar with that feeling."
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It's weird, having someone in here with him. Weird having someone in here for this, knowing he needs to stay alert and feeling a part of himself wanting to relax anyway, wanting company, wanting to believe that he can have that here, with a guy who'd kill him in a second if he decided Bull was dangerous enough. Might need to keep reminding himself about that, especially the longer this goes on.
"You never answered my question, though," he says, a little bit to remind himself there's info he's trying to get out of the guy too, and a lot to try and figure out how much of the witcher's suspicion of the mayor is coming from actually caring about whatever might be going on. "Say you did find them, and most of them didn't want to come back. But you know what you're getting paid for. You still do the job?"
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i'm giving in to temptation and giving bull wiggly ears since he's sort of a goat person and all
But. But it's been two months, and here's a friendly face, maybe even a decent guy, and Bull takes a long, slow breath, breathing him in, and he finds himself leaning forward just a little-
Then he snorts, ears pressing back flat to his head just for a second before he forces them up again, makes himself look neutral and unmoved, acknowledges the empty space inside of him and reminds himself it doesn't need to get filled up just yet. Here and now, with this guy who's just barely decided not to take Bull out? Not exactly the best idea.
He takes another huffing breath, like he just paused because he was frustrated. "I don't know. With all this monster in the woods crap I'm probably going to have to move on soon anyway.
"You really lied about killing things like me before?" he adds, wanting to move the topic away from just why he's going to have to move on but also just really wanting to know. "More than once? That doesn't sound like any witcher I've ever heard of."
Eeeee! <3
He has to shake off the notion.
"Trade secret. Gotta swear you to secrecy." He says, only half joking. "Can't let that get around. But, yeah. Sometimes, if the monster's the type to be reasoned with, and not all that dangerous, we've been known to do just what I'm doing now." Okay maybe not quite this, stretched out companionably in this very intimate little tent. He returns to the other matter at hand; it's interesting, this little dance they're doing. He's glad Bull is willing to move out of the area on his own, that makes things easier.
"We don't really get involved in human social problems or legal matters." He says, candidly. "But that is weird. Any of the women say what happened? Or just the usual 'not wanting to be married off to some old guy'. Understandably."
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Now that he feels like he's probably going to live through this - unless the witcher's the best actor Bull's ever seen, or unless he has some hidden hangup Bull ends up tripping over - his tail's not pressed so tight against the backs of his legs any more, and curls tentatively around Bull's thigh as he thinks. Then he looks up with a grin that says he knows what he's about to say is blatantly just an excuse to get involved and leans a little forward again, his whole manner meant to invite the witcher in on the joke. "You get involved with human problems when they're up to weird magic shit? Because, I don't know, those ones that make you see crap get used in some really crazy stuff. Could be some kind of ritual. Monsters usually come into those at some point, right? That kind of heinous shit? Maybe you'd better make sure."
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"You'd think you were trying to seduce me with a compelling mystery. A partner in well-intentioned crime. A first for a monster I've taken a contract on, I gotta say." Versus just regular seducing him, though it feels oddly familiar. "Since I assume you can't hire me took into the matter to see if mages or higher vampires or whatever might be involved."
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He'll bitch about it forever, Bull thinks, a little more wistfully than the thought actually deserves - smuggling people out of a place means the Chargers haven't been able to stay that long, so they haven't really gotten to talk - but he'll do it.
He focuses back on the witcher again, willing the wistful expression off his face and replacing it with a sly little grin. "You ever taken a job from a monster before? Maybe I could be your first time there, too."
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"Yeah, you'd be my first there. Done this before." He gestures to the tent, the comfortable space between them. "But never been hired by one in all the half century I've been doing this."
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-and then thunder pierces his ears again, making them press flat to his head and making him twitch and grimace, take a slow breath in through his nose as the noise goes on one second, two, three. Once it's done he lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh, rolling off his hip to sit up. He should be thanking the crappy weather, shouldn't he, even if it's a pain in the ass when it gets loud like this. What the shit does he think he's doing?
"I'd offer you something to drink while we wait this shit out," he says, reaching toward the bundle at his feet, "but even if the kind of drink I'm trying to make was done fermenting, I'm pretty sure the stuff I used isn't going to be great for humans. Want some water, though?" He pulls out a canteen from the bundle, holding it out toward the witcher and giving it a little shake.
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Another strange moment had almost just passed between them. For half a moment he could swear the cloying floral-and-musk scent he associated with succubi had floated back to the front of his mind, but once again it seemed only an improbable sense memory for which he could find no trigger. For half a moment there had been an identifiable but surely misplaced tension. And then the creature had rustled himself and it was gone again. He oughtn't think too much about it, tearing his burning yellow gaze away from Bull.
"Alright. I'll go back to town when the weather lets up, see what I can find out. Pretense'll be that I need to do some more research in hopes it'll help me find the girls." He agrees.
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Not everything, he reminds himself, leaning over to set the canteen where the witcher can get to it easily and then moving back into his own space again, sitting up on his hip, legs curled up and horns brushing the canvas where the ceiling of the tent starts to dip. He makes his ears stop pressing themselves against his head, giving them a little flick to try and work the tension out.
Feeling good's a good enough reason to do a lot of things. But a witcher who isn't even into him? Some things are just stupid, and he damn well knows that.
"Maybe you found more than one lair, underground tunnels or something, and don't know where to head first. Some of the villagers are going to know that's crap, unless they think there's another bloodthirsty monster around, but they're all gonna keep their mouth shut. So, maybe you need to do some more research to figure out what I am so you know what to do. That'll get you an in into a couple places, right? Maybe not everyone but, you know."
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(Anonymous) - 2021-06-06 21:40 (UTC) - ExpandGod replying on mobile is a disaster, sorry.
it's all good I knew it was you
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