Filler

WIP

Name: Garvin Pyxis-Chip Nami.

~

Gender: Male.

~

Garvin stands rather tall at 6’ 5”, though he’s usually hunched to around 6’ 3”. His skin tone is a pale fair color with cool undertones that only add to how pale he is. Though, given that he has spent quite some time traveling through Meridian before, he’s managed to get a slight tan compared to what most people outside of Meridian have. He has freckles practically everywhere on his body.

--

Garvin has a rather oval face shape, meaning he has a smaller forehead and a smaller chin, but the middle of his face is wider, the whole thing on the longer side. Now for the nose, slightly crooked with just how many times he’s broken it, he has a hawk shaped nose, meaning it starts off the same way a ‘normal’ nose would, and then goes off the deep end at a slight angle, the tip of it a bit lower than the nasals. His lips are thinner in shape, and you can usually find him with a grin or smirk of some kind, especially his signature Garvin grin.

--

His eyebrows are rather thin. Despite them being thin and rather straight, they have a slight bush to them towards the end which gives them the illusion of an arrow pointing. Finally, his eyes with deep, heavy eye bags underneath them and usually bloodshot, (and whether that be from lack of sleep or his unhealthy habits, is unclear) are a deepset downturned hooded shape and dark gray in color, which he is glad for. Because if he had green eyes with his freckles and red hair, he’d certainly huff and puff unhappily(sarcastically, of course). His face is framed by unruly and wavy, almost to the point of curly, (2C to 3B) ginger hair. Well, if he would take good care of it, that is. Firey in color, though more on the gray side of the red hair spectrum, that is most oftenly messy and in his face, the tips of all of it going just below the ears in length, the back going down just past the nape of his neck with so many split ends one would probably think he cuts it himself. Which, he does.

--

His body structure could quickly be described as rectangular, with everything about him pushing towards the idea that the muscle he does have is a lean sort of muscle. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that this man weighs in at around 170 lbs, his BMI at a healthy 20.16.

--

As for scars, he possesses many. From scars on his back and shoulders that look like they’re from whipping, to burn scars on his legs and arms and feet, to cuts on his arms, to a singular one that looks like a slash across his neck, to scars that make it seem like patches of skin had just been scrapped off of him in different places (mostly his arms and back), to a scattering of small scars at his jawline, eyebrows, and across nose. He’s just covered in scars. His left hand has a small scar of a cut across his palm. And both hands have tiny scars all over, which along with his feet are just extremely calloused too. His wrists both have scars circling them. And, of course, there’s plenty of smaller burn scars in various places in order to avoid infections.

~

Garvin stands rather tall at 6’ 5”, though he’s usually hunched to around 6’ 3”. His skin tone is a pale fair color with cool undertones that only add to how pale he is. He’s managed to mostly lose the tan he’d gotten from stays and travels through Meridian too. He has freckles practically everywhere on his body.

--

Garvin has a rather oval face shape, meaning he has a smaller forehead and a smaller chin, but the middle of his face is wider, the whole thing on the longer side and gaining more of a hollowed look by the week. Now for the nose, slightly crooked with just how many times he’s broken it, he has a hawk shaped nose, meaning it starts off the same way a ‘normal’ nose would, and then goes off the deep end at a slight angle, the tip of it a bit lower than the nasals. His lips are thinner in shape, and you can still usually find him with a grin or smirk of some kind, especially his signature Garvin grin.

--

His eyebrows are rather thin. Despite them being thin and rather straight, they have a slight bush to them towards the end which gives them the illusion of an arrow pointing. Finally, his eyes with deep, heavy eye bags underneath them and usually bloodshot, (and whether that be from lack of sleep or his infection, is unclear) are a deepset downturned hooded shape and dark gray in color, which he is glad for. His face is framed by unruly and wavy, almost to the point of curly, (2C to 3B) ginger hair. Well, if he would take good care of it, that is. Firey in color, though more on the gray side of the red hair spectrum, that is most oftenly messy and in his face, the tips of all of it going just below the ears in length, the back going down to just above his shoulders with so many split ends one would probably think he cuts it himself. Which, he does.

--

His body structure could quickly be described as rectangular, with everything about him pushing towards the idea that the muscle he does have is a lean sort of muscle. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that this man weighs in at around 160 lbs, his BMI at an, admittedly barely, healthy 18.97. Then again, pretty much all of that weight is muscle now.

--

As for scars, he possesses many. From scars on his back and shoulders that look like they’re from whipping, to burn scars on his legs and arms and feet, to cuts on his arms, to a singular one that looks like a slash across his neck, to scars that make it seem like patches of skin had just been scrapped off of him in different places (mostly his arms and back), to a scattering of small scars at his jawline, eyebrows, and across nose. He’s just covered in scars. His left hand has a small scar of a cut across his palm. And both hands have tiny scars all over, which along with his feet are just extremely calloused too. His wrists both have scars circling them. And, of course, there’s plenty of smaller burn scars in various places in order to avoid infections. Which is just hilarious now, given he’s still ended up infected.

-

As for the infection itself? The original site of infection was somewhere around his right shin, the exacts are rather lost on him now though. It’s managed to make a good portion of his right ankle to right calf black by now, after all. The blackened veins have gotten rather far too, managing to make their way almost entirely up his right leg before fading back into how veins are supposed to look. He’d cut the infection off but he kind of needs both of his legs to survive DON. So. He’s just a little stuck.

~

Personality: He's a dumbass. He's sad. He's suprisingly charismatic. He's not having fun but damn is he good at pretending he is. Unless a job calls for silence and stealth, he's incredibly talkative. He's also a great storyteller, though how many stories of his are true and how many are lies, who knows. He dissociates rather easily, oops. He can still play a 12 string banjo, of course. I'll fix everything later.

~

Strengths: Sewing, Thievery, Lying, Star Navigation, Small/Simple Repairs, Pain Tolerance, Hunting/Trapping, Stealth, Parkour Shit, and Alert.

~

Weaknesses: Aquaphobia, Shitty Lungs, Apathetic, Can't Read/Write, Zero Good Coping Methods, Shitty Memory, Self-Worth Issues, Brute Force(He is Not a Tank), and Incredibly Selfish/Self-Preserving. (Infection Post-Prologue?)

~

History: Orphan street rat. Where he's originally from, he hasn't got a clue. He's been traveling for basically forever. Well, up until the hunting group, more or less. You know, other than the people that would every so often take him in. It never lasted very long. The longest it did was with a group of travelers and even that was only for a few years. He got some names to put behind Garvin out of it though, kind of, so that's nice at least.

~

Other: My poor orphan boy has come back, ready to face my evil whims yet again. (He's not ready, but I'm throwing him in. It's an evil whim. He shall never catch a break.)

~

Because I have already made him a playlist oops.

Kings by Adam Jensen.

Rule #9 - Child of the Stars by Fish in a Birdcage.

For The Wicked by Friday Pilots Club.

Fallohides by We The Heathens.

Sail by AWOLNATION.

Back to the Ground by The Crane Wives.

Ship in a Bottle by fin.

Constellations by The Oh Hellos.

Architect by Livingston.

Oblivion by Dirty Palms.

Ain't No Crying by Derivakat.

Weight of the World by Shayfer James.

Play with Fire by Sam Tinnesz & Yacht Money.

Burning Pile by Mother Mother.

Pompeii by Bastille.

In the Woods Somewhere by Hozier.

Garvin Pyxis-Chip Nami

*~*~*~*

Losing a bet wasn’t usually something he had to worry about, reading odds had always been easier than reading words, after all. Except for when it came to Tam, apparently, who spouted the wildest shit to bet on and still managed to have it happen in his favor. Seriously. What were the chances of some fucking guy yelling out for Canis to take off his pants and him actually listening? As hilarious as it was to watch the youngest of their group dancing on the table and making a fool of himself… Well, Garvin wasn’t one to complain. Even if it seemed a little too in line with Lee’s predictions.

--

The laughter in the tavern was a good enough sign of later luck for him anyways. He’d probably manage to win something back at some point. He lifted his mug as Lass leaned back in her seat, laughing through her words. By the time he was setting his mug back down from taking a swig, he was watching Mini fall back into his chair.

--

Garvin made sure he’d finished swallowing what was in his mouth before laughing again, feeling his eyebrows raise as Sin hit Gary square in the face with his pants. He grinned, watching as Wart went to grab the pants clinging to his nose, “An’ that’s a bullseye! Not bad, Phoenix.”

--

He shifted, rolled the constellation over again in his mind, and glanced at Mar when the eldest spoke up, slamming an empty mug down a moment later. “Alright, pay up. Y’all lost the bet. Don’t tell me ‘yer chickenin’ out now.”

--

He huffed, running a finger around the rim of his own mug before reaching into one of his inner pockets for a Sanguine. “As if, Leo. But you better be ready to lose all’a it the next time ‘round.” He dropped the crystal onto the table, watched as Winter pushed one in front of her with a grumble. As much as he wasn’t a fan of losing a bet, reacting like that didn’t seem too smart of a choice for later bets. There were always worse things to lose than Sanguine when it came to betting, after all.

--

Her reply to Lion sweeping his winnings up was nothing more than amusing, if he were being honest. He took a drink to keep from snorting, knowing full well that laughing at her wasn’t likely a smart move. “You rigged it. What’re the chances it went down exactly like you said?”

--

“And you sound like a jealous bitch, I got on lady luck’s good side.”

--

“Stop fight.. Fightin’, Lass. ‘Thought we were all friensh.” He didn’t have anything left in his mug to keep him from laughing at Walt’s poor attempt at tempering Ford’s flame. Garvin figured he probably would’ve had better luck if he wasn’t on the edge of passing out. It was still hilarious to listen to him try.

--

“You don’t get to talk. Lost my earnings because of you. What’re you gonna do with all that money anyways? Shiny sword? New armor? An all-you-can-eat feast?“

--

Garvin shifted from where he’d been reaching towards the sleeping Canis Minor, glancing at the other two at the mention of food before his mind caught up with what was actually being asked. He coughed subtly, and looked back at Gary. He hummed, barely listening to the words other’s conversation as he tilted his head.

--

“Nah, gonna save it up. Gonna get us out of this hellhole one day. Maybe afford a nice house in the countryside. Prob’bly Mer’dian.”

--

He narrowed his eyes and ignored the pit in his stomach. He rolled Leo around in his mind, rolled the constellation over his tongue. Meridian was nice enough, there were always people looking for farmhands. The stars weren’t as visible as they were in Post. It was still better than Ante though. His eyes shifted, looking for Argo Navis. The banjo was easy enough to find leaning against the table.

--

“Shit, now I feel like a bad person for thinking I was gonna join those Ante bastards and make you all my personal servants.”

--

Garvin blinked, and moved his eyes back to Wart before snorting. He looked over at the other two and smirked. “Hafta say, both’a those ideas suck ass. I think I’ll go wit’ that feast ya mentioned, Sin.” He paused, glancing over to Walt before pushing on the table to stand up, his grin only growing as he did. “Now, while he might’ve already ruined his chances with, well, anyone. But ‘m thinkin’ we throw ‘im in some mud fer good measure, y’know, let ‘im sleep in a stable t’night. Y’all gonna help or am I on my own?”

Garvin Pyxis-Chip Nami

*~*~*~*

“‘An here I thought you only thought with your stomach. Runt couldn’t finish a conversation with a girl if he tried.”

--

Garvin smiled, shrugging as he watched Lass stand up and trying to lift Gary as she did. “Fair ‘nough, but it can’t hurt to make his chances any worse.”

--

“You gonna help or watch?”

--

“Do what’ve’r you guys want. Jus’ make shore Runt’s able to do his job t’morrow, yeah?”

--

Well, that was Tam out of helping them with it. At least he wasn’t trying to stop them. He grinned, bringing his hand up in a mock salute. It was cockeyed, and he was probably using the wrong hand, but he wasn't exactly trying to do it right anyway. It was mostly to make the words feel less stilted. Less familiar despite the title being a new addition to his nicknames. He didn’t quite want to think about why that was, not with the plan of throwing Canis into a stable right next to it. “Aye, Capt’in Leo.”

--

“I’m headin’ off to bed now. Don’ stay up past ‘yer bedtime now.”

--

He watched Lee make his way up the stairs to the inn area of the place, and took a breath when the leader of their small group was out of sight. He blinked over to Winter when she started speaking again, a slight sort of annoyance clear in her voice. Mini was back in his chair, which meant the shortest of them had given up.

--

“I should’ve had you carry him first. Come over here and let’s get him to the stables. Tamar wants us up early to restock on supplies before we head out.”

--

Garvin snorted and walked past Sin to the other side of Wart’s chair, leaning to pick him up and put him over his shoulder. “You really should’a, don’ know why ya didn’t.” He took a second to get used to Minor’s weight, shifting his feet and turning to look at Sai. “Well, we better get movin’ then. Last thing we need is Merry not bein’, well, y’know, merry in the mornin’ an’ all.”

--

He stepped back, shifting and glancing over the other people in the tavern towards the door leading out. He hummed to himself for a moment, before making his eyes go back to Lass, stretching out his grin. As little as he liked other people touching it at all, letting the group hold it for him didn’t seem as shit of an idea as it’d used to. “Mind grabbin’ Navis fo’ me, Phoenix? Y’know, ‘cause ‘m bein’ so kind an’ carryin’ Canis Minor since you can’t.” After all, no matter how often the group seemed to make their way back to this tavern, most likely due to the way Gary looked at the bartender’s daughter, he wasn’t about to risk the instrument being stolen.

She gave him a sharp jab in the arm when he gave Tamar a mock salute. “That’s the wrong hand, stupid.” Immediately, Sylas straightened up right next to Garvin and mimicked his mock salute with the right hand this time. “Yes’ir,” she chimed right after Garvin.

“You really should’a, don’ know why ya didn’t,” he responded calmly as Garvin picked up Geralt like a large package.

“Figured he was as light as he looked.” Geralt was light, but the issue wasn’t the weight; it was how cumbersome it was for Sylas to even try and balance Geralt’s long arms in a manageable way.

“Mind grabbin’ Navis fo’ me, Phoenix? Y’know, ‘cause ‘m bein’ so kind an’ carryin’ Canis Minor since you can’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Hurry up before Geralt wakes up or Tamar changes his mind.” It was weird for someone to name their instrument, but it was also weird for someone to have a dozen or more names for a person. Sylas never commented on it though. She’d seen weirder in Kadath. No one was sane for long here.

Despite her dismissiveness, Sylas was rather careful with the instrument. It looked something like a lute, but it had a long neck with a completely circular body. Not to mention, Garvin’s instrument had more strings than the one she had seen in the markets. She asked him what it was once and Sylas didn’t quite catch the name, but she did remember him telling her it was from his former mentor or teacher or something along those lines (she was only partially listening at the time). If anything were to happen to it, he couldn’t buy another instrument like this because there wasn’t another one like it. It was one of the cons of having something custom-made.

The stables were right next to the tavern and most of the stalls were full except for the ones on the end. A while back, Geralt had asked Tamar why the group didn’t get a horse. If they weren’t going to ride it, they could get a mule instead to carry their supplies. It turned out, as practical as a horse would be, they proved to be more of a detriment to the team than anything else. Horses grew skittish and untamable the closer they got to the eldritch. Smart creatures they were because no living thing would choose to walk towards danger. Except, for Sylas and her group, of course. Humans always needed to conquer their fears — or however that sappy idiom went. Knowing that they were able to kill the monsters in the dark, made the world a little easier to live in.

Or, maybe it wasn’t because of something so philosophical. Maybe it was just because that’s what paid and they were just dumb enough to hope to make a fortune or die trying.

“Load ‘im up here.” She opened the doors to an empty stall. The entire place stank of horse shit. “If he wakes up with a bedsore or two, it might make me feel better.”

Garvin Pyxis-Chip Nami

*~*~*~*

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Hurry up before Geralt wakes up or Tamar changes his mind.”

--

Garvin relaxed his smile for a moment, watching as she picked up the banjo. Just in case. He’d had to fix it before, just once, before he’d met the group he was in now, and it was not something he wanted to ever repeat. It’d taken forever but he hadn’t wanted to get rid of it. He still didn’t, not with the name carved on the back of its neck. Deep enough to stay, shallow enough to not mess with the sound. He didn’t really think he had much to worry about though, she was just as careful with it as she always was. As careful as all of the group always was when he let them hold it.

--

He didn’t keep his eyes on Lass for too much longer. He decided to believe that was because he figured she was probably right about them needing to hurry it up. So he smirked and kept his tone on the edge of his oh-so-good natured humor, “I been ready to go, is jus’ you that ‘m waitin’ on.”

--

He still ended up following her instead of her following him. But he was fairly certain that was just because he would’ve had to walk past her to end up in front. Besides, if she was in front then Sai would be the one to pick where exactly they ended up putting Wart. Which probably made up for her not being the one to carry Gary. The logic seemed sound enough to him, at least. Of course, walking behind her also gave him the added bonus of being able to keep an eye on Argo Navis. He trailed his eyes over it, and decided it was just the easiest way to ignore Mini’s weight on his shoulder.

--

It didn’t take all that long to reach the stables, at the very least. He stopped when Winter did, and forced his eyes away from the banjo to look at her as she opened up one of the empty stables in the row. The smell was, admittedly, strong as shit. Which made sense, given that it probably was actual horse shit. It was actually a little funny, if he was being honest, just because it still wasn’t the worst smell he’d ever had to deal with in his life.

--

“Load ‘im up here. If he wakes up with a bedsore or two, it might make me feel better.”

--

It definitely made grinning as he stepped forward a lot easier. “Eh, ‘m hopin’ he rolls ‘round in his sleep. Now that would make me feel better.” He set Canis down carefully, just enough as to make sure he didn’t wake up from too much jostling. The two didn’t need him waking up yet. Not with them still there, in plain view and clearly responsible.

--

He took a step back, out of the stable, and looked at Sin. “I think we really oughta up the stakes in our bets wit’ Mar though, Lass. We wouldn’t keep losin’ as often as we do now if we did, I don’ think.” He took a breath, one that was apparently a little too deep, and then leaned back against one of the wooden posts of the stables as casually as he could manage while stifling a cough. He ignored it in favor of continuing his line of thought. “I mean, come on, I doubt he’d even wanna win if one’a us were to bet a hand ‘stead of an’thin’ else, y’know?”

--

He blinked, humming as he tried to think for a second. He gave up on remembering within seconds, and decided on just asking Phoenix. It seemed like the easy option, at least. “Hey, can’t quite recall, but did I ever tell y’all ‘bout the time I actually did that?”

“Eh, ‘m hopin’ he rolls ‘round in his sleep. Now that would make me feel better.”

“‘Yer too kind,” she argued. The best Garvin could think of was rolling around. Maybe the issue wasn’t that Garvin was kind, it was that Sylas was a dick. Growing up in the slums, it was a normal sight to see food scraps, rot, and feces in one place. Dry humor was how Sylas coped with the world around her, usually at the expense of Geralt’s appetite. The ones born and raised in Meridian were always made of softer stuff.

When Garvin finished his task of tucking Geralt in, Sylas handed his instrument back and figured it was safer in his hands than hers. Plus, it was strange to see him without it.

She grabbed a few handfuls of loose hay and threw them onto Geralt. With enough, the hay formed into a makeshift blanket. He wouldn’t have been as warm had Sylas used an actual blanket, but something was better than nothing. When she stood up, she gave Garvin a funny look. “I’m not heartless,” which was an abstract way of saying don’t mention it. Acts of kindness made her feel weird inside.

She followed Garvin close behind until they were outside again. The sun beamed down happily and it made sense why Meridian houses always had thicker curtains. It was impossible to get any proper sleep when it never got dark.

“I think we really oughta up the stakes in our bets wit’ Mar though, Lass. We wouldn’t keep losin’ as often as we do now if we did, I don’ think.” Garvin did something that looked like the grey area between a hiccup and a choke. Very unflattering. Sylas stifled a laugh and disguised it by scratching her nose.

“I mean, come on, I doubt he’d even wanna win if one’a us were to bet a hand ‘stead of an’thin’ else, y’know?”

“Dunno what I’d want with a hand.” It seemed grotesque and Sylas wouldn’t want to win a dismembered hand or two either, much less figure out what to do with them.

“Hey, can’t quite recall, but did I ever tell y’all ‘bout the time I actually did that?”

“No,” she responded quickly, rather invested in this story. Sylas gave an exaggerated glance and his two intact hands as she shifted her weight onto one leg. “Well, I figure you must’ve won that bet. So, where’s the hand?” She’d be lying if she said a part of her wasn’t expecting Garvin to pull a bony finger out of his back pocket and then the two of them would continue like normal. He’d done that shit before, pull something unexpected and then act like nothing happened.

“Don’t tell me you bailed on your own word.”

Sylas would’ve most definitely bailed on a bet like that.