WHATEVER IT TAKES // PRIVATE, BUCK

[WITCHER]

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[div style="text-align: justify; width:500px;font-size:9.2pt; line-height:1.4"]He'd known from what his life's purpose would be, but he could never have known his destiny back then. It couldn't be clearer now, though, after all was said and done, except as he looked upon Ciri that day, when the humans finally brought an end, he understood that while she was certainly his fate, Geralt played only a small role in hers. She was meant for greater things than traveling the land, making little problems go away. There were so many people whose lives she would touch and whose futures she could alter, much more than a grumpy witcher with a penchant for trouble could. He was...proud of her. Endlessly so, and those under her watch now were as safe as they would ever be, maybe more so with Geralt on the Path again. He reminded himself he was a solitary creature, that witchers worked alone more often than not, but it had been impossibly tempting to convince her to come with him. It seemed he had just gotten her back, only to watch her leave again, although he knew there were things she had to do, things too important for lonely witchers to obstruct. Geralt missed her, missed the child spitfire she used to be and the determined young woman she became, but he could not walk with her when their roads divulged. She had her own Path, as did he, especially now that the world was marred by the works of man.

He hadn't come across anything needing his skills in a few weeks, though. Occasionally he helped wanderers or small families, finding lost children or important belongings. Sometimes they thanked him, sometimes they didn't, and either way he was back on the Path within a few hours. Territories were drawn differently now, so he couldn't claim to know where he was going anymore. After part of the land was destroyed, it made sense that they flocked elsewhere, though Geralt didn't give too much of a damn who supposedly owned what. Wasn't his job to define borders, nor was it his responsibility to go out and squabble over them. He was content to stay as far from those conflicts as possible, to avoid the inevitable, "you there, come here." Most of the time he managed to find spots people hadn't made claim to, and he was settling down in one now, preparing for a few hours of meditation. The white wolf sat back on large haunches, back straight and head slightly bowed. It didn't take long to slow his heartbeat after years of practice, and after another minute, to enter that space straddling consciousness and unconsciousness.

[BUCK]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Purpose and destiny have little meaning to Buck. It could simply be the years on his back speaking now, but he had never thought much of fate. It would be easy to say that the world had it out for him, that someone had decided where he would end up. The truth was much more complicated than that. While he shares the same concerns, or perhaps simply the same understanding of loss, he can't think of this life as anything relating to a path of any kind. Not something preordained, not some fateful road leading to eternal life, nothing that told him he had a purpose. All Buck does now is walk, and there's certainly no life in that. There's a silent aimlessness about the canine, and while he has himself convinced that it's something comfortable, there's no escaping the fact that he looks forward more to sleeping than waking up. Still, he's a simplistic creature. Despite the regrets he does carry, there are dozens more that he's forgiven, and Buck knows damn well that there's no turning back the clock.

So he lives life as the best he can. It's been a while since — everything, and while recovery has been slow, it's stable, too. The canine carries himself well, none of that weight showing on his shoulders. Like the other wolf, he has no idea where he's headed or what the untamed world has in store for him there. Like Geralt, Buck doesn't much give a damn for the idea of territory. People could go wherever they wanted so long as they left him alone, and he would usually say the same in reverse. There was a point in time where he did care, but even then he'd loved the idea of traveling. (And actually doing it, when he could). Now that he's unburdened (the word tastes wrong), it's all he does. Today, for the first time in a while, his aimlessness is disturbed by company. Pointed ears straighten curiously, facing the white wolf as his head tilts. He's close enough now that it would take almost nothing to earn his attention, but it takes a moment before he speaks. "I don't think I've ever actually seen someone sleep sitting up before." Though not convinced that that was what this was, Buck breaks the silence with an almost wry smile, sitting down across from him.

[WITCHER]

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[div style="text-align: justify; width:500px;font-size:9.2pt; line-height:1.4"]He had always seen his life as a path- he followed the Path, after all, as the witchers named their responsibilities. It was difficult to view it as anything else, because once he'd passed the trials, all he knew was the road, and thus his mind...echoed the nature of his surroundings. Geralt hadn't always been convinced that there was a future set in stone for him, and he didn't believe in any of the gods, but he came across individuals who influenced him more than they knew, who shaped his road whether they remained in touch or if they disappeared off the face of the earth. Sometimes it was their absences that laid hands on the path ahead of Geralt, and sometimes it was hoping a person would stay that changed the scenery. Watching Ciri grow, directing her the best he could, he'd never felt something that potent before, that strong of an instinct that he would follow her anywhere if he could. He actually had when he needed to track her down, tracing her steps through fields and bogs and snow. Along the way he'd come to accept that there would be no greater calling for him than one that returned Ciri to the world. She could only go on to become an influential figure if she was found, if she had someone to watch her back, and Geralt did the best job he could for as long as he was able. Until she didn't need him anymore. Until she needed to learn how to address a crowd and lead a people, not how to kill a man in two moves or less. When she left that part of her life behind, Geralt remained with it; some worlds had no hopes of meeting neatly.

He was the case in point. Politics never interested him. Playing nice with powerful people didn't come to him naturally or easily, and he didn't exactly make an effort at it anyway. The Path was where he belonged, for now. There had been brief talk of settling down, but that was before everything went to shit. The world was changed now, and he had to learn its new faces, help those who needed it. That duty still called to him. Weary as he was, old as he felt sometimes, there wasn't an urge to leave the Path behind yet. It was all he knew. What he was best at. His senses and reflexes hadn't worsened any, so he heard the breathing and the steps long before the other canine opened his mouth. His eyes slid open smoothly, yellow cat-like gaze glowing faintly as it locked onto the stranger. He wasn't a threat- didn't sound nervous, didn't act shifty, hadn't tried pouncing on Geralt while he meditated. Looked curious. "That your way of admitting you creep often?" His head tilted a small fraction. "Wasn't sleeping, though. Got a real reason you're sitting here?"