abraxaslogs | WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

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WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

Welcome to The Free Cities! The portal exits outside the capital city of Cadens. The first impression of the city is its sheer size. It sprawls out across the landscape like a great hulking beast at rest. The wall that encircles it barely contains it, the buildings of Cadens practically bulging against its restraint.

The air here seems thicker somehow, tinged with a scent that’s acrid and smoky. Smog hangs high over the city, belched out by smokestacks that tower over the industrial district. The desert stretches out behind it, dotted with towers and dust clouds that disappear into the horizon. Multiple gates lead inside and each is staffed by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms that wave a steady stream of people through without appearing to pay much attention. People are coming and going almost all of the time, to and from the outposts and areas of activity around the city proper. It’s difficult to tell just what’s out there beyond the impression of tall metal structures and a great deal of labor. Wagons carrying travelers to Libertas and Aquila roll out from the Travel Post outside the city wall.

Anyone who can sense magic will notice a much lower concentration here. No one will be stopped or questioned at the gate, even if the soldiers seem to take note of the fugitives from Thorne.

The activity and sheer number of citizens can be overwhelming. It’s crowded and loud and feels constantly in motion with everyone talking and yelling over each other. It’s easy to get swept up in the ever-moving throng or find oneself ducking into the mouth of a narrow alley just to breathe.

Anyone who’s willing to make their way to the northern part of the city and Portham Hall will find Prime Minister Marlo Reiner available to receive them.

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[Jaskier blinks, clearly thrown off by the words. He's already a little flushed still from the wine, but for a moment, perhaps it brightens.

No. That would be stupid.]

Couldn't let you be defenseless forever, could I? [As for the question, he hesitates. Now this part is embarrassing in some strange way, as if he should have been able to preplan for this sort of predicament. The predicament of magical interference, a slight coup, and portals throwing them every which way.

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, which is hot to the touch. Ah. He really did go for that wine, hadn't he?] I had made... [He gestures through the air, his hand rolling, fingers rubbing together.] Preparations. Everything important enough to save. Hector and I, er... we were set to spring you free. You and Alucard. During the execution.

[ If he notices Jaskier's reaction, Geralt says nothing of it. It isn't important. He's just—a lot's happened. And Jaskier has been there through it, despite how they'd left things on that mountain. Despite the fact that he knows that for Jaskier, it's been not a year but only weeks, days. If even that.

The question is made out of a superficial curiosity. Jaskier's hesitance makes him lift an eyebrow. Oh. Had he—?

Geralt makes a soft noise. Not amusement, quite. More of a Well, shit. The implications to what Jaskier has just told him are multiple. He isn't sure he wants to pick them apart right now. ]

Instead, we got mysterious mages. [ It's been no secret from the start Geralt trusts none of this. He's just accepted it. What the hell else can he do? He stares out into the distance. Over the jumble of rooftops. Jaskier hasn't asked; he knows Jaskier has realized already, the moment they left that portal site. Yennefer is not here. Neither of them have mentioned her name since.

It still feels like he should say it. He doesn't know if Jaskier believes Yennefer went into another portal. Maybe escaped using her own magic. The reality is both far more simple and far more fucking complicated.

There's a tightness to his words. His fingers curl, dig slightly into the soft wood of the roof. ] Yennefer stayed in Thorne.

You know, were I the suspicious sort, I would almost believe the mages knew of our plan. Yet one can't complain. Their idea did work.

[All right, one could complain, and Jaskier definitely had. He'd complained about being thrown through portals, the fear of the journey, how they couldn't even really choose where they landed. Just another kingdom. No chance of freedom outside of them.

And gods know the mages will come back wanting their favors. If he's learned anything, it's that mages don't do anything for free.

Coming from Geralt, it's nearly a confession. Jaskier lays his legs out in front of him, foot propped up against the edge of the rising window in front of them. He looks out into the city, with its thick air and conjoining roads.] Ah. So that explains why the both of you are so bloody sullen.

[His voice is tight. Why should I care? Why should anyone? Well, clearly Geralt does. Jaskier isn't stupid. And after Ciri defended her earlier... so does she. For whatever reason. Female solidarity or something. That although they are together, it still feels as if they are apart.

He waves away a bug, and his shoulder brushes Geralt's.] By the time you return to check on her, she'll have declared herself the new queen of Thorne. [He huffs. He doesn't ask why. Yennefer thinks she's complicated, but to Jaskier, she feels deceptively simple. They all are when their desires come into play. Personally he thinks she's fucking crazy to stay there, but he didn't miss what happened as he'd stolen that pipe and ring. People he knew trying to kill Ambrose. And people he knew defending him.

An utter fucking mess, really.] I hate to tell you, Geralt, but I'm quite sure she's taken care of herself without you. I imagine this trend won't end now. And if she knew you were sitting here, worried about her -- don't deny it, I know you are -- she'd be utterly pissed.

[Okay, that thought brings a bit of a smile to his face. Sort of how she'd looked when he'd healed her bruises. Ah. She'll never forgive him for that.

He pauses, picking at his cuticles now. Something occurs to him.] Did you ever see her again? After the dragon hunt?

Edited 2021-09-05 18:53 (UTC)

[ Geralt slides his gaze towards Jaskier. The bard's dismissive attitude is of no shock. He's well aware how Jaskier feels about Yennefer. He knows Jaskier is right. He's never worried about her like that. She can more than handle herself. They've spent as much time apart as they have together over the years, even when things had been...uncomplicated. It's just—different. This time. He can't explain.

The truth is, he wouldn't be feeling this way if they'd parted angry. If she'd simply not wanted to be with him. Or the girl. But that's not what happened, that's not the way they left back there in Thorne. He doesn't know what to do with this feeling, this sense that things between them are not finished. Not the way he'd told himself they were, in the months after the dragon hunt. And it's as fucking foolish as anything, because at the end of the day, he also knows what Yennefer will tell him. That whatever transpired between them in those few short minutes is, like everything else they've had, little more than a magic wish. ]

No. [ The answer comes short. He doesn't mean it to. He sighs. It isn't his intention, to talk about it. He'd only wanted to tell Jaskier where they stand, the four of them, and leave it at that. But of course the bard digs deeper. Brings up the dragon hunt, when he'd said...what he shouldn't. To either of them.

He shifts, suddenly regretting the entire conversation. Some part of him still feels like they're only here together because of this. That if he were on the Continent, Jaskier would be a distance away. And wasn't that how he wanted it? The quiet simplicity of having no one but himself? (He hates this place, for reminding him that there are people he cannot quite let go of no matter how hard he tries.)

Geralt sits back on his hands. Tries to take the edge off his words, because they've had a shit three months and he just wants to not think. ] Haven't you got more beauty sleep left?

[Jaskier meets his gaze. No. As succinct and short as Geralt can be, which also means he's inviting no further conversation about it. The problem is, that has absolutely never stopped Jaskier, and it certainly doesn't now.]

You really did fuck things up for yourself, didn't you? [It's not meant to be a dig -- not anymore, not when so many weeks, a whole season, have passed since then, and even longer for his Witcher friend. He bumps his shoulder against Geralt's, but his voice is soft when he continues.] It isn't goodbye forever, you know. We will make our way back there, if we must. I forgave you. Surely our beloved sorceress has even more capacity for forgiveness.

[He doesn't like her, of course, but Jaskier is a master of matters of the heart. It would make him a real fucking fool if he didn't understand that Geralt felt for her. Perhaps more than anyone else Jaskier has ever known of.

And he is Geralt's best friend. One must attend to one's friendly duties.

Which means also glaring at him when Geralt says something especially stupid.] Not with how the two of you snore. [They don't. But it's fun to say.] I actually awoke reminded that I sit in a pool of my own filth, and I want a bath. I need a bath. [He pulls some of Geralt's hair.] And so do you, actually. I'm fairly sure any hunt you attempt could smell you on the downwind. Possibly also the upwind. You may as well share the bloody water instead of sitting out here, marinating in your moroseness.

[ Of course it doesn't stop him. Neither does Geralt. Jaskier will say what he will, whether Geralt wants to hear it or not. So he listens, because despite Jaskier's penchant for talking, there are times when Jaskier is deliberate in what he chooses to say. Yeah. He did. Fuck things up. What else is new? He doesn't tell Jaskier that things between him and Yennefer are immeasurably complicated. That what's between them is so much more than words spoken in anger, though there's that, too. But something in him does ease a little, hearing Jaskier say I forgave you. Which isn't...it's not as if he's been waiting for it. It's just—

He takes a breath. Frowns right back. He doesn't snore. He is filthy. Now that Jaskier brings it up, he's starkly reminded of how much grime and old blood and dirt has been caked onto him. He grunts. Tempting, to continue to sit out here alone; draw his own bath afterwards. The truth is, he doesn't want to be alone. He won't admit it, but there it is. He thinks about it still, sometimes, the Horizon. How Jaskier found him in that cabin. The flower crowns he'd crafted for the girl, and the simple way it'd just felt like he'd known him.

The wolf that had followed Jaskier around. The gently melting frost when the bard would draw near. ]

Fine. [ His reply comes gruffly, but no more than what's typical for him. Might as well. He's been told the water runs cold here often (that the water runs at all is something he's just accepted) and if the middle of the night is the only time they can get the damn thing briefly spitting hot water, he's not letting Jaskier claim all of it. Or drown in it. The bard still looks unsteady. ] Just don't fall asleep in there.

Edited 2021-09-07 22:47 (UTC)

[Geralt is clearly going through it, but he offers nothing further on the matter. The slow intake and outtake of breath tells him enough. Whatever is on Geralt's mind isn't his concern now. Getting them clean is.

Besides. The Witcher has always attempted to get through these things on his own.

He shoves Geralt with a snort, using his shoulder to balance himself on the perilous slope of roof.] Ah, yes. Because of the two of us, surely I'm the one who's been missing out on sleep. [He pats the top of Geralt's head akin to he may a dog.] Catch me if I do, or I'll haunt you forever. [He carefully makes his way back to the window, sticking his head out to wait for Geralt. Also because he does not want to miss a chance at watching him fall off the roof in case it happens.]

Hurry it up. Before Ciri wakes up and you scandalize her with the sight of your horrible, naked ass.

Edited 2021-09-07 23:30 (UTC)

[ An irritated noise comes from his throat, but as he is not a child, unlike Jaskier, he resists swatting at him as Jaskier goes through the window again. He places his hand on the small of Jaskier's back in case Jaskier slips again. Unfortunately for the bard, Geralt isn't drunk and also has all of his reflexes back. He makes it off the roof with ease.

His brows furrow. ] Fuck off.

[ It's under his breath, because Ciri is sleeping, and he'll not wake her up. He makes his way to the sectioned bath—shared, but there's no one here at this hour. It isn't the cleanest, and not near as nice as Thorne's, but there's a tub and water. It'll do.

He strips off his shirt, stepping around Jaskier as he does. His clothes land on the floor with little care. Eventually, he's going to need something sturdier—more leather—but. A hell of a lot more than the shit Thorne put them in. ]

[Jaskier does not quite hold back his snort, but it remains quiet as he makes his way to the bath. At least in the morn, she'll have plenty of time for her own hot -- or at least warm -- bath.

Jaskier musses up his hair once the door is closed, pulling off his chemise. Looking at it piled sadly on the floor, it does feel impertinent he gets his own set of clothing next. Regardless of its richness, he requires something that does not so solidly mark him as an escapee from Thorne.

It's not the first time the two of them have bathed together, though he much prefers the tub over some shitty frozen creek. So Jaskier isn't shy about taking him in, but more importantly --]

Your leg looks better. I noticed you weren't limping anymore. [And he had not mentioned so with Ciri around. Jaskier would happily bet his entire bag of coin Geralt had not mentioned that bite. He turns the water on as he's learned how to in Thorne, as hot as he can manage it. To his surprise, there is steam.] Healed on its own?

[ Geralt, in turn, has long grown accustomed to Jaskier taking him in, and truthfully has rarely paid attention in the first place. So he doesn't look back as he steps into the tub while Jaskier runs the water. Not even when Jaskier brings up his leg.

Ciri had, in fact, noticed. Had actually remembered the injury he'd borne when he'd found her in those woods. It's part of the reason he believes her, without a doubt, when she says that they're in the wrong time. That it's possible their paths have been fully disrupted, in a way that can no longer be rectified. But that's a problem for the future. Right now, he wants to soak in this damn bath. ]

Mm. At last. [ It'd been feeling better even by the last couple of weeks, and once they escaped, the rest of the wound had taken care of itself. It still isn't entirely finished, but it's a pink scar now: one more for the collection.

He tilts his head. There's one thing he hasn't addressed—that he's pushed aside up until now. ] You made flowers.

Could've mentioned it earlier. [Jaskier grumbles in lieu of I'm glad to hear it,, even though he is. He steps out of his trousers, moving to sink into the water. The frail curls of steam are encouraging, and the water is still quite warm as it rises around his skin.

If there is anything to appreciate about this world, it's their ability to move hot water without the use of maids. (Though he does miss the maids a bit.)

He sighs, pushing one of Geralt's legs with his own to make room, until he's in the water as deep as he can be. For a bit, he simply wants to soak. (Maybe it's a bit better with company.)

Jaskier cracks open an eye.] What? [He cups some water in a hand, dribbling down his neck.] Is that some sort of metaphor? If you're seeing bubbles, they're coming out of your ass.

[ Jaskier's grumbling is met with a dismissive sound. When would he have time to bring it up? The water is warm, as promised, soothing an ache in his knee he hadn't noticed. Probably from accommodating that leg for so damn long.

He moves his leg aside, not in the mood to bicker over space. It isn't a small tub, but he's hardly compact in size and frankly Jaskier isn't really, either. Even if he does weigh but a feather to Geralt.

For a moment, he thinks Jaskier is deflecting. No. The bard doesn't realize. Geralt peers at him. Had he done it without noticing? What had triggered it? He knows Jaskier has magic now, but that requires effort. Concentration. ]

Out there. By the portals. Flowers bloomed under your feet.

[Jaskier is very aware when Geralt stares at him, because it always has some secret meaning to it, which is often infuriatingly simple to understand if he gets what's happening.

He does not get it now. Jaskier rolls his eyes, plucking up a rough cloth to scrub at a leg, still caked in dirt from landing.]

What on earth? I can't make flowers, Geralt. I told you I only know one bloody spell. We fell in some. It's not like the portal was particularly picky about where it dumped us.

[ There's a huff that borders on exasperation. He leans forward. He'd gathered Jaskier hadn't done it deliberately, but he hadn't realized Jaskier hadn't noticed at all. Hadn't noticed the magic spilling out of him. He'd thought Jaskier simply couldn't control it at the time. ]

We did not fall in any fucking flowers, Jaskier. [ Did it look like the entry gates were made of flower fields? Between the wine and sheer exhaustion, Jaskier's glib attitude makes his patience run shorter than usual. He reaches out to catch Jaskier's wrist mid-scrub. He's aware this is just some flowers, but it isn't only that. There's something going on he doesn't understand—that Jaskier is completely oblivious to—and he wants to know what in the hell it is. ] They were blooming. Where you stepped.

[ A curse? No. A side effect of going through the portal? It's possible. There's enough he doesn't know about this place. He doesn't need the mystery of why Jaskier sprouted flowers under his feet on top of it all. ]

Oi! What are you being such a dick for? [He pulls at his wrist, going back to his scrubbing. It's not as if he's ever really been afraid of Geralt -- and he certainly isn't now -- but something about the intensity of his gaze and his probing questions leaves Jaskier feeling uneasy. Normally he wouldn't be much bothered by this, but the drink in him definitely leaves him a bit off-kilter and, if anything, makes the shift in his stomach even more apparent.

Geralt does not insist things like this. What, is he making fun of him? Because he knows one fucking spell? Ah, what about a second spell that's just about as useless! There's a spike in Jaskier's heart, and he can't quite tell if it's annoyance or anxiousness. The former certainly is more probable.] I'm trying to relax, not get a bunch of shit from you for trying to learn something --

[There's a snapping. It feels like one, to him, at least; and when he feels it, he knows it's somehow familiar. A snap, like a twang in his head, and he stares at Geralt as something green peeks through the white of his hair. The green curls out, tendrils looping tightly. Small purple flowers bloom at the tip.]

I --

[He isn't sure what to say. Was that...?

The vine reaches for him.]

Oh. Fuck me.

Edited 2021-09-09 04:37 (UTC)

[ Jaskier's growing irritation is both an irritation itself and also concerning. Geralt lets him go, if only because he isn't trying to piss Jaskier off. For once. He's asking a genuine damn question here. He can hear the spike in Jaskier's heart, and it raises a mild alarm in him. What is— ]

Hey. Calm down—

[ Oh, for. Fuck's sake. He doesn't need a mirror; he can both smell the bloom and feel a stir in his hair. The faint crackle of magic. Geralt takes a deep breath as he reaches up and plucks the purple flower out of his hair. (Of all the things.)

He holds it out between them, one eyebrow raised. Well? ]

[Jaskier can't really pinpoint what is going through his head in the moment. A lot of things, and nothing at all. He cannot divine why he recoils from the plant, why the sudden thought of it touching him seems horrible somehow. Why this, of all things, feels like the crux of an entire season of stress and fear and outrage.

His heart shudders in his chest as he pushes himself back as far against the other side of the tub as he can.]

I'm not doing that. I can't be.

[He is. He knows he is, because he can feel the magic. He curses under his breath, nearly springing out of the tub as he feels the soft velvet of flower petals underneath his hands, gripping the side of the tub as if he's going to break it.]

I can't -- I didn't learn to do this. I didn't even know you fucking could do this. And you telling me to calm down is making it worse! You never tell anyone to calm down!

[ That's objectively not true; Geralt spends half his damn days telling folk to calm down so he can find out what creature this time ate the village baker. It's also not the point.

Jaskier's pulse is a stuttering rhythm. He's never seen Jaskier so—panicked. Without a monster snapping at him, at least. There's an array of petals, suddenly, in the water. If it isn't deliberate magic, what is it? Something powered solely by a heightened emotional state? He knows of mages and their conduit moments, but this has not been the case with the magic here. In this world. With Jaskier. It'd have happened weeks ago if it were.

So where in the hell is it coming from now?

He grips Jaskier's knee, knowing better than to grab his hands. ] Jaskier. [ Fuck. He both isn't sober enough for this and entirely too sober all at once. ] Breathe.

[Okay, he does tell people, but it -- it's making it worse, either way. He sucks in air between gritted teeth, staring at the petals -- he knows immediately they're from a wisteria. How the fuck is he making wisteria petals? What did this to him? Where did this magic even come from?

Jaskier jerks, the touch breaking him out of his thoughts. He looks at Geralt, staring into his eyes.

All he'd wanted was a nice, relaxing bath. And it had not been relaxing in any sense of the word.

But he does breathe. He shakes the petals off of his hand and rubs his face, shaking it off. Fine. He can do... petal magic. Great. That's really helpful.] Easy for you to say. What have you got? A bit of fire? Great. I can make some grass for us to chew on. I'm sure it will be very helpful for our future life of whoever-the-fuck-knows. Couldn't have been something wonderful, could it? Like magical ice spears? Or big, bright arrows?

[Look, those just sound sort of interesting. Also terrifying. Nevermind. He'd probably impale himself if that had been the case.]

[ He stares right back until he can hear Jaskier's heart begin to settle. Then he lets him go. Studying him. He isn't sure what to say. This has caught him more off guard than he wants to admit. There've been few constants in his life, but Jaskier has always been one: a bard, a human, (his friend), nothing more. And then.

In some ways, he understands. That fear that envelopes you when you feel your body is no longer yours. When there's a power that was never meant to belong to you crackling under your skin. It's wrong and it isn't, and eventually it settles. Eventually, you forget you were ever once anything else at all. ]

I don't know how this power has been made yours. [ His gaze is steady. ] But it is yours. You can use it. [ He finally sits back against the tub. The filthy water is lukewarm, and far less appealing than it was ten minutes ago. He wrings out his half-heartedly scrubbed hair. ] Some grasses are fatal to chew on. And some can heal.

Edited 2021-09-10 16:11 (UTC)

[He drops his hands from his face, letting them fall back into the water. His breath is soft again. Plenty would claim there w as no comfort to be found in a witcher, but Jaskier had known him far too long.

Actually, he's quite a bit glad he did not discover this while alone in the bath. He may have woken both of them up.]

I would bet a thousand crowns you never have thought there'd be a day you'd claim I had any power.

[He's too preoccupied to notice the water, which is a feat in and of itself. He lifts a hand and stares at it, as if he can see any indication of what made that happen. You made flowers. His memory goes back to the portal, their landing. The soft landing. Petals sticking to his boots.]

You're so infuriatingly practical sometimes. [He closes his eyes. Rubs the fingers of one hand together. The pull, magic like strings.

He opens his hand to several blades of lemongrass, the oils scenting the air.] Well? Would you like some grass to chew?

[ Geralt snorts softly. Now that Jaskier's no longer flailing in the tub, he goes back to trying to finish scrubbing the layers of grime off his skin. He's so damn tired. Of everything, right now. Not that he expected anything to be less complicated once they escaped. It's just—

He's hardly had a chance to breathe for the past months. Even before the mages drew him from that forsaken fucking well. ]

Other than the power to dissolve a marriage before sundown? [ There's faint amusement there, though, hidden beneath the dry remark. Not his concern, that some find a bard more charming than the snoring drunkard they have waiting back home. (This is not him acknowledging Jaskier has any charm at all. Because he doesn't.)

He looks up as the citrus scent fills the air. Hm. He'd a feeling Jaskier would grasp it once he calmed down. Geralt reaches for one of the stalks. Jaskier's managed to summon not just any plant, but an exotic one on top of that. Or. Perhaps that's not so for the climate here. He wonders if that matters for Jaskier's power to work, or if he can grow anything with roots.

He hands back the stalk. His expression is thoughtful. ] I might, in fact.

[ He can't recreate his elixirs here; that much is without question. The ingredients require more than a handful of plants, common or uncommon. What he needs goes beyond that. But healing salves and draughts can work well enough. And unlike a Witcher's concoction, Ciri could use them. ]

[Jaskier slaps a wave of water towards him.] You're hilarious, really!

[His heart is still pattering hard enough he can feel it, but it isn't so desperate. He has to remind himself this is nothing compared to going from a... a normal, magic-less person to one who can wield it with literally no training. (It's not going to be the first time he thanks the gods Yennefer is not here to see him like this.)

So he can make plants. That's. Completely normal. Isn't it? For a magic person? Fuck, he doesn't know how chaos works. He's pretty sure it doesn't work this way.

Actually, perhaps Yennefer's presence would be helpful. Though he doubted she would help him, even if her life were on the line.

He sighs, setting the grass aside. Now there's a pile of plants next to their tub, completely incomprehensibly.]

You might? For what? [His brain is firing too much and not enough. He busies himself by pulling the drain, draining the water to refill it with fresh, hot water. A bath in the middle of the bloody night gives them the opportunity, and he's not leaving until he's scrubbed every spot of dirt off of himself, until his skin has rubbed raw, if he must.] Well, suppose we could add a bit of spice to our food.

[Maybe. He isn't sure. What this means. Where it's come from. Geralt, he imagines, would tell him it doesn't matter: it's here now. He grabs some oil and begins massaging it into his wet hair, combing through the wet, curled strands. Careful to not think of plants in particular.] I suppose I have to practice it now. [It is a talent that may help them in the future. And considering this place is surrounded by desert... it's something to keep in mind.] Somehow we find ourselves on something resembling your Path again, but it's all cocked up.

Edited 2021-09-13 05:43 (UTC)

[ His lips quirk. Water sprays, and he sits against the side of the tub as Jaskier drains and refills it. A new experience, simply refilling a tub at will. It's useful.

Spice to food. Of course that's where Jaskier's mind goes, despite having witnessed the Witcher gather and brew his herbs for years. Geralt gives him a look that suggests Jaskier knows exactly what he means for what. For as long as Jaskier has this ability, he may as well make use of it. It'll be the only way they can learn more. About what it means. Where it came from.

He gives a little huff. ] The Path is just the Path, Jaskier. Fucked or not.

[ Whether it's taken him here or not—he's still walking it. Always will.

He hauls himself out of the tub, grabbing a clean but worn towel to dry himself off with. He rubs at his dripping hair. Jaskier wasn't wrong: he does feel better, with the layers of dust and sweat washed away. All this is a hell of a lot to think on. He's just not letting it stew in his mind. One damn step at a time. Right now, he wants another hour of sleep before sunrise. Then he's seeing what the city has to offer. ]

[Jaskier makes sure his huff is much more bothered and much louder than Geralt's own. His heart is settling but he's still freaked out in a way he can't really pin down anymore. Or, rather... changes he does not want to voice to Geralt in particular. Because it feels like his body is not entirely his own anymore, now that this world... or the Singularity... can decide to alter it for him.

Give him access to powers he did not have before. And did nothing to earn.

He sighs, but after rinsing his head he wipes the water away to watch Geralt's exit from the tub, water cascading down his naked body. Far be it for Jaskier to be so foolish he gives up a free sight. (It does help to know that Geralt's body doesn't look terribly worse from wear, from his time in the dungeons.)]

Yes, thank you for updating me. It's not as if I've followed you on it for any length of time. [The sarcasm comes easily, but not so smoothly as before. He really should simply go back to bed. Or, ah, the floor, as it was.] You had better sleep this time. I know you haven't at all.

[There is the faintest amusement on his face as he says it, knowing the irony of mothering a Witcher about his bedtime habits.] You're already cantankerous enough as is.

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gynvael - 2021-09-19 14:14 (UTC) - Expand

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