[open] wake up, it's time to gather now

[cointosser]

Who: ALL OF THE FREE CITIES.
What: A glorious celebration and a Summoned-powered festival!
When: The second week of May.
Where: The Old Public Hall, the outlaying plaza, spilling into the streets of Cadens.



The Reopening Celebration

[The flyers appear all at once overnight among all of Cadens, with the front text reading: GRAND RE-OPENING OF OLD PUBLIC HALL. FIVE DAYS OF CELEBRATION WITH MERCHANTS FROM ACROSS THE FREE CITIES AND NOCWICH, ALL TO CELEBRATE THE REOPENING OF ONE OF CADEN'S ARCHITECTURAL MARVELS AND THE FREE CITIES'S OWN FORM OVER FUNCTION FESTIVAL! with the dates given underneath.

The back of the flyers will list the precise details, including the topics of each day of the festival. This festival is to act alongside and celebrate the native Free Cities celebration Form Over Function week that the Cities host every year. As with most things Jaskier and Alucard touch, it has to be a little Extra.

New to the city? Want to change careers? As suggested by the mods, the Summoned can use this festival to look for work or make new connections in the Free Cities with the locals displaying their craft. Artists, artisans, playwrights, theatres, inventors, and scientists will be looking for the next wave of brilliant minds and talented individuals.

Also acknowledged on each flyer are the equipment and food donated by the various Free Cities governing bodies.]

The Aquila Portal

[A big celebratory announcement during the first day of the festival will be made in front of the Hall once the market opens. This is the grand unveiling of the new portal that is being permanently opened to Aquila, agreed to by the Free Cities government. The announcement comes from several of the Free Cities' very own Summoned: Jayce, Claude and Sam.

The portal is intended for leisure and business travel and will have a crossing fee. A portion of the proceeds from the festival will go to providing those of lower incomes with a single paid-for trip to and back from the Aquila portal. Please make use of such generosity, Summoned!]

The Lunae and Ikorr

[Most of the festival is meant to feature the local artists and artisans of the Free Cities. However, many artisans from Nocwich have also been invited and provided with their own space, with water misters set up to keep the wolves and vampires (and visitors, of course) cool in the desert air. Long, shaded walkways keep visitors safe from the sun.

The Lunae have a history of traveling to Solvunn to attend celebrations, so they will arrive in Cadens in greater numbers. While the vampires have less of a presence than the werewolves, they will still offer their wares like blood-infused wines, glowing flowers, and unique meat dishes - similar to what was provided last year!

All three Nocwich ambassadors will make an appearance for at least one of the days.]

The Festival Days

[A large open-air market will be open throughout the celebration, which will feature retailers and artisans from Aquila, Cadens, Libertas, the Lunae, and the Ikorr, all set up in the plaza that leads up to Old Public Hall itself. Advertisements will be posted to entice new tourists to Aquila, in the interest of Fallon Marsh's new push for tourism to the coastal city.

Each "day" features a special theme:

• Book and Literature Day includes a seller's market inside and on the steps of Old Public Hall, along with book signings throughout, starting off the five-day celebration. The latest and the greatest works that have come from Free Cities minds are featured, sold, and autographed. If you're an up-and-coming writer, there are small podiums and stages set up on the outdoor stages for you to provide readings of your own work and advertise any exciting new book clubs. There is no promise of quality for the open-mic readings, and there's no withholding criticism when it's bad either.
  
  Large presses and the self-published all share their wares, ranging from the latest scientific journals to the unsurprisingly long line to meet the author of the popular Onion James mystery novels. Near the new bar in Old Public Hall, an informal bookclub will open will be hosted. The evening will feature authors in conversations with each other, offering book signings and writing workshops for nervous young novelists. If you're curious, feel free to join in and show off your newest writing piece!



• Painting and the Visual Arts Day marks the second day, which will see the Old Public Hall transform into a gallery for a day. Featured artists are lesser-known independents, working to create monumental-sized paintings, glass sculptures that refract light, tiny drawings that show skill on the smallest scale possible, and more. The Hall provides the ground for artists to lay out sales of local paintings, sculptures, woolen arts, and even the services of artists themselves. All matter of art will be set up for sale in the Old Public Hall, as well as works organized on the main floor of the Hall as a gallery. Clothing designers from Aquila will be showing off the latest fashions, as well as looking for new models among the visitors. Libertas's artists will once again be pushing their counterculture art, supported by Quilleth Kaur and the Arts Restoration Committee.



• Science Day will feature a symposium on the current state of technological developments in Cadens and how they relate to artistic practice on the third day. Within the Hall itself, the maze of the books from the previous day has been replaced with an open floor plan, allowing for a horseshoe-shaped display of inventors and their wares -- and a surprising amount of artisan fashion work. Two large areas feature in-depth talks about recent developments in both fabric production and sewing machines, resulting in more unique fabrics and dyes that will be displayed later that evening.
  
  
  
  
  Keep an ear out, as the names "Jayce" and "Viktor" float among the populace as Summoned inventors to keep your eyes and attention on. Provided by these two fame-collecting talents is a display of their fantastic revolving armillary sphere, modeled after the astronomy of Abraxas, which casts an atmospheric starry light over the area once night falls. This new permanent installation is now available for viewing in front of Old Public Hall as a navigation point and to show the union between art and science.
  
  Further into the night, garments will be shown, with a discussion about new techniques used and how they were made. The beauty of asymmetry is lauded, with the use of coraline plant fibers for boning, experiments with structure and bright fabric dyes, accented with fine details. Shapes and textures are exaggerated and celebrated. A large screen behind the stage allows for some projection magic to focus on all the little details for the whole crowd to see.



• Theatre Day arrives on the fourth day. Indoor and outdoor stages will be set up, featuring short plays and costume shows. There are several morning workshops available for perusal; some are writing-focused, led by some of Libertas's leading playwrights.
  
  Outside of the Hall is the brand new romantic comedy All The Wolves You Loved Before, commissioned for the grand reopening by one "J. Alfred" to be performed for the first time ever. It tells the story of an exceptionally handsome, white-furred werewolf from Nocwich with a charming and surprisingly funny demeanor, falling into scraps and eventually into love. Inside the Hall is the classic Murder Among Thieves, a mystery featuring a group of bandits that are picked off by a killer one by one.
  
  That night, Old Public Hall will host the three-act play It Happened In Section 600. The horror piece sells hard on its exquisite special effects (made with a combination of science and magic), telling the story of Miss Harker, a new librarian at the University in the early days of the Free Cities. Ghosts supposedly haunt the library, but just exactly why remains a mystery until Miss Harker starts her first day. The mystery features spirits and a tale of revenge with the early days of the Free Cities as the backdrop.
  
  Local theatres will provide backstage access and classes on special and visual effects. Playwrights will provide signings and host writing workshops as they scope out new or aspiring young actors. For those brave enough, you can find others to help practice your audition or even aid others in theirs!



• Concert Day, which marks the end of the event, features live, performed music from 3 p.m. until midnight, acting as a tour de force of the restored Hall's acoustic capabilities where both technology and magic work together. Smaller, independent bands will be highlighted and enhanced with magical special effects, with -- unsurprisingly -- the night ending with a special performance by the Gem of the Phoenix himself, Jaskier! Rumors have it that the appearance of a real phoenix itself may appear, granting supreme luck to all who see it in the future...
  
  The magic of the Old Public Hall is in use for this concert series, where magic birds will explode and fly among the eaves of the Hall's roof, the roof will disappear in view of the night sky, or small explosions of color — named "fireworks" — pop off with every growing crescendo. The final show will feature a performance of Jaskier's ballad to Lfybringr, ballads of bravery in the Free Cities sands, and exciting tales of forbidden lovers meeting in the eternal night of Nocwich.
  
  
  
  The final song of the night, ending the Festival, is "The Phoenix Always Rises From The Ashes," a loud and explosive power ballad that sounds strangely like modern rock to some ears, meant to invigorate and inspire all of those who have lost hope. This show features magnificent displays of wildfire magic, echoing the unrestrained strength of Libertas's people. When the final line echoes through the hall — And the people, like the phoenix, will always rise! — a gigantic, illusionary phoenix will appear, covering the roof of the Hall, giving a beautiful, defiant screech before exploding into feathers. These feathers are soft to the touch, quite real, and can be taken home as souvenirs.

As always, thank you for your patronage and interest in the arts, Free Cities. Remember that, in the end, the people will always rise.]

Comments

[gynvael]

[ Frankly, Geralt is not surprised Jaskier has earned himself a title. He is equally unsurprised that Jaskier has turned said title into a fucking vanity marker.

But it suits him. Geralt did not exactly decline the gold phoenix that now sits on the hilt of his new sword. The make of his previous one was solid, but the replacement is better. Perfect balance. (And no. He did not speak to Viktor when he went to retrieve it.)

The days leading up to Jaskier's festival is bustling. He listens to the bard fuss over the minutiae, helps carry the crates while giving his expected growling, and throws himself into each daily, hourly, task. It is, perhaps, not unlike how he survived down there. How he's survived anything. Small things to do, minute by minute, until he's made it through yet one more day.

It works. It gets him by. When he can't fucking sleep, he trims the flowers for the park garden. He organizes the seedlings for Jaskier's new shop. He sharpens every knife in the kitchen drawer until it can slice a man's tongue off with a stroke. He builds Coram a bed. Paints it. Paints Mog's, too.

When Jaskier brings him to the shop, Geralt agrees. He'd have come either way, but he's especially keen on a distraction these days. Meditation can only calm the mind so much. And though he has not admitted it, he finds the greenery soothing.

Geralt peers at the fuzzy white plant. A small smile lifts his lips. ]

Hm. [ Naturally. All there is to it. His fingers brush the leaves. Soft. ] Of course. I can hardly think of anything else you've named after the wolves.

[cointosser]

[Of course it's tied directly into his vanity. Jaskier's practically a hero to the people! As he should be -- without bloodshed, and mostly through thrifty lyrics and a lot of knowledge on how to manage sums of money. Money which he has, in turn, spilled across his favorite people: Geralt with the phoenix engraved onto his sword's hilt, several new dresses for Nadine, an imported woolen blanket for... well, originally it was for Mog, but somehow the leosylph, Coram, has discovered how easy it is to bully the gryphon twice his size, so now it's that devil's blanket.

See? He is quite generous.

Generous... and nosy. And attentive. To the point he can see that those returned, no matter how easily they slip back into their regular lives, have something hanging over them.

Geralt's may as well be a lion, latched to his shoulder, dragging giant paws behind him.]

There was that wine in the Hori -- oh, shut it, I know what you're implying. [Jaskier's gaze is measured as he witnesses those rather scarred fingers delicately touch the leaves. He doesn't know if what he's done will really mean anything to Geralt, but he... he has an inkling, that's all. That something should be done.] You know, if you manage a fortnight of work in here, I'll consider myself repaid for services rendered.

[For breaking him out of prison a season ago, specifically.]

[gynvael]

[ His smile widens a hint. For a brief moment, in any case. He knows Jaskier sees too much, and in truth, he can't say it bothers him. They're beyond that now, after everything they've been through. He's told Jaskier about Dean—the only person he's truly spoken to about it outside of the angel.

The loss is a leaden weight. But he's no desire to let himself fall into the rut of lingering on the dead at the expense of living. He's moved past others before. He'll do so again.

It's difficult to think too much about any one particular thing. ]

Oh, is that all? [ He leans on the counter. The shop isn't put together yet, but it's getting there. Who would have thought? The bard running a business. Concerts. Festivals. Jaskier has built something important in this world. In a way, knowing that helps Geralt feel anchored. ] I don't recall agreeing to indenture myself to you.

[ He'll be here. Not because he owes Jaskier, but because, deep down, he could use an excuse to keep company around. It does not occur to him yet, why Jaskier has brought him here or that he has something in mind. ]

[cointosser]

Mm, you didn't have to agree. I freed you from your prison cell and that's a fact. Further more, I have decided you still owe me for it. And further still, I did spend real coin on that apron with your name on it.

[And though Geralt has certainly done a good amount of work preparing for this event and clearing out the building once Jaskier's name was on the lease, Jaskier is of the opinion there cannot be enough for him. Because after all this time, he's quite aware of how Geralt works when he's... having feelings.

Certain, specific feelings.

A predictable creature is the Witcher. To Jaskier, at least.

As is Jaskier. He may as well get to the point.

He kneels behind a counter, lugging out a thick, bush-like plant in a rather plain clay pot. Among the branches are small, white flowers with yellow centers beginning to open, and tiny spheres that will grow into black-blue berries.]

I grew this for you. [He puts it on the counter in front of Geralt, a soft sigh leaving through his nose.] It's a blackthorn tree. Extremely hardy, full of thorns, and -- well, I've heard they make rather good gin, actually. [When he thought of what to grow for the man that only recently passed, this is what he thought most fitting. And Dean seemed as if he would enjoy a good gin.] I thought we might plant it at the park.

[gynvael]

[ His eyes roll, though there's no heat behind it. They both know why he has not yet left Cadens, though Geralt imagines he will soon. He's already picked up a contract, one that won't take him too far from home. He'll return to hunting, Jaskier will continue building his fame and fortune and plants. Their lives will grow.

Despite all that's happened, Geralt cannot deny that he is content. Here, in this sphere, with the people he cares for most beside him. It is much more than he once hoped for himself. Much more than any Witcher would have dreamed of. And now that it's his, he wants it. Wants it so fiercely, it aches.

The flowering plant appears before him. Jaskier need not explain what he means with the small sapling. It is predictable and yet not. A hush falls over him. Not that Geralt believes Jaskier hasn't got a heart; only that Geralt has grown so used to grieving in solitude. He mourned Yennefer, alone. He mourned Eskel, alone, unwilling to burden Vesemir with his pain. For the first time, he feels...less so.

He takes the tree in his hands. His voice is soft. ] I'd like that.

[cointosser]

[The benefit of Geralt, in some ways, is that Jaskier can say things to him -- and Geralt in return -- where no further explanation is needed. To be honest, he is not sure what to think of Dean, or what to say about him, or if he should say anything at all. Jaskier, for the most part, found him rather grating beyond his deep appreciation for music. Their moments together were spent arguing about pie or why Dean hasn't gotten a good roll in the hayu with a man like Geralt.

But he remembers smaller moments. Dean showing him the shows of music on that screen. Sitting in the tavern among hunters, watching them move in and out, knowing he's not meant to be there but taking up a seat anyway, because he has been Geralt's barker in the past and still, a part of him remains so.

Hardy, troublesome plants that spread out, that leek liquor, that bite back when you reach for them -- it all suits, of course; there was certainly no lack of thought put into it. It is what he thinks to do, to leave a memory where a man once was. And, for the first time, since they were in Kaer Morhen, he sees what a loss does to his friend.

It is a small offering. A condolence without the name.

The festivities are meant to run themselves, and Jaskier has days before his concert. He can make time, of course, for Geralt, even if Geralt would never ask for it.] Then I have time, if you do. We should plant it while it's still young.

[gynvael]

[ The gesture means more, knowing that Jaskier was never close to the man. The tree is intended for Geralt, and for that he appreciates it. He is long used to growing close to those who are not well-liked or understood. Ones not missed by anybody other than the handful who saw something else beneath the barbs and prickly spines, a kinship that could only be forged amongst people unwanted by the rest of the world.

He picks up the pot. Yeah. He's got time.

He follows Jaskier out the door, silent for the moment. Thinking, a bit, about old memories that haunt and losses that never seem to leave him. They're topics he hardly ever addresses. What's there to say? Jaskier is not here to shoulder his burdens for him. Geralt has borne the weight for this long, anyhow.

But having someone who understands that he is carrying something helps. Even if they don't speak of it. ]

I haven't got any memory of it. [ The words come abrupt in the quiet, unbidden, unexplained, until he continues. ] After Voleth Meir, at Kaer Morhen. I haven't got any memory of putting our dead to rest.

[cointosser]

[There is a quiet that naturally settles between them, that settles any time men are indulging in the memories of loss. Jaskier may have seen the casual death of many men, but it is no longer as easy to move past as it once was -- when he was as selfish as a freshly sharpened knife. When he did things like... wish Valdo Marx dead... that one he might not regret still.

That bastard better not have tried to take Jaskier's mantle now that he has left the Continent.

As they walk, Jaskier picks at his cuticles, glancing at Geralt from the corner of his eye. It's not really a wait for him to say something -- that wait, from Geralt, could be anywhere from months to years -- but it is almost like a silent question to seek what he needs in the moment.

What he receives surprises even Jaskier. His brows raise, then knit together. He does manage to, at least, keep it to himself that there's little to remember from men who leave their dead to be feasted on by scavengers and ravaged by the cold.

It makes sense to him. To not want to remember. To have been so full of memories already, at that point, that his mind could take no more.

Poor, poor Witchers. You truly feel everything.]

I can make more. [He offers, his words carefully chosen.] There can be more than one tree.

[gynvael]

[ Years, decades. Jaskier has been patient with him. Geralt is rare to voice it, but he knows deep down it's true, how much his friend has remained steadfast by his side. Waiting for him to unfold the pieces of himself.

He glances over. His expression is thoughtful, considering. He shakes his head. ] No. One will do.

[ Witchers do not occupy spaces and memorials. They are remembered quietly: medallions on a tree in a fortress hidden away in the mountains. Seen by almost no one. That's how it's always been. For Geralt, it does not quite feel right for him to do more, to make it more. This tree will be fine, for all of them. The ones already lost and the ones he knows he will lose still.

He stops at the patch of garden in the park, sapling in hand. He'd confessed once, without meaning to, that he was afraid of being the only one standing. Alone, again. And it's—

His fingers curl around the medallion sitting against his chest. ] Perhaps some flowers instead beneath. Though I couldn't tell you what the fuck sort of flowers my brothers appreciated.

[ Maybe a thorny bush would be more fitting. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier sighs back, a little shake of his head, but there is only so much one can do to lead a horse to water -- or, in this case, allow a Witcher the space to be sentimental. One tree is enough. There was only the one tree in Kaer Morhen, too. Perhaps there is some sacred belief in having a single, tree. A pillar of strength? He was only in Kaer Morhen for days, but it was enough to show him there is still plenty about Witchers he does not know, and may never know.

The park stretches out in front of them, an impossible blanket of green and bright spots of colors, of trees and water and flowers that are all thriving. Impossibly. It still amazes him, despite knowing his hands were firmly in every inch of this place.

That he can do something so impossible like offer his friend a tree. Perhaps sorcerers have always felt this way? Or perhaps it's as simple to them as it is for Jaskier to carry a note. Nothing worth remarking upon.]

Well, knowing them for a few days, I'd say they'd probably scoff at the notion. [Jaskier gives Geralt a pat on the shoulder, walking around the spot he already closed off for this new sapling. He has the same thought -- something thorny and angry that can't be touched -- but Jaskier wants something better for his friend's brothers. He's been studying some of the literature on local flora that he could get his hands off, and as he runs through it --]

Ah! I've got the perfect thing.

[Jaskier rolls his sleeves up, expanding the hole he's made for the sapling with a sort of moat around it. As his fingers mingle with sand and dirt, tiny sprouts begin to poke up behind them. His magic works deep, expanding roots down and pulling the plants upwards, which branch and split, growing thick. The plant coalesces into a blossoming desert peach bush, with the fruits growing before their very eyes.

Stone fruits with heart-shaped pits, a thorny bush with bursts of color. A hard exterior with a heart inside. What more could be said of a Witcher? It's perfect, he thinks, but -- he does look to Geralt for approval.]

[gynvael]

[ That is, Geralt knows, accurate. They would scoff. So would Geralt, were the same notion proposed to him. He expects his medallion hung with the others, nothing more. His body left to the wolves as they all are. But he has learned from his time in Abraxas that his loss will be...felt. By more than his brothers

Perhaps a part of him wants that for the others, too.

The flowering bush blooms from the earth. Geralt touches the plump fruit hanging on it. Peaches, is it? He supposes they do have stone hearts. Hardened from the world and yet—something can still grow from them.

Yes. It suits. ]

You never got to know two of them. [ He digs deeper into the garden, making a place for the tree they brought. ] We were all brothers, but—three I was raised with. After the last Trials.

[ By the time Jaskier arrived, only Lambert remained. ]

[cointosser]

[Geralt's reaction, while always muted, is good enough for Jaskier. So he's chosen right -- not that he would've believed it was a bad one at any rate, but merely because this is supposed to be for Geralt, not himself.

The flowers flutter in the desert breeze -- or perhaps it's a reaction to Geralt's touch. Jaskier doesn't say either way.

He brushes dirt from his hands, surveying the flowering desert peach bush with the sapling. Likely they would have tangled together in the wild, and while Jaskier could keep them separate, he does like the idea of it. The two different losses, tanging their roots together.

Yes, he must make everything romantic. If he's capable.]

Before I arrived? [It was not strange to hear about Witchers dying, but... what terrible timing, he can't help but think, when the monsters made their way into Kaer Morhen.

And more still does he think: how rare Geralt has ever mentioned family. The one Jaskier does not know, at least -- the one he and Ciri share in this time that he was not part of either of their lives.] Tell me of them?

[gynvael]

Mm. [ One long before that fateful winter. Earlier, a different winter nearly two decades prior, in the frosty chill of Temeria. Geralt carried the medallion back to Kaer Morhen and that was that.

Invited Triss with him, too.

Eskel is a fresher memory. He never spoke of Eskel to anyone. Vesemir had been too deep in his grief, Lambert too bitter and wounded. In truth, Geralt isn't certain he'd have done so were they receptive. He's often retreated into solitude. That's what he's used to.

Jaskier is here, though. And for the first time, he does want to say something. ]

You met Lambert. Eskel and Remus—we fled the sacking of Kaer Morhen. Vesemir found us. [ He sits back on the ground, next to the small sapling. There's the faintest warm breeze in the air. ] Eskel and I— [ He shrugs. ] We wound up together often when training. He was a bastard like all of us, but...

[ Gentle. In his own way. Sometimes. When it mattered most. ]

[cointosser]

[Oh, he certainly met Lambert. One could not possibly forget having met him. Personally, Jaskier much prefers Geralt's special brand of rudeness.

Jaskier, rightly, keeps this to himself. He is listening. And he is quiet. Eskel and Remus -- two names he is quite sure he has never once heard Geralt speak, though he thinks the first may have been mentioned just in the same room by Vesemir. Jaskier may have gone to Kaer Morhen, but one could not say he mingled. That he had shown up with Ciri had made him less suspicious of his appearance; he'd mostly stood by and let the girl explain.

The bard sits beside him as the plants make room.]

But not a bastard bastard, like you? [A joke and both a genuine question. His gaze moves from Geralt's face to the park stretching out around them. The way he says that name -- Eskel -- he thinks it speaks of something particularly special.] So you were brothers for quite a long time.

[gynvael]

[ Lambert is a certain breed of arsehole and Geralt would not begrudge anybody for saying that out loud. The last people he'll take offence over are his brothers. At least where their manners are concerned.

Not as though he's much better. (Slightly.)

He glances over, a little tilt his lips. Yeah. They were. Since they were children. Like ghosts in Kaer Morhen. That's what it felt like before the Trials. None expected you to see the next winter. You were just bodies occupying a dark cellar, waiting to be carried out. Until you weren't. Until you had the rare fortune to become something more. ]

I knew him better than anyone. I should've— [ Eskel was different that winter. Different enough he should not have dismissed it. There are few things Geralt carries the guilt of. This is one. ] I should have known something was wrong.

[ He had known. Deep down, he had. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier was not truly prepared for Geralt to bring up what might have killed his fellow Witchers -- and is it truly hard to guess? -- yet the knitting in Geralt's brows tells a much larger story than he ever offers in words.

Again, it is so excruciating to pull details from him.

But here, Jaskier is quiet. Patient.]

I can't imagine you didn't. But perhaps you were distracted. [Geralt does have a habit of some single-minded focuses, when it comes to... particular people.] What happened? It must not have been very long ago.

[gynvael]

[ In the face of Jaskier's careful peeling back, Geralt is silent. For a long minute or two, he says nothing.

Then: ] The winter I brought Ciri home. He was...different. By the time I understood, it'd taken him over. I put him down.

[ The words come out together, steady, as though he gave them considerable thought first. The details he would grant, the ones he would not. He leaves out Lambert's anger, Vesemir's brush with death. Eskel's last words to him. I thought you could help.

He has not missed the similarities between Eskel and Dean. The slow infection, the aggression. It's weighed on his mind for months. He'd readied himself. Then Dean was killed and...here they are.

That place where he expects to be. With one less in his life. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier sighs. If he's hit a wall, he has hit a wall; what matters is the tree will be planted and thrive, and the desert peaches will provide local and fauna alike with fruits for sustenance. The memories may not be passed, but the memorial will provide --

He looks over. The winter? Shit. That wasn't far back at all.

Jaskier picks at his cuticles, fingers fluttering, as he begins to be incapable of staying still. It'd taken him over. Some sort of monster? Surely not a demon, was it? How many bloody demons could they be running into? No. Maybe it was something else. He's rather sure Geralt would be more specific, if it was that. If it were so pertinent.]

Perhaps he trusted you to do it. [It's only a guess. If they were close -- if it was anything like what Jaskier suspects he can understand of people.] But it isn't fucking fair it seems to fall on you, every time.

can wrap on this or on yours!

[gynvael]

[ Trusted him to save him, more like. And he'd been unable to.

Fair or not, it's what it is. He can't begrudge their faith in him. Perhaps he simply wishes he had not let them down. Their years are numbered no matter what, but...it makes things no less easy to swallow. ]

We were always going to be lost to time. [ He smooths the soil around the sapling and the flowering bush.

Then he stands to examine their work. He likes it. He does. It's a place to rest for a people who rarely found such a things. A place he can visit, that exists in the physical realm beyond the Horizon.

For a few minutes, he watches the plants in silence. Eventually, his shoulders brush up against Jaskier's. What spurred him to confess as much as he had is over. If there's more to learn, Jaskier will have to wait for another time. ]

Come on. I've a debt to repay.

sure!!

[cointosser]

It is so annoying when you philosophize. Especially when it sounds so depressing.

[But he cannot fault Geralt for it. If you ask him, he was raised in rather... let's say, the conditions that would nurture such depressing beliefs.

Jaskier has never been content with being lost. And he has made sure he won't be.

They stand together. The little thing is a lovely memorial, he thinks, and... well, that's that, isn't it? It's done. The dead stay dead, and the living move on. He sighs.]

Your debts grow heavier by the day, it seems.