[Geralt has been to festivals before, of course. He's gone through villages during Belleteyn, and even though no one would have wanted a witcher to take part in the festivities, he'd seen how it was done.]
[This shit is nothing like that.]
[If Geralt had still had the full extent of his witcher senses, the lights and sounds and general commotion of this place probably would've given him a splitting headache. It's a near thing anyway-- fuck, he'd just wanted to get the lay of the land in this new city, start to map out the streets in his head, not have a casual stroll through Overstimulation Central.]
[He shoves his way through the crowd, something that's easy to do when you're his size. Normally, he'd be given a wide berth by any normal folk, but no one here seems to notice-- or care-- that there's a witcher in their midst. Until he hears it-- a gasp, and when he turns, a woman is staring up at him, her eyes wide and bright under the neon lights. She leans up towards him, and he leans away in equal measure, brow furrowing under the weight of her scrutiny. In his many years of experience, when someone looks at him that closely, something bad is about to follow.]
[He's not wrong, exactly.]
[Oh, she says, sounding far too delighted for a woman who's talking to a man shaped approximately like a brick wall who regularly beats monsters to death, your eyes! Look at that color! Kind of like a cat's, really? Are you one of those furries?]
[Geralt has been asked many things in his long life, plenty of them some degree of insulting, but this? This is a new one. This is new and he hates it and he says the first thing that he can think of:]
Fuck off.
Fight Club
[Bloodsport is something that's reassuringly familiar to Geralt. As long as there are people in the world, there's going to be someone who wants to see a man beat the shit out of another man for coin. And while he would far prefer to earn his wages through witcher's work, he's without swords and armor and contracts around here, and he doesn't have very many other skills that don't somehow pertain to killing monsters. Since there's a less than lucrative market for the fine art of witchering and he still needs to pay for things, taking a few rounds in a ring might be the stop-gap that he needs. A way to bring in some coin until he figures out something else.]
[He lurks for a little while, watches a few of the fights to size up the men who go into the ring. It varies-- there's a wide range of skill, from the most obvious amateur to seasoned veterans, prize-fighters. The payout seems decent enough, depending on who and how many you fight in a night. It isn't a difficult decision, in the end; Geralt needs coin and this is a way to make it, if you're the kind of man who's both discreet and good with his fists.]
[He's on his way down to inquire about getting booked to fight when he overhears the bookie and promoter arguing about a no-show for one of the later bouts, and how they're going to fill it. It's an opportunity, and Geralt steps in to take advantage.]
Geralt of Rivia | The Witcher (netflix)
[Geralt has been to festivals before, of course. He's gone through villages during Belleteyn, and even though no one would have wanted a witcher to take part in the festivities, he'd seen how it was done.]
[This shit is nothing like that.]
[If Geralt had still had the full extent of his witcher senses, the lights and sounds and general commotion of this place probably would've given him a splitting headache. It's a near thing anyway-- fuck, he'd just wanted to get the lay of the land in this new city, start to map out the streets in his head, not have a casual stroll through Overstimulation Central.]
[He shoves his way through the crowd, something that's easy to do when you're his size. Normally, he'd be given a wide berth by any normal folk, but no one here seems to notice-- or care-- that there's a witcher in their midst. Until he hears it-- a gasp, and when he turns, a woman is staring up at him, her eyes wide and bright under the neon lights. She leans up towards him, and he leans away in equal measure, brow furrowing under the weight of her scrutiny. In his many years of experience, when someone looks at him that closely, something bad is about to follow.]
[He's not wrong, exactly.]
[Oh, she says, sounding far too delighted for a woman who's talking to a man shaped approximately like a brick wall who regularly beats monsters to death, your eyes! Look at that color! Kind of like a cat's, really? Are you one of those furries?]
[Geralt has been asked many things in his long life, plenty of them some degree of insulting, but this? This is a new one. This is new and he hates it and he says the first thing that he can think of:]
Fuck off.
Fight Club
[Bloodsport is something that's reassuringly familiar to Geralt. As long as there are people in the world, there's going to be someone who wants to see a man beat the shit out of another man for coin. And while he would far prefer to earn his wages through witcher's work, he's without swords and armor and contracts around here, and he doesn't have very many other skills that don't somehow pertain to killing monsters. Since there's a less than lucrative market for the fine art of witchering and he still needs to pay for things, taking a few rounds in a ring might be the stop-gap that he needs. A way to bring in some coin until he figures out something else.]
[He lurks for a little while, watches a few of the fights to size up the men who go into the ring. It varies-- there's a wide range of skill, from the most obvious amateur to seasoned veterans, prize-fighters. The payout seems decent enough, depending on who and how many you fight in a night. It isn't a difficult decision, in the end; Geralt needs coin and this is a way to make it, if you're the kind of man who's both discreet and good with his fists.]
[He's on his way down to inquire about getting booked to fight when he overhears the bookie and promoter arguing about a no-show for one of the later bouts, and how they're going to fill it. It's an opportunity, and Geralt steps in to take advantage.]
[And thus he ends up in the ring.]
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[Bad username or site: geralt @ rivia]
what the fuck is a furry
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