With one arm, she wipes her red and puffy eyes, rubbing the coarse, dingy fabric of her prison tunic's sleeve across her face to smear the tears and dirt in a way that isn't helpful in the slightest; with the other, she grips Jaskier by the elbow, crumpling the fabric of his shirt where her fingers squeeze it tightly. She tries to train her breathing -- get ahold of yourself, you pathetic fool! -- but it isn't working yet. Not when the anxiety claws at her lungs with every stuttering breath that barely manages to keep from being a sob. For now.
They wait. The seconds crawl by. The noise of the city, ignored and unimportant to her at this moment, fades into the background, a meaningless cacophony. She doesn't look around. The portal was a one-way door, and Ciri only has their current location to go by, refusing to let herself be distracted and risk losing Geralt in the crowd of people traveling in and out of the gate they seem to find themselves just outside of. ]
He'll be here soon. [ She tells this to Jaskier, but it's not for his benefit. Ciri squeezes the bard's arm without looking over at him. ] Just watch-- There.
[ The crackle of magic. She can feel it, raw and harsh, stronger in its impression for the lack of magic around them now in this new place.
Ciri gasps aloud, a catching, damp sound that sticks in her throat.
And then she's running, dashing forward the few yards to where Geralt has fallen in the dirt, panic and relief surging in her chest. Jaskier, still firmly in her grip, will simply have to keep up. ]
Geralt!
[ Ciri cries, dragging Jaskier down with her when she falls to her knees beside the Witcher. Only then does she let go, and only so that she can reach for Geralt instead. ]
group hug o'clock!!
With one arm, she wipes her red and puffy eyes, rubbing the coarse, dingy fabric of her prison tunic's sleeve across her face to smear the tears and dirt in a way that isn't helpful in the slightest; with the other, she grips Jaskier by the elbow, crumpling the fabric of his shirt where her fingers squeeze it tightly. She tries to train her breathing -- get ahold of yourself, you pathetic fool! -- but it isn't working yet. Not when the anxiety claws at her lungs with every stuttering breath that barely manages to keep from being a sob. For now.
They wait. The seconds crawl by. The noise of the city, ignored and unimportant to her at this moment, fades into the background, a meaningless cacophony. She doesn't look around. The portal was a one-way door, and Ciri only has their current location to go by, refusing to let herself be distracted and risk losing Geralt in the crowd of people traveling in and out of the gate they seem to find themselves just outside of. ]
He'll be here soon. [ She tells this to Jaskier, but it's not for his benefit. Ciri squeezes the bard's arm without looking over at him. ] Just watch-- There.
[ The crackle of magic. She can feel it, raw and harsh, stronger in its impression for the lack of magic around them now in this new place.
Ciri gasps aloud, a catching, damp sound that sticks in her throat.
And then she's running, dashing forward the few yards to where Geralt has fallen in the dirt, panic and relief surging in her chest. Jaskier, still firmly in her grip, will simply have to keep up. ]
Geralt!
[ Ciri cries, dragging Jaskier down with her when she falls to her knees beside the Witcher. Only then does she let go, and only so that she can reach for Geralt instead. ]