Another g/t idea, courtesy of biggiant!
I'll be using Geralt and Ciri from The Witcher, and having never seen or heard of the show before (don't watch/use Netflix), I'll be going in blind!
Any loyal fans of the show, please don't hurt me.
...
Geralt stood in a small hut, sheltered from the rain, rifling through his bag and growling.
He was out of potions.
It was the worst possible thing to happen, really. It was almost as though he was cursed by every single god in existence.
He'd been reminding himself to make more for the entire week - yet with all the hunting he had to do, all the beasts he had to find and track, he just couldn't find the time.
Now he was potion-less, and he already felt his mutations grasping at the opportunity.
While the Trial of the Grasses had given him enhanced strength and reflexes, they'd also given him something... unwelcome.
It was why he drank those potions in the first place. If he didn't, he'd grow smooth, sharp claws, massive, curling horns, long, gleaming fangs, and his eyes would glow a faint yellow, yet turn black as night.
Yes, he looked like a beast. And he'd be hunted as such, Witcher or not.
He glanced down at his fingers, and already saw the shine of the claw breaking through his skin. He used that hand to pat his hair, and already felt the telltale bumps of his horns emerging from his skull.
Maybe, if he had enough time, he could make some potions fast enough that no one would notice-
"Geralt!" He froze. Shoot, it was Ciri.
Ciri stood at the doorway, eyeing Geralt curiously. "You seem to have gotten pale." Her eyes shimmered humorously. "Have you been jumpy, lately?"
Of course she would make a joke about his face.
"Very funny, Cirilla." Geralt growled, trying to keep his fangs from showing. While Ciri was a powerful young woman, she still could be startled, and just like everyone, could still express fear.
While he did not admit it aloud, Geralt did not want to scare Ciri.
"Why don't you... leave... for a moment, Cirilla?" He said between pursed lips, trying to contain the guttural noises his throat made. "I am busy."
Ciri still stood there, sheathed sword resting casually by her side. "Are you growing distant, Geralt?"
"I am not." He growled, and he felt his hair slowly getting pushed aside. His head felt too heavy, his hands too unwieldy. He turned around, feeling his eyesight sharpen. "But I request that you leave."
Ciri gaze turned from humorous to shocked. "Geralt!" She cried, taking a step back, "What happened to you?!"
"Cirilla, wait." He said, but Ciri had disappeared. Frowning, he sniffed the air. He smelled her, quite easily. Her scent smelled that of ash and leather, with a hint of velvet. He heard a quiet, rapidfire pounding, and realized that was Ciri's heartbeat.
"Cirilla?" Geralt tried again, sniffing the air once more. "Ciri, you must believe that I will not harm you."
He heard the heartbeat quicken, and his frown deepened. "I sincerely apologize for frightening you. Please come out from wherever you are hiding."
