abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] just look across and see

[ A lord. Not hard to guess. Geralt had said that night courtly parties were not his hobby; that shows here in the worn linen shirt he's casually rolled up at the sleeves, his hair loosely swept back—no longer braided as it was that night.

It is also possible the silver wolf head now visible against his chest grants more context to the moniker he'd chosen. ]

You wouldn't offer that if you knew me. [ The remark isn't serious. His lips tilt faintly.

Then he nods up at the red-bricked building before them. Unlike many of the homes and buildings in the Horizon, it's closer in architecture to structures on the Continent. That John is riding a horse says much, too. And yet the unlit lamps along the road, where Geralt would expect torches to sit, is unusual. ]

This is yours?

[John glances at the building before them, offering Geralt a nod of his head.]

In a manner of speaking. I constructed it here, after a place of significance to me back at home. I thought it might be a comfort, to have somewhere familiar to return to, when everything else in this land is so otherwise foreign.

[He turns back to the other man, offering him something of a self-conscious smile.]

I do not suppose you are familiar with the concept of a gentleman's club?

[ A place of significance. Understandable. Much of the Horizon is built upon that exact sentiment. Pieces of home they cannot let go of. It isn't real, but it's close.

Geralt peers up at the building. His lips twitch. ] Does one need to be a gentleman to enter?

[ Because that might rule him out.

He's already maneuvering Roach closer, though. Something tells him John wishes to invite him in, and Geralt can't say he minds. Call it curiosity. He's spoken to the man before, but not as themselves. Now they can drop their pretenses. ]

[John lets out the chuff of a laugh at that question, before shaking his head.]

No, no. But one does require an invitation.

[Directing Karolus up closer to the building, Lord John deftly dismounts and fastens his reins to one of the hitching posts intended for just this purpose before turning back to Geralt, tossing him a somewhat mischievous smile.]

Would you like to come in?

[Cheeky.]

[ Geralt hops off Roach alongside John. The two horses seem to tolerate each other's company, at least.

Faintly amused, Geralt tips his head to accept and follows the man inside. It's polished—not quite the ornate edges of a palace, but certainly something of noble standing. Leather, rich wood, expensive liquor. No doubt Geralt looks out of place, though there's a sense that he's aware and that it doesn't bother him. ]

Looks like an aristocratic estate.

[ He supposes, with an invitation required, that's what this is. A semi-private estate for the wealthy. ]

[John leads them up the stairs and leads Geralt inside, onto the worn Turkish rug of the main hallway of the Beefsteak. It is a gentlemen's club, and one of several that John is a member of, at that. But he's always been particularly fond of the cozy shabbiness of the Beefsteak over the others, finding it as a certain home away from home. He has to wonder what it must look like, through the eyes of others. He supposes now is as good a time as any to find out.

He flicks his companion another smile, tilting his head from side as if to say: yes, and no.]

It might have once been a private residence, but in truth, I do not know for certain. White's was a hot chocolate house before it became members-only. Given the name of The Beefsteak, one can only guess.

[He shrugs.] But they do serve an excellent cut, if you're looking for a bite to eat. Or a bed to sleep in for the night.

[ To Geralt, any place made for dining not filled with rough-hewn tables notched from too many brawls and dirty floors is reserved for more than common folk. Temples aside, rundown taverns are all that exist across the Continent; even the nicest of them are mud-stained and soaked in the smell of horses and watered-down ale.

Cadens isn't much different—and Geralt rarely frequents the wealthier sections except for a contract. The thought that this is shabby is not one that crosses his mind.

But it isn't cold, either. There's a certain warmth to it, and a fondness in John's voice. ]

We haven't got...clubs of this nature. Though I'm hardly graced with invitations into exclusive halls.

[ Well. Unless he's come along as Jaskier's bodyguard. ]

[John offers him a quiet smile at that admission, ducking his head somewhat self-consciously.]

A hazard of being born into nobility, I'm afraid. Please do try not to hold it against me.

[He casts his eyes down the hallway, his smile sobering. He stands for a moment, regarding the shabby red of the Turkish runner and the cozy light of the sconces along the hall, before stepping forward and gesturing Geralt to follow.]

In truth, I have always found this place as something of a refuge. Out in the world, I am a brother, a son. A father. A soldier. Lieutenant Colonel. Lord John. There are -- responsibilities to be met. Expectations to be upheld.

[He glances aside at his companion.] I suppose that it is different here, in this world. But that does not change the comfort this place brings.

Since you asked so nicely.

[ He bears no grudges against the nobility, specifically. Humans of all stations have found their reasons to despise a Witcher—but that history doesn't follow him to this sphere. (For the most part.)

John leads the way, and Geralt follows. The rugs, the furniture. Well-worn, but well-cared for, too. The sconces speak of a somewhat different era than his. He studies them for a moment as he passes before his eyes return to John. ]

You left a lot behind.

[ Family, friends, colleagues. There's something to be said about shedding one's obligations—he's met those who find themselves freer in this world—but not everyone wishes for that opportunity. ]

[Lord John's expression sobers slightly at that observation and he is quiet for a long moment before he offers his companion a nod.]

I suppose that you might say that I did.

[He takes in a breath, letting it out in a soft sigh.]

In some ways, it is easier, being here. And in some ways, it is not. I do not particularly miss being at war.

[He glances aside at the other man as he turns to push a side door open, one that leads into John's favorite room: the library. There is a small, gentle fire going in the fireplace, a liquor cabinet against the wall, and here and there across the room there sit various overstuffed pieces of furniture, all of which look extremely comfortable and well-loved.

He offers Geralt a soft, slightly sad smile.] I do miss my son.

Neither do I. [ War catches more than soldiers in its path. Geralt has found himself on the bloodied end of Nilfgaard's conquest far too often as of late, and he is tired of watching people he loves become entangled in something they never wanted to be a part of.

The crackling fire catches his attention even before the door opens to reveal it. Geralt walks into the library. Despite all the ways he doesn't seem to belong, there's no hesitation in his steps as he eyes the furnishings and the books lining the walls—like he's learned to be comfortable existing on the fringes of wherever he ends up.

He settles against a wall, arms folded. His eyes return to John. His expression flickers. ]

I'm sorry. [ He isn't sure what he'd do were Ciri not with him. Probably getting into far more shit in an effort to return not her. He certainly would not be settling as he has. ] They separated many of us from our families when they took us.

[John is sorry too. That this is a shared experience, for them. War.

Technically, being a soldier, he had signed up for it. He cannot even say he had not known what he had been getting into at the time, for he had seen his first battle before he'd bought his commission, with Hal's regiment at Culloden. Hal had not let him fight, of course, but he had been young and foolish and thought he could capture himself a prisoner anyway -- and cost himself a broken arm and a regiment's worth stolen canon for his efforts.]

I expect William will do well enough on his own. Even so...

[He flashes the other man a smile as if to say he cannot help but worry, before offering something of a shrug.]

Have you anyone here with you, from your own home?

[ A son old enough to hold his own, then. He understands the sentiment. Despite knowing Ciri is no longer the young girl he remembers, he continues to worry about her.

Geralt weighs his answer. He doesn't often speak of Ciri, in part to protect her and in part because he seldom shares intimate details about his life. Something about John makes him decide otherwise. Perhaps he senses a rare earnestness in the man. ]

A friend or two. [ Or three, counting Istredd, though friend is not yet a term he's assigned to the mage. ] And a daughter.

[ He's fortunate, he knows. To have the people he does with him—not only Ciri but Jaskier, too. Yen, even if things between them were (are) complicated for...a long time. He left much behind, but he has a lot here, too. He won't deny how important that's been to him. ]

[Lord John's expression softens slightly, at that. At the vulnerability he knows that the other man is offering, in admitting both the existence of a daughter and her presence here in Abraxas.]

A daughter.

[He smiles, softly, inclining his head.] You understand better than most, then, my predicament. No doubt I would be just as worried for him if he were here as I find myself worrying now. It is only -- a different sort of trouble.

[Lord John takes in a breath, shaking his head before reaching for the decanter in front of him.] I do not suppose you have met Mrs. Fraser? Claire Fraser. [He turns, raising a glass of brandy he has poured out, a question written on his face as he does: Would you like some too?]

[ A different sort of trouble is right. Geralt is glad she's here. He can't imagine what he'd feel had he awoken with those memories of Ciri gone and couldn't go down the corridor to see her.

John, at least, seems to have left his son in a better position. ]

When they're yours, you never run out of ways to worry.

[ He's learnt that lesson thoroughly. He worries when she's here; he worries when she isn't. He tries his best to let her make her own way. She can look after herself, he knows. It's just. Complicated. When he's lost her so often and so recently. ]

No. [ In a few weeks, he will. But not yet. He inclines his head, accepting the offer, and reaches out for the glass. ] A friend?

Edited 2023-11-10 01:58 (UTC)

[John offers the other man a knowing smile at that first statement. No, you never do, do you?

He hands over the glass of brandy before turning to pour himself a second. It had been a wildshot, given the way this place works, but he had figured it was worth the shot nevertheless.]

She is. A very good friend. [Setting aside the decanter, he picks up his glass and turns back to the other man with the twist of his lips.] I have known both her and her husband for a very long time now. And -- she is here, of course. But she is...

[He taps his fingers against his glass, pressing his lips together tight for a moment, before positing:] You and your friends. Your daughter. Did you arrive here together?

[ Geralt's eyebrow lifts as John trails off. Is what? He chooses not to push the topic. There's evidently some complications he isn't privy to beyond this woman being a close friend.

He follows the shift in topic. ] Yes and no. She arrived several weeks after.

[ He does not mention that at the time, Geralt had no memory of her. Only a name—Cirilla—and a vague description. Ashen hair. Green eyes. He remembers her now. Despite the troubles and the painful recollections, he wouldn't trade them for anything. ]

I was one of the first they took.

[ And Thorne was a different experience for some back then. Himself included. Not many of them remain from that time. ]

[That is exactly the heart of what John is getting at, though. If in, perhaps, a somewhat roundabout method.

Geralt may not have shared much in the way of detail with him, but it is enough that John feels comfortable in continuing his train of thought. Swirling his drink in his glass, he elaborates:]

When I first arrived, Claire had been here for some time. I had thought it a relief, to have at least one familiar face here with me in this unfamiliar place — and it is.

[He offers the other man the flash of a gentle smile, though a wistful sadness tugs at the edges of it.]

But she barely knew me. There are over ten years of our shared experience that, as far as I understand it, she has yet to live.

[He glances back at the drink in his hands.]

I had wondered… Whether such a thing was commonplace, or if I just have exceedingly terrible luck.

[ The inexplicable gap in years. Now that he understands.

Geralt glances down at the drink in his hand. ] She was a girl. My daughter. That's how I last remember her. Here...she's a young woman.

[ Commonplace, perhaps not. The discrepancy tends to be much smaller, from what he's gathered. Weeks. Months. Not entire years.

But John is not alone, either, in his experience. Geralt happens to be on the other side of the fence. Absent of the years Ciri recalls. That she lived.

It'd taken a long time before Geralt spoke to her about those missing months and seasons. Now that he has his answers—he isn't sure what it changes. They're together here. She still sees him as family. Maybe that's all he needed to know, in the end. ]

[It is -- somewhat comforting, to know that he and Claire are not the only two here, separated by time and missing, well. The majority of their friendship, in truth. By all accounts, she should still be holding him at arm's length, and he isn't certain whether it's the absence of any other familiar face or his overfamiliar mannerisms with her that have worn her down. A part of him had wondered whether it had anything to do with Claire's claim to being a time traveler herself. It makes him feel a little better to know that that is not the case.

He is sorry to hear that Geralt has personal experience in the matter, however.

Taking in a deep breath, John glances back up to the other man.]

I am glad you have found each other again here, much as Claire and I have done. Even if -- it is not the same. I think I can speak for us all in saying that it is better than the alternative.

[He offers Geralt the twist of a smile before raising his glass to him in something of a toast:] To friendships, new and old.

[ The real coincidence is that Ciri, too, has an unusual connection to time and space. Unbeknownst to John, Geralt made a similar assumption before he realized others may have experienced similar. These days, he realizes most of the shit that happens is a result of the Singularity's unstable power.

Still. John is right. They've made their own memories here. It isn't the same, but he knows his days would be enormously different were Ciri not here with him. Or any of them.

A pause, before he tips his glass towards John in return. ] To friendships.

[ CLOSED ] just look across and see

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forgive me for the delay, i needed to get back in the groove

<3

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wrap?