The silence wails over the inn as he steps in. Evil snares and glances are casted his way, but all he do is give a twice as intimidating look back. That's something that isn't very hard for Geralt. Not many people in The Continent has the same pair of amber glowing eyes as him. An empty stool is waiting for him at the bar, just like always. The innkeeper's cleaning a wooden tankard with silver lining, he doesn't even give Geralt a look.
But no one can ignore his eyes for long, and eventually the scruffy man meets Geralt with such an apathetic look it almost makes him laugh. He gestures his hand towards the tankard, now placed in front of the man who nods without a word.
While the beer foam frothers alarmingly over the edge of the tankard, Geralt gets a look around. He's been to Novigrad before yes, but this is a big city with a big community. Many strange people as well...
The eyes he meet are not friendly, they never are. Inn's like these are usually filled with tacky, run down men who needs to get away from the brutal reality with a beer and some companionship. Geralt scoffs at all the pettiness that's swarming the room, before turning back to his beer. "Eh, what's a Witcher doing here?" a clearly provoked man says with a thick accent behind him.
There is also the people whose lives are so incredibly boring, that they come to Inn's, just so they can find someone to beat up for fun. Geralt turns immensely slow towards the man, already knowing he'll have to leave this place with bloody hands.
He awaits for the man to continue with slightly raised eyebrows. It's hard not to come off as threatening when your having two razor-sharp swords pinned to your back, but Geralt didn't make any indication to fight.
The man's wearing a brown sort of cloth with.. is it leather pants? A small dagger is fastened to his belt, probably three times smaller than just one of Geralt's swords. His hair is almost gone, small dainty black ones, peeping in every direction. He didn't look the least compared to Geralt, who just observes the man.
"You think you can just waltz into my town?" he takes a daring step forward, resting his hand on the petty iron dagger. Frivolous people like these love some good entertainment, to fill that empty void.
Everyone searches for their purpose right? Everyone needs to feel like they have a place in this bloody world. Geralt already knows his purpose. To kill. He's designed to kill. Does it bother him? Meh. Would he choose something else if he could? Why well in stuff that's in the past. He is what he is.
"Your town?" Geralt isn't a man of many words, he likes things candid. If this guy thinks he owns Novigrad, he may have had one too many beers. "Do you wanna fight me?" Geralt asks, like the man is a toddler, needing every words spoken evidently.
The man still keeps his head high, even though the anxiety is now crippling from his toes to his brain. Maybe picking a fight with a Witcher isn't such a good idea after all. Maybe this is the beer talking.
He just stands there in the middle of the Inn bopping from side to side, so Geralt turns back to his own business with a low "hmm"
But Geralt's wish for peace is to no avail.
A filthy hand grasps his arm almost strong enough to pull him out from his stool. He gives an annoyed growl to the man and his cockiness. "Show me what ya got. You fight monsters, eh? Fight me!" the man tips back and forth in a defensive manner with a blurry gaze.
"I'd really prefer not to" Geralt snares under his breath, eyes glaring towards the exit of the Inn. A roar is heard from the man, now storming towards him in a wobbly manoeuvre. Fuck. Geralt doesn't wanna hurt the poor man, he's just a drunk trying to impress his companions by being too naive and stoned to see the end of this fight.
The dagger is held high above the man's head, slashing right down towards Geralt's face. He easily leans to the side, the man almost falling over when the dagger only hits thin air. Geralt sighs, as the guy once again tries to hit him. He grabs the hand holding the blunt dagger, twisting it while dragging his own sword in one swift move. The iron one. The iron one he mainly uses for humans, with a few exceptions.
The blade is scraping dangerously close to the man's Adam's apple. He's whining, with a shallow breath. "Now leave me alone, will you?" Geralt grunts into the man's ear, before pushing him down on the ground with a sigh. The Inn is once again silent, Geralt standing like a feral animal with a heaving chest in the spotlight. Great.
The once oh so brave man is now begging for forgiveness. Begging for his life to be spared. He's just a nobody, and he respects Witchers very much. Geralt grits his teeth. How quickly one can fall apart when things get serious. That's when you see people true colors; When they know everything could end in just one second.
"You should leave. Both of you!" The Innkeeper raises his voice. This isn't exactly good for his business, having Witchers wandering around and fighting people. He doesn't spare one thought to the drunken man, this is obviously Geralt's fault, and his only.
Geralt eyes the exit again, casting the man one last look of disappointment before leaving the Inn.
☆
The town is dark; warm yellows light seeping from windows and torches, casting a beautiful light over the dark streets. Novigrad at night, that's a sight you'll never see anywhere else.
Valerie pulls her hood closer, shadowing her face from the few people around. The air is cool, and goosebumps travels their way to her spine in a combination with the offbeat feeling of wandering the streets at night.
"What's a girl like you doing out here?" something she's heard one too many times. At least she has the experience needed to get the deviants elsewhere.
Her hand elegantly removes the cloak from her thigh, exposing the iron sword clasped to the inside, without sparing the man a look. She doesn't hear a word from him again. This is the exact reason why that cloak is her most prized possession. Being female alone isn't easy, but a female assassin? She knows for sure, that some of her clients would've killed her if they knew she wasn't a tough, strong man of some sort.
Without hesitation she glides into a small dark side slum. Squinting her eyes is to no avail, the path's pitch black. Carefully she moves like a feline, until she spots the outline of a door. A puff of wind drags her body, almost like it wants her away from the door. She doesn't exactly want to do this herself. The fun part is the killing, not all the bullshit talking with clients.
Sometimes she spends the whole day listening to angry men whining about how that one man did that and the other did that. She watches them in silence as they grow more and more aggravated, until they end up breaking something, crying or having their wife calm them down; All while she just waits for her fucking information.
One hand is gripping the sword in her cloak, while the other knocks on the stone cold door. She's almost about to leave, as a creaking sound is heard. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. It isn't usual to have people in cloaks visit you at night. Except for the Grim Reaper.
The man nods, opening the door wider for her to enter. An eerie feeling consumes the girl, as she steps into to yet another pitch-black room. An oil lamp is lightened, placed on a crooked wooden table with a thick layer of dust.
"So-" the man begins, throwing himself onto a chair. Valerie stands, silent as she is, still with her hood shadowing her face. She is after all called The Silent Assassin.
"I need this bloody-bastard of a man out of this world. He's killed my wife.. I- I don't wanna get into detail here Assassin" he waves his hand around in front of his face, clenching his jaw in a desperate attempt to keep up his facade. "I just- I need him gone!" hot tears are prickling in his eyes, as he smashes his fist into the table, making the lamp break onto the floor. Glistening glass shards are spread across the floor. Without a flinch, Valerie's now standing in a black void. An empty black void only filled by the heaving breaths of the man.
She says nothing. She never does.
"Can you do it? If i give you the information of his whereabouts?" She almost feel bad for him and the desperation in his voice.
Yet she scoffs. Of course she can do it. He knows she's an assassin right? It's what she lives for.
A new lamp is lit, and the light casts frightening shadows across the mans face. She nods, avoiding the ghoul-looking man's eyes.
"Not one of words, huh? Well, his name is Barthon Hallow. He lives not far from here, right next to the Kingfisher's inn." She can already see the type. The man. Someone she's happy to kill. He's a killer himself, so she's choosing the lesser evil.
Does she ever question her own morals? Of course she does. She kills people. Human beings, with lives spent and ahead of them, but it's just another way of life. If she didn't kill them, someone else would just be hired for the job, so why not her?
Another nod, and she steps out into the cold night air before the man begins to go completely deranged in sorrow.
A misty fog is crawling along the brick road, giving a thrilling vibe to the town. Her cloak which is covering her feet, makes it look likes she's floating through the ocean of white. Tranquility is wailing over her, as she wanders home.
Tomorrow she's gonna kill. And she's gonna do it well, like always.
A. N
Ahh, first chapter! Lmk what you think so far ;) I am so fkn in love with Geralt's character in general, he's honestly just cool.
Tysm Waldo for just hyping me up whenever I breathe, ly endlessly @wallowsinangst <3