duplicitymemes | TDM #4 ( revised )

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TDM #4 ( revised )

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « HERE WE ARE AGAIN

It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy.

This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses.

To counteract the discovery of the Deceit Gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the L.I.E.S. program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the Deceit Gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from L.I.E.S. after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues.

You’re here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity.

After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a paper gown to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of orientation.

If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You’re a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your highrise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You’re a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you’ll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms.

Enjoy your free time until orientation! Participation is mandatory by all new and old arrivals.

Oh, and one more thing. It's fucking cold. Better bundle up.

» » » LIES TRAVEL IN COMPANY

After stepping through the door and participating in orientation, LIERS are assembled together in the Up for a tour of Duplicity in its entirety. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERS at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park.

The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning.

« « « END IN THE DISCORD

While the societal climate between Dominants and Submissives remains somewhat neutral throughout Duplicity, there has been the occasional whisper of defiance and call for equality. Yet, demonstrations and visible proof of this unhappiness spreads faster by word of mouth on a day exactly when you need it most.

Welcome to Autonomy, a "traveling" nightclub that is never in the same place twice. People wanting to attend only learn of its lucrative location and password hours before it opens for business. Tonight, I choose the third door will get you inside and into the temporary freedom club Autonomy has to offer. In this circle, there are no assigned designations and no consequences for taking a role that isn't the one given by society. So, a Dominant may become the Submissive they've always wanted to be—or vice versa. Dominants and Submissives alike are able to mingle without repercussion and be themselves. Food, drinks, and private areas for more intimate – or if your preference is sexual – encounters are provided. Donations are accepted at any point during the night to further Autonomy's attempts of spreading the fulfillment that comes from being untitled.

On the night you choose to visit, Autonomy is holding a random lottery for temporary connections. When entering, you have the choice of submitting your name into this drawing to be paired with someone else in the club regardless of designation. A short while later, a message will pop up on your device with the name and information of your partner, and whether or not you choose to meet them is purely at your discretion. Having more than one connection isn't completely unusual either.

» » » TABLE IT FOR LATER

Gratification of being a successful Dominant or Submissive isn't necessarily simple. Learning curves are to be made, and mistakes will happen. Led by a Dominant and Submissive couple – Miriam and Victoria, who have been paired for twenty-two years – a monthly meeting for unattached Dominants and Submissives is held in the conference room of Morning Wood motel in the Down. The meeting starts a few minutes after nine and has no designated end time. The couple introduce themselves and explain the purpose of the meeting: learn the proper method for a new kink and possibly find your perfect partner. The space is intimate and well-stocked with refreshments.

To begin, Victoria, while blindfolded, balances on her hands and knees with her back perfectly level. Her partner, when ready, places various items on the level surface–a full cup, a plate. The Submissive is meant to hold the items until the Dominant believes she's reached her limit. The exercise is one of trust and understanding. The demonstration is a short one, followed by Miriam removing the blindfold and soothing her Submissive. The words are whispered low and with care, clearly a method that is specific to this couple. The process is concluded with the pair handing out workups, videos, and answering questions. Anyone wishing to practice Purposeful Submission can do so in the open room with a random volunteer, aided by the couple, or can find someone to take to one of the rented rooms. Sex may follow any scene but is not necessarily included. Experimenting with unattached Dominants and Submissives allows for new relationships to form.

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

Please read carefully.

On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles based on birthdays; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, character will still have gone through the doors but assignments OOCly are still randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chose "left" or "right". When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass". This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice.

To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide. All characters who have blue eyes or one blue eye and another color are Submissives. All characters who have brown eyes or one brown eye and another color are Dominants. Characters with any other color eyes are Dominants. To use this TDM as a door pass please link this on your app and place whether it is Dominant or Submissive.

Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!!

» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[And this time the sarcasm is evident, a dry dangerous wit that doesn't pass him by despite his slowly-increasing inebriation. It sounds...unpleasant, if he's honest, is sure that the other man is implying it to be so, not much of a life for anyone-- taking on the worst and most dangerous kinds of jobs for so very little in return.

Although, when phrased like that, it sounds like something he'd do himself. Pity his own fighting skills extend only to tavern brawls and some moderate sword-play at best. All he needs for self-defense purposes, and little more.

He has a response ready, but then the other man continues and it elicits a bright, soft-edge laugh from him, an accusation he waves away with the fluid motion of one long hand.]

I'd like to think I don't need any assistance in that department, so please don't confiscate my alcohol. I'm not nearly drunk enough, yet. No, I'm talking about...here, let me show you.

[And sets down his gin glass (already half-empty) and picks up a knife that rests on the edge of one of the platters, instead. He presses the blade to the palm of his hand, then quite abruptly slices along its full length. Blood beads along the small open wound, but no sooner than it does, it's already healing again. At his throat, a magical sigil flares bright.]

Quite the party trick, eh? It works on other people too-- if I lay my hands on their wounds I can take them onto myself instead, whereupon they swiftly heal over. Useful bit of magic for a doctor to come by, even if I don't quite recall how I got it. I thought for a while that an ex-lover of mind cast it upon me out of spite but...ah, it turns out I was wrong about that.

Edited (phone tagging ugh ;;) 2019-01-15 13:22 (UTC)

[The show of magic impresses Geralt. Healing in his world is far more primitive and nowhere near as fast. Dealing with even simple wounds is a feat not managed by many, and it looks like Julian could take on serious wounds and have them heal on himself within seconds. Which is not a pleasant experience, to be sure, but it’s unpleasantness doesn’t detract from how impressive it is.]

It may please you to know that’s the most impressive party trick I’ve ever been shown. Granted, I haven’t been invited to many parties, but I have seen some impressive things done with spoons at the ones I have been invited to.

[He glances at the pale column of Julian’s throat, where the sigil briefly appeared. He can't see any impression of it in the skin.]

When you take the wounds from other people, is that voluntary? Or are you required to layer up before entering crowds?

[And healing in his world is much the same-- prior to receiving the 'curse' he'd frequently had to rely on far more brutal methods of medicine in order to treat his patients. He may now find himself in the difficult position of being unsure of whether he can truly die, but it has worked wonders for his medical practice, and can come in handy for someone who prefers his pleasure on the rougher end of the spectrum.

As such, coming from a somewhat more technologically primitive world himself, he can fully conceive of the impressiveness of his little 'trick'.]

Quite pleasing indeed, I assure you.

[He laughs as he once again picks up his drink-- there's a slight unsteadiness in him now, a quite visible loosening of his movements, but despite that he seems to be holding himself together well enough.]

I have to touch the afflicted area directly in order to initiate the healing, but that could happen accidentally if I touched an injured person unknowingly. I usually wear gloves but...

[And it seems to dawn on him for the first time that he's managed to come out without them, or is no longer wearing them in any case. Stuffed into coat pockets, maybe? His smile is almost apologetic when it comes.]

It's been a confusing day. I ah, I suppose I had my mind on other things when I left my accommodation.

[You know, such as becoming terribly intoxicated.]

Well, let us hope you haven’t misplaced them on a permanent basis, for I’m sure they’re as stunning as the rest of your outfit.

[He really is holding up remarkably well. For the moment, that is. There’s still time for the alcohol he’s just consumed to take hold of his faculties, and Geralt’s no stranger to drinking copiously under the assumption that it isn’t affecting him and later finding himself waking up on the floor.

He twists the lid back onto the gin bottle and stands. There’s a barely perceptible wobble to him.]

Why don’t we continue this conversation in your lodgings? Or mine, if you prefer. [So, if Julian passes out, Geralt can put him in bed. But he doesn’t say as much. It might offend.]

[It's a response that once again has him flashing a debonair grin as with exaggerated carefulness he regains his feet, rises once again to his full height.]

Oh, compliments! Thank you, I think I pull off the mysterious and imposing plague doctor look rather well.

[Even if it's an image that quickly breaks apart should one spend more than a few minutes talking to him. He's far too chipper and easily flustered to come off as imposing for long. He knocks back the remainder of his drink, sets the glass down on the bar, then almost stumbles as he turns back towards Geralt. He'd appreciate the attempt to save his reputation if he knew, and it seems quite possible that the assistance may be required a little later into the night.]

All right, then. And whilst I have no preference for who's room we head back to, I suppose I should say that mine is shared and more than a little shabby.

[But again, he's experienced worse. He doubts anything will ever quite top the particular squalor of the quarters of a captive doctor aboard a pirate ship.]

It’ll have to be mine, then. Shabby is acceptable, but waking your roommate in the dead of night is not.

[He keeps a careful eye on Julian as they walk. Should he show any signs of falling, Geralt will be quick to extend him an arm.

The night is surprisingly bright as they exit into the street. Lamps are lit up and illuminating the path to the train station, where, even this late at night, they’ll be able to get a ticket anywhere in the city. Geralt’s lodgings are quite a ways from here.]

So damn bright. [He needs to start remembering to thin his pupils before stepping outside at night. The intensity of these synthetic sources of light make his retinas throb.] It's liable to give a man a headache after five glasses of gin.

[Julian nods his acquiescence because the other man makes an excellent point-- he hasn't even met his roommate yet, and stumbling in drunk late at night might not be the best first impression to make.

Out into the night they go, and it is far brighter than any night he's accustomed to. Vesuvia may be nicely equipped with lanterns to light one's way, but whatever energy source they have here certainly lights up the dark far more impressively than anything Julian has seen before. He takes note of it and of Geralt's words whilst he distractedly digs around in his pockets in search of the previously-mentioned gloves, eventually coming up victorious with a brightly exclaimed ah-ha! as he does so. It's during his attempts to put them on - protection from the bitter cold - that he stumbles, laughs at his own clumsiness, moves to take hold of that offered arm.]

Ah, sorry. I'm a little more tipsy than I imagined. But quite, quite-- I prefer the oil lanterns we have in Vesuvia, myself. It creates a better ambiance. This is all rather clinical and glaring, isn't it?

[Geralt carefully arranges his arm to better bear Julian’s weight. He’ll keep it close since they’re not five feet from the bar and Julian’s already stumbling. He wouldn’t want the man to end up in the gutter, particularly as the Down’s gutters aren’t quite as clean as those found in the Up.]

It’s an eyesore. Quite literally. Nights are meant to be dark, with perhaps a smattering of light; it’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep in this place. [It’s a good thing Geralt is practised at compelling sleep. A necessary skill when you often slumber under the stars.]

The unnatural glare aside, this Vesuvia. Your home, I gather?

[Lucky for him he made such a gallant acquaintance, and whilst Julian's height is boarding on excessive, he is, at the very least, slender with it. Unlikely to wind up knocking the other man over, at any rate. He steadies himself against Geralt's solidly places arm, then continues determinedly on.]

Oh, um. In a sense, I suppose? It was, for quite a long time. Then I had to leave and...well, I recently made my return. Loose ends to tie up, that sort of thing. I grew up in Nevivon and I suppose you could call me a bit of a wanderer, I've traveled around a lot. But Vesuvia has a kind of...magnetism, you could say.

[Whether he'd choose to stay there once matters have been resolved - if they can be resolved - remains to be seen. And now he's here, after all. Unsure of how to make it back.]

[Geralt nods in understanding. Being a wanderer himself - or a vagabond, as people like to call his ilk - he knows what it's like to have a tenuous attachment to any one place.]

It sounds like you won't be lacking stories to tell later. And undoubtedly of the interesting variety, considering your other life stories involved pirates, the plague, and the spontaneous acquisition of a healing ability.

[Assuming he stays conscious long enough to divulge a few.]

I doubt mine would be nearly as enthralling, unless I have the good luck of being in the company of someone who won't tire too quickly of stories of slaying monsters.

[He has other kinds of stories, of course; stories about destiny, one special little girl, and the forces of Chaos, but he doesn't want to think about them in a place where he has no means of reaching the main feature of those stories.]

Oh, that's just the start. I have so many stories I could keep going all night!

[Or until he passes out, at any rate. He says it brightly, tone chipper as he continues to walk unsteadily through the city streets. Geralt has him on one of his favourite topics, the stories of his multiplicity of adventurous escapades, and to look at him, or hear him speak, one wouldn't be able to guess he'd been kidnapped and dragged through mysterious means to an unknown city only to be made some kind of slave-status citizen.

He's taking it all rather well. Though the consumption of a large amount of gin has doubtlessly helped.]

And come on now, don't sell yourself short.

[He says as he moves to slap Geralt on the back in a gesture of camaraderie, almost misses, stumbles just a bit.]

I'm sure you have some good ones. I've never slain any monsters myself so that's ah, that's already a point of intrigue.

[In response to the slight stumble, Geralt tightens his grip.]

Careful. We wouldn’t want you to find out first-hand how filthy these gutters are.

[By the sound of his voice, he might find the prospect a little amusing. And, also by the sound of his voice, the alcohol is finally having an effect on him.

He clears his throat before speaking again.]

Well then, I’m in luck. There’s only so many ways I can describe the killing of the beasts, but I may be able to hook you on a story or three on the basis of ignorance.

[They’re not far off the train station now, and Geralt is pleased to see a train pulling in for its next pickup. They won’t be made to wait in the cold.]

It’ll be a story for a story. Why don’t you start us off.

[Julian laughs a little unsteadily, leans his long body against the supporting weight the other man is offering. It's the bitter chill in the air, he thinks, making him feel that bit more inebriated, head fuzzy and thoughts vaguely blurred from the gin. Or perhaps he's not quite the heavyweight drinker he'd like to believe.

They keep walking, and he picks up his pace a bit as he sees the train begin to pull in.]

Let me see, how about my grand escape from Vesuvia? That time I mentioned, when I had to leave, it was because I'd been condemned to death for the murder of the Count, you know, that utterly deplorable fellow I told you about before. Well, on the night of the grand masquerade, he was burned to death in his bed chambers, and the person they caught at the scene? Well, that was yours truly, and the assumption was, alas, that I was to blame. So I was promptly arrested and taken off to the dungeons to await my fate. The best part, to be honest, were the rumours. My favourite that I've heard is that the dastardly Doctor Devorak escaped the cells in the dead of night by turning into a swarm of bats and flying away.

[He laughs as they reach the train, disentangles himself from his companion long enough to drop down bonelessly into one of the seats, long legs spread out before him. He does recall seeing other submissives taking the train during their tour, how most of them had been kneeling, not using the seats at all, and whilst he's far from opposed to doing such a thing...it doesn't suit present company, and if none of the train,s occupants are going to make any complaints, he'll stay right where he is.

Turning to Geralt, he continues.]

The truth is a touch less dramatic, I'm afraid. A very good friend of mine, Mazelinka, who helped raise my sister and I when we were orphaned - although that's another tale - crept into the dungeons in the dead of night disguised as cleaning staff, picked the locks of my cell, and whisked me away. It was a mad dash through the night-time city streets and down to the docks, onto her awaiting ship...where she hid me in a case of rum until we were out at sea.

[And again, there's the deep soft sound of his laughter.]

By the time she unpacked me, I'm afraid there was rather less rum than there had been to begin with.

[It neither surprises him, nor elicits revulsion in him to hear of the Count being burned alive. The affluent always tend to go out with a bang if their subjugated subjects manage to get their hands on them. You’d think it would compel them to try to be a little more agreeable, but multiple beheadings, skewerings, burnings, and other such messy ends have yet to dissuade people in positions of power from going out of their way to make their subjects miserable.

To the suggestion that Julian escaped prison in the form of a swarm of bats, Geralt shakes his head.]

Preposterous, as rumours go. You were clearly a single, large bat.

[Once in the train, Geralt sits himself down beside Julian in a much less exuberant fashion. He has a neat way of sitting, like a man sitting before the desk of a superior. This is courtesy of an on-and-off lover who managed to impress some manners on him despite Geralt being raised among and almost exclusively by men.

He nods along as Julian continues his story, periodically arching his eyebrows in amusement. Julian's quite the talented storyteller, so much so that he manages to draw forth a laugh from Geralt with the mention of the rum. It’s short and soft, and clearly not a sound Geralt makes often.]

A man cannot reasonably be expected to demonstrate restraint when put in a case of rum. I likely would have done the same, and with my constitution, I’m not certain any of it would have survived the journey.

[Again, there's the sound of Julian's lazy loose laughter as Geralt makes his dry joke, and it's obvious the other man's interest in his tale pleases him, makes him happy. Sprawled out in his seat, he looks the very picture of drunken relaxation.]

Hah! It would have been more believable, one large bat. I suppose it's the way I dress that does it. Perhaps they mistook me for a vampire.

[His grin is as loose and sprawling as the rest of him, and the other man's soft huff of laughter doesn't escape his attention, only makes him beam all the brighter.]

It wasn't the most sensible place to hide me, was it? I suppose, amidst all the panic, dear Mazelinka didn't quite think that part through. It was after she released me from my boozy prison that I got the eye patch, actually. She gave it to me to cover my eye, make sure I didn't spread panic in any port we happened to pass through.

[The part of the story he leaves out is his own fast ascending fear in the wake of finding himself in the Count's room, unable to remember what had happened, being swiftly whisked into the cells and marked with the murderer's brand. The guilt and terror and sick self-hatred that plagued him for the last three years as he tried to recall whether he'd done the dead or not. But those things aren't much fun to talk about, and don't fit the image of the debonair anti-hero he's trying to conjure up.

So he says nothing of that, instead leans over in his seat until he's conspirational-close to his new drinking companion.]

I like that you didn't ask whether or not I did it.

Edited 2019-01-16 12:04 (UTC)

[His efforts to have Geralt see him as debonair are working quite well. The anti-hero part, slightly less so, as Geralt’s assessment of Julian is simply that he’s a well-meaning man put into a difficult situation that he dealt with to the best of his ability. He’s capable of reading between the lines, recognising there are struggles, pain, and fear he isn’t mentioning, but that’s what swapping tales is about: indulging in the best representation of yourself.

He regards Julian curiously when he leans in, an eyebrow arched.]

It wouldn’t bother me if you had. I've seen better men experience worse deaths for less than the deeds of this Count of yours. But you made your innocence of the crime quite clear, and it would be amiss of a hired killer to throw doubts and accusations upon you.

[He’s killed people himself for less. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes.]

And - [He leans just a touch closer.] It would be bloody impolite.

[He looks thoughtful at first, as Geralt makes his proclamation-- it's a fair one, and he knows Lucio to have been a bonafide tyrant, has seen him on the battlefield and knows how bloody-minded the man could be, and then there are all the casual cruelties he inflicted on the city, his lack of assistance in the flooded district, how the bodies had piled in the streets whilst he feasted at the palace, the things he'd done to Julian himself. And yet, he'd still spent the last three years torturing himself over the possibility that he had killed the man, had come back to Vesuvia for answers and to finally pay with his life for his crimes. But whilst there are still holes in his memory, holes he'd been hoping his date with the Hanged Man would reveal, he is aware of his own innocence now, at least in that regard. That he didn't incinerate Lucio that night.

The thoughtfulness breaks around another of his smiles when Geralt makes his closing statement, though, his brief moment of solemn musing lifting.]

Quite.

[He goes to place one elbow on the hand-rest that separates them, almost misses, then drops his chin into his open palm.]

But now, I believe, it's your turn. I like hearing a good story almost as much as I enjoy telling one.

'Good' is too high an expectation for the quality of my story telling. But a story for a story, as I said, so I’ll try to the best of my ability.

[He has fought so many monsters over the years that there are hundreds of tales he could tell. To select one worthy of being told is a difficult process; after a while, they all kind of just melded together for Geralt, but he eventually decides upon the Striga of Wyzim.]

One of my best known tales is that of the Striga of Wyzim – not through choice, mind you; a bard companion of mine included it in his works without my knowing and has been continuing with this tradition since discovering I’ll only threaten to smack him around the ear for it. But I digress. The story.

I should first explain what a striga is: it is, simply put, the result of a powerful curse being put on a woman. It turns them into a beast that relishes all the things one can expect from beasts: killing, feasting, and the dark. The appearance of one is not unlike a bear, though considerably more hideous, and with considerably longer teeth and claws. The striga in this instance was the daughter of a king, who conceived her through an immoral union.

[He decides to spare Julian the exact details of how the daughter came to be.]

I was tasked with breaking the curse by spending the night with the striga. Or rather, I was given the job after years of death and people turning tail at the sight of the thing. I would also be permitted to kill the girl, should I find myself unable to break the curse, with the stipulation that I was to let myself be considered a failure and banished from the city for this.

I set out with the intention of turning that hideous creature into a young girl, who would have been fourteen at the time, for that is how long she resisted all attempts to free her of either her life or the curse. I made my preparations. As these things go, a man - most likely the man responsible for the curse - stepped out of the dark while I was readying and tried to stop me. First with coin, and then with an attempt against my life, so I kept him in close quarters through use of rope until the striga appeared and had him make a distraction of himself.

[He pauses briefly, considering how to go about describing the fight.]

The beast put up a good fight. I put up a better one, in no little part due to my still having the ability of higher thought. Ultimately, I compelled it into retreating with a roar. Not quite as simple as a roar, I’ll admit, but to any spectator, that is all it would have been. The beast ran and I descended into the crypt to wait out the rest of the night inside the sarcophagus in which the child had spent her days.

Morning arrived, and there was the young girl, unconscious upon the floor of the crypt. A little dirty and slim, but otherwise like any other fourteen year old girl. I checked her for remnants of the curse, and I discovered one when she lashed me in the neck with her talons.

[He gestures to the long, jagged lines on the side of his neck. One is given the impression of very deep wounds.]

My method of ceasing further attacks on my person was to bite her on the neck, which seemed only fair after she had torn into mine. Her growls subsided into whimpers, and then, silence. I fell silent shortly after and woke up some time later with a very sore neck.

Edited (I forgot some words) 2019-01-16 15:06 (UTC)

[And perhaps the man believes himself a poor storyteller, but Julian listens with a clear and rapt interest that can be discerned through the focus of his one visible inebriation-hazed eye. It sounds...fantastical, the talk of girls who are beasts and battles that end with a roar, has the quality of a fairytale for someone not of the same world.

Which makes it all the more interesting to him, if he's honest. Geralt even has battle scars to prove the tale, which gives the whole thing an extra layer of authenticity, of interest.]

Well, that all sounds quite frightful. I don't think I'd want to run into one of those striga things...lucky such a beast doesn't exist where I hail from...at least, I don't think it does. I've never seen one.

[He sits just a little straighter in his seat as the train rattles past one stop and onto the next.]

So what happened? Did she survive in the end, after the bite? Did she uh, did she get to live a normal life?

It would be quite the feat if I managed to take a life with my jaw alone, but no, she survived both the curse and my retaliation.

[At most he would have left her with some scarring. More mental than physical, if he was to guess.]

Despite achieving the ideal outcome, I’m afraid being stuck in the mind of a beast for so long left her mentally impaired. She wasn’t fit to be a king’s daughter when she emerged from that crypt, and if the absence of her in the public eye since then is any indication, she never reached a stage in her recovery where she could be a viable continuation of the royal line. But she is the king’s daughter all the same, and there’s no reason to believe he doesn’t treat her as such.

[It’s as close to a happy ending as he can give Julian. It’s hopeful, if nothing else.]

[Not the perfect happy ending perhaps, but Julian nods all the same, seemingly satisfied.]

Hmmm, probably for the best. It sounds like she had enough excitement for one lifetime, could probably do without all that court intrigue and political maneuvering.

[No sooner has he said it then there's the flash of his smile, one brow arching high.]

And you had a bard sing about you! What a feat...I've never heard any sing about me.

[he sounds just a touch wistful.]

Although I did once accidentally walk onto the stage of a community theatre, mid-production. It was a play about the night of the masquerade, where of course the villainous Doctor Devorak was the anti-hero of the hour. He wasn't ah, well as you can probably imagine, he wasn't very well liked amongst his people.

[Walking into a play about yourself? Geralt would have been mortified regardless of the contents of the play. He can barely stand people singing about him, let alone enacting his life.]

My sympathies. [Julian doesn’t sound entirely (at all) displeased with the prospect of being the subject of a bard, though, so he adds:] Should that bard of mine ever make an appearance here, I’ll be sure to direct him to you for inspiration. You’d be able to… enjoy a better depiction of yourself, if slightly exaggerated. With any luck, he’d lose interest in singing about my deeds and romantic conquests upon discovering an exciting new subject.

[Just thinking about Dandelion waxing poetic about his activities in this place is enough to fill him with a dreadful embarrassment. It would be much harder to escape recognition in a place as concentrated as this.]

[Naturally Julian, dramatic thing that he is, quite enjoyed the whole thing, threw himself convincingly into the villainous role. Whilst talking to him for any length of time may quickly put paid to the idea he could be any kind of villain, he can keep it up on stage, or over short periods without too much questioning.

The train rattles on into the night, and Julian seems to brighten at the mention of the bard.]

Oh, do you think he would? I've always hoped there would be at least one song about me, someday, you know, even if it's one about the cloud of bats. Although I suppose I shouldn't go wishing your friend into a situation he may not like.

[He's aware that his own proclivities put him in the likely rare position of not being overly concerned with the whole situation here.]

I expect he’d have fewer complaints than most here. The man embodies the primary features of this place - lechery and buffoonery.

[Geralt loves him, really.]

But, as he's unlikely to appear, might I satisfy you with a limerick?

[They have a few more minutes before the train reaches their stop. Enough time for Geralt to compose something that would make Dandelion ashamed of him.]

Lechery and buffoonery, eh? He sounds like fun, I'd like to meet him.

[He says it, but then he's sitting up straighter in his seat a moment later, claps his hands together once, loudly, exuberant. Enough to draw a few looks from the scant other passengers on the train, but they soon look away again, returning to their own business or conversations.]

A limerick! Oh, I'm game, yes. I'd love to hear one.

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