yennefer of vengerberg. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vixening) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-09-12 10:52 am
vixening) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-09-12 10:52 am
[ semi-open ] my place amongst the stars.
Who: yennefer of vengerberg, various, and open.
Where: Castle Thorne, various locations therein, including the horizon.
When: post-jailbreak, month of september.
What: now that yennefer has been (rightfully) welcomed as a guest, it is about time she meets the rest of her peers within the castle.
Warnings: N/A, will add if needed
CLOSED STARTERS BELOW.
OPEN TO ALL IN CASTLE THORNE.
Where: Castle Thorne, various locations therein, including the horizon.
When: post-jailbreak, month of september.
What: now that yennefer has been (rightfully) welcomed as a guest, it is about time she meets the rest of her peers within the castle.
Warnings: N/A, will add if needed
CLOSED STARTERS BELOW.
OPEN TO ALL IN CASTLE THORNE.
[ now that yennefer has been (rightfully) welcomed as a guest, she walks the halls with a kind of up-right pride. the castle is about what she expects it to be, grand and made of stone, filled with equal amounts of intelligent folk she needs to keep track of as well as idiots with whom she doesn't give more than a passing glance. it's actually quite freeing, really, to have her magic at her fingertips once again. to feel like she doesn't need to use what she can because it could be fleeting. it gives her a confidence and an ease that, perhaps, shouldn't come so quickly to her given that she has spent most of her time down in the dungeons below, and yet it does suit her as she becomes familiar with the halls around her - searching rooms, spending time in halls, learning where the great hall is compared to the library compared to her own quarters.
as her schedule is somewhat settled, yennefer finds herself spending some time in the library amongst the other mages, her reactions towards them ranging from mentor-ly to bored to at some times even cross, depending on how much they annoy her that day. she understands that they are still learning, but it becomes increasingly obvious to her how little ambrose has anything to do with their studies. at least, not directly.
her biggest goal, now, is to feel settled in this new court. it is not her first time, doing so, and it is with that experience that she approaches her involvement in it. to find out as much as she can, to become assimilated, to avoid talking about - in any way - how her time here began in the cells below.
yennefer can be found in the library, practicing and studying the magic of this realm compared to her own. other times she can be found conversing with the native thorneans in the main halls, coming across as curious and respectful as she finds her place among the many customs and rules. other times, she could even be found wandering the gardens, just for a breath of fresh air, every now and then seeming lost in thought. if approached, she will appear friendly, especially if approached by fellow welcomed guests. it is up to the conversation itself if it stays that way. ]
no subject
As if he were a young boy all over again. His first wagon ride with a daring, darting creature. (Isn't that how she is now? Younger? Or is that only what he imagines? Is this Yennefer that he meets now at all any sort of truth? Was this truly the woman she once was?)
They have all changed over time. In small ways, minute ways. It's the way of the world, of life and age and time. Even those who don't age. But he cannot imagine how these two women coincide. (Even if, he thinks, there are small movements, of the way she holds her head, that he recognizes.)]
Oh, please. Yennefer, you are a prize as much as I. [And those words slip off too easily. To be fair, Jaskier isn't fucking blind. Yennefer, of course, is beautiful. And powerful. Dangerous. They are all things men have wanted to fuck for millennia. And despite whatever his personal opinions are, it is clear that Geralt... sees something in her.] Our talents are not the same, but you are no less for having them.
[He swallows.] There will be a day songs are written of you, too.
[Or they already have been. Moving on. The wagon hits a bump and shifts slightly, their bodies pressing closer together, with only the wolf between. Jaskier glances at them, and his voice goes soft.] He loves you, you know.
no subject
the cart continues to move, taking them across this strange land, this strange place, but yennefer finds that she's quite alright with the events of this. where she is, now, comes with it a feeling of comfort. like she has been here before, or if not here, than with julian. possibly even this wolf. her inability to access her memories had been a troubling concept she'd wrestled with, upon her first arrival, but the wolf, julian, they are all stops on her path that she is grateful to find.
( to mirror the feeling, yennefer's features do settled - on her crooked jaw, her misshapen brow. she knows nothing else, of course. this is who she is, who she feels to be. )
it is that yennefer that, at julian's compliment, lets out something of a rough, unladylike snort. sharp, harsh, and fully disbelieving. you are a prize as much as i he says, and yennefer glances across the wolf towards him with an incredulous look, shaking her head. ] You're kind, Julian. Too kind. I feel as though that kindness may bring you strife, one day.
[ it is that next comment he makes that sobers her, any of that self-deprecating curl of her lips gone in a single moment. the feeling of it catches her off-guard, and suddenly the off-balance nature of her has nothing to do with the cart. with the rocky road. songs...of her? it feels a bit too impossible to be real, but gods. gods, she wants it.
yennefer is quiet for a few moments longer, staring off onto the road before them, one hand still on the wolf's shoulders, curling fingertips into the fur. it is why, even as julia's voice grows soft, that yennefer catches the full weight of the words. her eyes go back to his, meeting them over the back of the wolf between them, before her attention shifts downward. to the sleeping wolf, the large white body that makes her feel so centered. that makes her feel like her, even when she's not sure what shape that is supposed to be.
her expression is thoughtful, soft but not necessarily as young as she'd been moments before. ]
I believe I do.
[ know, she means. she lifts her hand and runs it along the fur of his back, twists a bit of the white hair between her fingertips. he loves you julian says, and with yennefer's eyes on the wolf between them, she feels like she might understand. maybe. her gut tells her not to argue, that she knows this, despite the discomfort that swirls alongside it. ]
Though I'm not entirely sure why.
no subject
[Strife comes in many forms. It comes in banquets that run red with blood, or his throat that spills it. In the treachery of mountain paths and the feeling of being left behind. Of sorceresses who nearly kill the lot of them by bringing a house down on their heads.
Or in wolves who fall for exactly the wrong women. (A small voice in him says, what if it isn't wrong? Not entirely?)]
Neither does he. [His thumbs rub deeply into the reins he holds. It's clear he doesn't mean the wolf, but he -- he sort of does. Now that he knows who it so obviously represents. And that Yennefer has taken such a warmth to it... clearly, the wolf is the same to both of them.
He's not blind. Not as a man, and certainly not as a poet. The way Geralt looks at her is raw. When she came into that tavern, even with a mouthful of Est Est in his mouth and swirling in his head, he could see it.]
Sometimes love is unknowable. But its unknowing does not lessen its strength.
no subject
there is a part of her that starts to worry - only fractionally, about this strife he seems to find himself in. the fact he is not worried for himself, in that strife. but even as she would like to spend the time worrying about him, the conversation shifts, evolving back towards her, towards this love. it’s a strange thing, a concept that is meant to be so beautiful, conjuring something not necessarily unwanted, but unsure, complex, in her gut. unsure. that uncertainty flitters across her face for just a few moment before. she turns to him, though she’s not entirely sure why, catching the way his hands tighten around the reins. the thoughtful almost tension in his eyes.
but its unknowing does not lessen its strength.
could that be applicable here, too? how yennefer is shifting through all of these moments, this strange place, without knowing who she is or what brought her here? does her unknowing not lessen this moment, on this cart? she is quiet for a moment, considering this, before she speaks again. ]
And what if you, Julian? [ if he looks to her, the smile will be soft, small, gentle. some of that earlier concern for him filters through, too. she shifts just a bit closer, as if the words they share are secrets for only the two of them. it is this close, though, that she notices him. the shape of his jaw, the length of his nose. his eyes, too, bright and knowing, stunning, where they sit under the fringe of his hair. ] You speak of unknowable love, but that it’s only sometimes. You have have a love of which you know- where does your heart lie?
no subject
Even the way she says his name -- though he's never really kept it so secret -- it feels intimate, knowing she's never called him it before.
He does look, because her eyes are on him and he can feel the weight of them. And though he has never said it, he does find them beautiful. A violet that would make even the petals of heliotrope pale in comparison. Which is funny, considering he has often thought of her as that flower. Beautiful. Poisonous. Causing gastric distress to those around her.
He is certainly beginning to feel some sort of distress.]
I believe it's a bit of a cliché, my answer, but my heart has never been chained to one place. [He looks away, to his fingers, where he has already worried an indentation into the reins. Physical evidence of what this conversation has done to him. (And it's been so easy, once he allowed it, and it does feel like what he's lied to her about. That they are friends. That words between them are private, but easy, and comforting. Comfortable. And it's that comfort he finds disturbing.
Because a truth has struck him with the inevitability of Destiny herself. Yennefer will recover her memories, the next time she is here. And this woman here, now... she'll be gone, won't she? It will be her second death -- the death after who Yennefer is now took over.
It feels it must be that way to him, because they are so unalike that he almost convinced himself she was a different person. Despite the years he has been aware of her, she is as much a mystery as she was when they met. Unintentionally.]
Would you believe me if I said, in this moment, it lies right here?
[In the quiet of this ride, of horse hooves stomping along a path, with willow branches arching over them and shading them from the sun. Hiding the rising monolith of the Singularity from view. And there is the wolf and the weight of him, the hot heaving breath when he sighs. The Path and Company. It's all he's needed for a long time.
Ah, Jaskier remains selfish as ever. He wants to steal something from this. For himself. For once, it is not about her -- about bothering her, or annoying her, or insulting her. He would steal something before this fantasy vanishes.
So he lets go of the reins (the horses have never needed the direction) and cups her cheek. The shape is unfamiliar, but his hand finds where to hold it gently anyway. Then he leans in and kisses her.
An impulse. That's all it is.]
no subject
still, something about julian - about the wind crossing their path and the rocking of the cart - makes her feel almost brave. almost confident. some part of her says this isn't like her, that she has no reason to believe this feeling, even with julian's kindness, but she decides she wants to hold on to it. if not for long, at least for now. ]
Why would that be cliché? [ her head tilts a bit with the question, her eyes back to his hands. to the tension with which he holds the leather of the reins. it's a curious thing, watching someone come to terms with a thought. a decision. but yennefer finds she can't bring herself to look away. ] You live a marvelous life, have probably traveled far and wide. The stories you must have... [ there's a kind of wistful smile to her, as she says that, before her attention is back to his face. ] Why would you chain something that wishes for freedom?
[ or, perhaps, that's not what he means at all. yennefer tries to chase down that look she sees cross his eyes, tries (a bit fruitlessly) to find answers within her to questions she doesn't even know how to ask. without her memories, without any way to understand who they are to each other or what they're supposed to mean, how would she be able to offer him anything at all? here, she is a lost girl. at the whims of julian's direction, joining him along whatever path that has been brought before them.
and she doesn't feel herself minding it. what harm could it bring, to trust him? when he looks at her like that? when they're friends? when - as he turns to look at her, when he says that his heart lies right here - on this cart, in this shade. his hands are calloused (a feeling that somehow, in some way, brings a sort of comfort) but warm where they've settled on her cheeks, and as he leans in to kiss her, yennefer - well. yennefer pauses, at first, whether from shock or uncertainty or the actual, honest fact she does not remember if she has ever been kissed before in her life. but, as soon as that first moment passes, she feels a kind of easy release of tension filter out of her. feels her eyes flutter closed, and her lips press back to his own.
julian may kiss her, but it is yennefer who kisses him back - one hand still settled on the wolf's back, while the other reaches up to hold his wrist.
he had said his heart was here, in this moment, and yennefer finds she can't quite stop the feeling that swells in her at the idea of it. that she might have his heart, that she might - if only in this moment, be important to him. that feeling is what keeps her, truly, from immediately pulling away from him. from the flush that threatens to engulf her at the idea of this. of him. of a kiss, on the back of a cart, and the press of his lips against her own.
whether it is julian who breaks the kiss, or the need for air pulling them apart, yennefer feels a kind of giddy sort of smile tugging at her mouth. her hand on his wrist keeps him from pulling away immediately afterward, and she decides she likes the feeling of it, too.
would you believe me, he had asked. ]
I think I believe you, yes. [ and to keep the smile from growing, she bites gently at her own lower lip. ]
no subject
All that is gone for now. For this day, or the handful of hours it'll be. She may not even return to this plane after this experience; he knows exactly how strange it is, recognizing what he'd done without memories. Realizing that the Singularity could steal them away so easily.
It's why he steals this. The kiss, the memory of this woman that no longer exists. (He feels it's only fair someone else remember her.) Though, once she presses back, it's far less of a theft. So he keeps his hand where it is, taking in the soft skin. The jaw she hid somehow. (Magic, perhaps? If he touched her face now, would he still feel the shape?)
Yennefer kisses already like one well-versed in it. And in his chest his heart pitter-patters, skipping in its rhythm. Not only at the idea of kissing Yennefer, but the fact she... she'll remember this. Won't she? He could recall everything he did.
Yes, well. That sort of thing has never stopped him before.
He pulls back for breath and a smile of his own. (Is this what Geralt feels? No, he thinks. Certainly the Witcher feels otherwise, for they are so different.) His thumb carefully follows her cheek, appreciating that shade of pink.]
Good. I was being very sincere. [It was the truth. His heart always manages to dig a little nest for itself in moments that stick out in his mind -- where he can find specific senses of comfort, or appreciation, or beauty. It's why he's loved so many. Why he continues to love.] But the story is this...
[The words come out in a soft song. Ah. Fucl. It was far more accurate than he'd ever imagined, wasn't it?] Your kiss is far sweeter than I was prepared for.