[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Everdream Jolt[/center]
[center]Lvl 13 Geralt (83/130) -> Lvl 13 (87/130) (+1 pending) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 3,286 words[/center]


As Geralt savored the giant soft pretzel she’d been brought, dipping it into and taking large portions of the cheese sauce that came with it, she thought on what the Seekers’ next move would be. Getting back in communication with the others was a given, but would they attempt to recreate what they had with Alcamoth, or develop a more decentralized system so that there would never be a single base to attack. It would probably be foolish to give the Consuls another glaringly obvious target, especially before dealing with the ones who had attacked Alcamoth in the first place. Still, all of that was of secondary importance at the moment to finding out what had actually happened to the survivors. 

She sighed, tearing off another chunk and dipping it in cheese sauce before stuffing it into her mouth, savoring the rich flavor. “I love those things,” Siobhan said, coming back around for another quick chat between her few customers. “Though they’re not so great if you’re trying to watch your figure.” Geralt hummed in response to that.

“I’m active enough that it shouldn’t be a problem.” This got a chuckle out of Siobhan, who gestured to the armor and the swords on her back. 

“Had a feeling. You a mercenary or something like that?” 

“Yeah, something like that.” Geralt obfuscated, taking another sip of her drink. 

Though Siobhan checked on her customers habitually, happy to make conversation, she could tell when someone happened to be taciturn by nature. Clearly, it would take more than one beverage to make Geralt open up about whatever might be troubling her, if indeed any demons lurked deep beneath those still waters. Of course, the same couldn’t be said for all the bar’s clientele. While the drinksmith’s Dreamjolt Hostlery maintained a quiet, intimate atmosphere, there were still customers who’d worked up a serious thirst. The more booze they quaffed, the more forthcoming they became, and Siobhan made time to listen to every one.

This didn’t apply solely to humans, either. Though the bar’s customers numbered relatively few overall, monsters seemed to be disproportionately represented among them. Geralt could see a [url=https://i.imgur.com/sVHYBfU.png]four-eyed alien[/url] sipping a bizarre mixture, a [url=https://i.imgur.com/5zMnQuA.png]surly yeti[/url] with a tall glass of Ice SoulGlad, an [url=https://i.imgur.com/mCLZZ7Y.png]weepy horror[/url] gasping to itself, and even a [url=https://i.imgur.com/IoRiPC3.png]beefy red alligator[/url] with a tiny wine glass. Even those that looked downright dangerous made no trouble, however, instead quietly nursing their cocktails of choice. Though the noticeable non-human presence might explain why only a handful of ordinary folks patronized this establishment, the keen observer might get another impression: that this hostelry offered something altogether different from the typical taproom in the first place. Rather than lively socialization, it offered solitude for reflection, the chance to be alone with one’s thoughts–and one’s true nature. These glasses, so thoroughly polished by the bright-eyed bartender that one could see oneself in them, were mirrors, and within the customers could find the courage to face themselves.

Geralt wasn’t feeling quite so introspective yet, but her decision to separate from the other Seekers at the first opportunity belied her own similarities with the other patrons of the bar- if her inhuman appearance didn’t.

Slowly Geralt’s Wake and Slumber dwindled, her pretzel diminished bite by bite. Outside, the sky steadily darkened, and customers came and went. While the Witcher considered getting something else, one of her fellow patrons sidled up to the bar. He appeared to be a [url=https://i.imgur.com/xkBZa9R.png]ghoul in a suit[/url] and fedora, his fingers little more than blades, and he spoke in a whine like an old-fashioned cartoon gangster. “Ey, miss!”

Siobhan turned his way with a twinkle in her mint-green eyes, not at all put off by the ghoul’s hollow sockets or rictus grin. “Mr. Rubin, hey. How was your Wintry Garden?”

The ghoul carefully lifted a finger to his chin. “Not bad, not bad, but I’m lookin’ for somethin’ bitter, see? I ain’t lookin’ to get stuck in a rut, sinkin’ deep into all that cloyin’ sweetness. I need somethin’ that wakes me up, clears out the cobwebs, see? I wanna keep a cool head, and remember the old days like they really were!”

“Hmm…” Siobhan crossed her arms, her brows furrowed above a thoughtful smile. “Something bitter, not too strong, refreshing, with ice, that inspires a sense of nostalgia. You’re a man of rare vision, Mr. Rubin. I’m not sure anything on the menu checks all those boxes.”

Her words left the ghoul aghast. “You’re sayin’ you can’t do it!? Why, I oughta-!”

Siobhan crossed her arms with a chuckle, cutting him off. “Hah! When did I say that? I [i]am[/i] a drinksmith, after all. Get ready for a shock, Mr. Rubin, because I’ll give you lightning in a bottle.” 

Impressed with the way she accepted his vague challenge, the ghoul sat down two stools away to wait. Without delay, Siobhan got down to business, gathering a handful of ingredients from the shelves and coolers behind the bar. Her slender, practiced hands moved as if each had a mind of its own. While working, she happened to look up and catch Geralt watching. “Interested in mixology?” she asked.

“Of a sorts.” She admitted, watching the bartender mix. “Though I’ve mostly made medicinals, potions, that sort of thing.” Plenty of those, some of which she was still carrying, though she was not nearly as heavily kitted out as she’d have normally liked. 

“Ah, bartender! If you’re not too busy, could I get a highball when you’re done? Liquor and ginger ale, please.” Asked a businessman who looked a bit put out by the other clientele, clearly an out-of-towner to the experienced bartender, who was occupied fashioning Mr. Rubin’s complex order. 

“So, miss mercenary, how do you fancy yourself as a mixologist?” Siobhan asked, not even taking an eye off her work. The request came as a surprise to Geralt, who gave the bartender a look. 

“I can mix a potion strong enough to strip paint off a plank of wood, I can probably manage my way around a drink.” She casually boasted, though she still wasn’t quite sure [i]why[/i] she was being trusted with helping a stranger bartend. “Just point me to what I’m using and I’ll manage it.” 

“Second shelf from the bottom, third bottle from the right, one and a half ounces, then take the hose with the button that says ginger ale, and fill him up.” Siobhan ordered as she measured a pour. 

Geralt did as commanded, easily mixing the drink as requested with little fanfare or flourish, though she made sure to plaster an obviously-fake smile on her face as she gave the man his drink. 

As the customer retreated with his beverage, Siobhan gave a nod of approval. “Easy enough, right? But mixology is like a good drink. It has layers.” As Geralt watched, she added an equal portion of pink Practitioner Pepper to the green-tinged Ice SoulGlad she’d just poured out. “When it comes to eliciting emotion, the right ingredients can create a very evocative flavor base,” she explained, using a long-handled spoon to stir the liquids into a homogeneous pale-gold solution. Carefully, the drinksmith wafted the flavor base up to her nostrils, and inhaled with her eyes closed. “Remembrance. Yearning. The fading light of yesteryear. This is the flavor base for nostalgia.” Reaching out her hand, Siobhan skimmed over a bottle of Redsunset Sauce. “Paired with sweetness, it offers comfort. You’ll end up with rose-colored glasses, but not the kind you wear on your face,” she joked with a smile.

Instead of the crimson jam, she took a narrow, tinted bottle of bright, almost alarmingly yellow liquid. “Fellblood Energy. Neither sweet nor strong, but quite stimulating.” She poured it on top of the nostalgic mix, then added a coin-shaped slice of lemon for decor. “When you see the past clearly, it can galvanize you into action. From embraced bitterness, newfound determination.” Siobhan headed over to Mr. Rubin and handed him his drink. “Here. I call it ‘Someday’.”

The ghoul’s rictus grin seemed to spread even wider. “Someday, huh? That’s when I’ll make it big. A drink as gold as my dreams!” He squeezed the lemon, then took a big gulp, simultaneously refreshed and jolted awake. “Ahh. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, see?”

Leaving her satisfied customer to finish his drink, Siobhan returned to Geralt. “You weren’t half bad with that highball. Or serving it, for that matter. Fake smiles are the one thing I can’t make.” She shrugged, then reached for a used glass. “I get along pretty well with monsters, but people tend to find me…well, a little odd, I suppose.” As she cleaned the glass off, she laughed through her nose. “Why not whip up a little something for yourself? My treat, as thanks for helping out.”

Geralt hummed, looking around at the ingredients and nodding. “Can’t say no to that offer,” She replied, quickly coming up with an idea for her own drink. She took a base of Fellblood Energy, added half as much Rejuvenating Soda Water, a tiny amount of Dream Jam, and finished the drink with a touch of Stellar Champagne, humming at her creation with a bit of pleasure. After the morning she’d had, she could use the pick-me-up. Sitting back at the bar, she thanked Siobhan and took a long sip. 

“Oh, that’s nice. I needed this.” She admitted, sighing. “Feel like I’ve been going in circles. Find a new place, do a job, lose track of somebody, try to find them, and once I do I start all over again.” A small shake of the head followed, and another sip. “Just another day on the Path.” 

Siobhan leaned onto the counter as she listened, her full attention on her customer and what the Witcher had to say. It looked like Geralt’s potion-making in the past really had set her up for success–striking gold with one’s first mix was rare. Her enjoyment seemed to please Siobhan in turn. The Halovian wore a warm smile as Geralt let slip a little more about her frustrations. “Sounds like the next time you find that somebody, you’d better grab on tight and never let go,” she advised playfully.

The next moment, though, her tone grew more serious. Maybe even a little wistful. “Even if we lose sight of our destination, we can keep moving forward as long as we have the people who matter most by our side, right?” Siobhan looked around the bar. “Many people who drink end up circling the drain. Stuck in a dreamlike trance with no way out. But it’s my hope that everyone who visits Dreamjolt, monster or otherwise, will find the spark they need to ignite their engines, and reach escape velocity.”

Down the bar, a customer waved Siobhan over. She gave Geralt a final smile, then left her in peace. Soon the bar’s customers lapsed into quiet, with only the clink of glasses and the rattle of ice cubes audible over the backdrop of soul-soothing jazz. The minutes slipped by in peaceful relaxation, not unlike meditation, as the cloudy sky outside continued to darken.

It wasn’t long before the soft, white-gray blanket of clouds over the Dystopiascape became a murky, gray-black tumult, angry and turbulent as a storm-tossed sea. Fiercer waves beat against Meridian’s docks, throwing up blasts of foam like punches, and the wind that drove them also hastened pedestrians on their way as it hissed in their ears. The rumble of thunder grew closer, and lightning flashed in the clouds. Though the cloud cover may have foreshadowed a storm for a while, the weather changed with surprising speed, sneaking up on the citizens of Everdream Valley. Vendors hurried to close up shop, while farmers gathered their uneasy livestock and herded them to safety with the help of Yampers, Herdiers, Spitzfyres, and Rayhounds. Though Dreamjolt Hostelry offered a safe haven from the coming storm, the weather outside managed to pierce the veil, convincing quite a few customers to go and take care of business elsewhere.

Just after Mr. Rubin bid the ladies farewell, a particularly bright flash of lightning cut through the midday dusk. The light cast a [url=https://i.imgur.com/MTTbs4n.png]huge shadow[/url] through the doorway and across the hostelry’s back wall, terribly tall, broad, and dark. A frantic look toward the source revealed nothing, as far as any remaining patrons could see, but Siobhan’s eyes lingered a moment longer before she looked down to continue wiping her glasses.

Then the lightning came again, followed almost instantly by the crash of thunder, and when Siobhan looked up, she found an enormous man sitting at the bar in front of her, having come with such speed and silence that it seemed like he appeared from thin air.

Despite her formidable nature, Siobhan couldn’t help but flinch away, the hairs on the back of her neck on end. This newcomer stood just under nine feet tall, his shoulders broad and his arms almost apelike in size and strength. He wore futuristic cherry-red armor over a suit of gray and white, and a black velvet cape dangled behind him, further enhancing an already imposing silhouette. Pure white eyes with no visible pupils stared expectantly from inside his helmet as he leaned forward onto the bar, propped up on his elbows with clasped hands big enough to crush watermelons. This was no ordinary [url=https://i.imgur.com/gFFgkO1.png]consul[/url].

After a moment, Siobhan cleared her throat. “... Can I help you?”

The Consul’s voice was deep and commanding. “I hope so. I'd like a drink. The biggest you have. Plenty of ice. Nice and sweet. And so thick I could eat it with a spoon.”

Siobhan nodded briskly, her casual manner returning. “Gotcha, coming right up.” She quickly ran through her mental list of ingredients, which led her to purse her lips. “One moment while I grab some puffergoat milk, if you don't mind.”

“Take your time.” The Consul watched her go, his eyes on the swing of her hips, then glanced at Geralt. His gaze rested on her for only a moment before he turned and settled on the middle distance to wait.

Geralt raised an eyebrow when the Consul turned to her, but did not outwardly react, especially when he turned away, and let out the tiny breath she’d been holding. [i]Consul. Has to be. But I thought each Guardian only had two guarding them…? Might’ve heard that we took down Y and came to investigate. Still so much we don’t know about them.[/i] She took a sip of her drink, keeping the massive man in her peripheral vision. 

“Ducking out of the storm?” She casually inquired, not expecting much if anything out of the man, but unable to suppress her curiosity.

Her question prompted an amused snort. “The storm seems to follow me,” he replied, leaning back in his chair with an idle shrug. “Wherever I go.”

“Ugh,” Geralt groaned, leaning back in her chair like the 90-something old man she was inside, rather than the large, ghoulish woman she looked like. “Know the feeling.” The fact that she was commiserating with a Consul was not lost on her, but here she was. “What brings you out here?”

“A drink, of course,” the Consul replied, his haughty tone somewhat condescending. “I hear even monsters can get good service here.” He leaned on his elbow, his attention fully turned toward Geralt. “If you mean this little town, though, it’s true this isn’t my regular stomping grounds. I’m on the hunt, and I’ve ranged far afield in pursuit of my prey. But now, it feels like the chase is almost over.”

Siobhan returned at that moment with the Consul’s extra large drink already made, prepared away from the discomfort of prying eyes. It was mostly wine red, with an almost purple flavor base and a layer on top of white, garnished with a sticker of a hamster. “There you have it,” she told him, sliding the [url=https://i.imgur.com/tVdYEjQ.png]huge beverage[/url] his way. “One Chewing Gum, ice-cold and strong as an ox.”

The Consul accepted the drink with a nod. “Good.” Lifting one hand, he held it over the Chewing Gum with one finger extended. An arc of electricity jumped from his fingertip, igniting the beverage in an instant. It burned for only a moment as he slowly reached up toward the back of his helmet, where he pressed some sort of button. His helmet dissolved, as if digitally constructed in reverse, and down tumbled a mane of white-gray hair plus navel-length beard, adorned with golden beads. [url=https://i.imgur.com/3H9WzzG.png]He[/url] lifted the glass to his lips and drank, gulping down the smoldering, almost toxic beverage with gusto. Only after draining a third of the extra-large glass did he set it down again, exhaling in delight. “Nectar,” he proclaimed. “Fit for a god.”

[i]Another fool calling himself a god.[/i] Geralt thought, but her face betrayed not an ounce of her disdain for the man before her. Instead, she focused on his trick with the electricity igniting his drink, and nodded. “Not bad. That actually affect the taste at all, or just for flair?” She asked, finger circling the rim of her empty glass. 

The old man snorted again. “The flame caramelizes sugar, adding a smoky flavor,” he told her succinctly. A slight air of indignation suggested that her insinuation touched on his pride. “I am no charlatan, girl. I never perform, or pretend. What you see is what you get.” He took another sip of his drink, much smaller this time, then smacked his lips. Then he nodded at Geralt. “I merely try to live my life to the fullest. As should we all. Whether the time we have is infinite…or very, very short.” Though his eyes blazed pure white, with no discernable pupils, Geralt could feel them staring into her own. “Don’t you think?”

Geralt gave a shrug, and replied without any heat, “As you said, we ought to live our lives to the fullest. If it gave you a little spark of joy to light your drink aflame for a moment, I’d not care if it changed the taste or it didn’t. Merely curious.” Clearly a touchy subject for this Consul. Geralt was playing a dangerous game, but given that he didn’t try to burn the place down and smite her with lightning, she figured he had other plans. 

“As for me, can’t say the same. Am I a mutant, a monstrosity, an orphaned god, a soldier, or something else entirely? Could be any or all of ‘em. Not quite sure myself these days. But I do know one thing.” Geralt sighed, tapping the bar. “I’m not alone. Not yet.” 

The Consul smirked at her. “How apropos.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, then allowed his shoulders to fall as he sighed. Then he shook his head. “A bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you? Well, now’s your chance to be quick.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Run along, child. Tell your friends on the ship about me. A nice head start should keep things interesting.” He pulled his drink close, leaving a wet streak of condensation on the counter. “You have until this glass is empty. Let us both savor what little we have left, hm?”

Rolling her eyes at the Consul’s insults, Geralt rebutted with little heat: “Figure’d with the fact you hadn’t tried to kill me the second you laid eyes on me, I’d at least try and be civil. See if I couldn’t talk to you. But alright.” She stood up, leaving some gold on the table for Siobhan. “Guess I’ll be seeing you soon, Consul.” And with that, she left to warn the others. 

“Indeed,” came the rumble of thunder at her back.