abraxaslogs | [ OPEN ] i know some places and i've seen some faces

[ OPEN ] i know some places and i've seen some faces

WHO: sam wilson and anyone/everyone.
WHAT: captain america cookout.
WHERE: sam's horizon domain
WHEN: third saturday of september (aka, about 3 weeks after the jailbreak)
NOTES: see below!

HELLO ALL AND WELCOME TO SAM'S CAPTAIN AMERICA COOKOUT!!!!

Over the last week or so, Sam has been going out of his way to contact as many people as he knows to invite them to a cookout at his place in the Horizon. He knows that after the jailbreak, a lot of people were separated, and this was his first thought on how to bring people together. The purpose behind it is simply because Sam thinks that the one thing all of them have in common, opinion on the Singularity and their situations aside, is that they were all brought here and can actually access the Horizon. He sees merit and use in coming together when they can, especially in ways that don't involve the politics of the land they're now living in. So, what better way to do that than around food?

The long and short of it is - this is a peace meal. Leave your issues at the door. Sam has very few rules and there is very little he will give in terms of what this cookout will entail, but three things he will make very clear:

1.) There will be no fighting at his home. You want to duke it out? Take it somewhere else. There will not be warnings or second chances. Don't be an ass.
2.) There is no meeting or serious reason for this cookout. Literally, he just wants people to come together who may no longer be able to see each other due to the travel constraints. It's meant to be fun. Come have fun. (he knows y'all know what that is, even when some of you pretend you don't). Bring food if you want to! There is also a kitchen (if you know what that is) and places to crash. Hope you like seafood!
3.) Anyone who can come into the Horizon is welcome. He'd love it if everyone came, so spread the word.

The cookout itself is set up out front, with picnic tables and chairs and fire pits and lights abound. There are tables set up near grilles if anyone wants to do any actual cooking outside, and a table (probably multiple) set up with sides and napkins and utensils. There are a variety of different places to go and sit and hang out while you're eating. Anything and everything you can want is available - food, drinks, yard games, music playing from out in the trees that will remain consistent unless someone tries to find the speakers and hijack the playlists, etc. If you can't find something outside, you're more than welcome to check the house.

All throughout the party, too, there will be a new friend. Red, as Sam fondly calls him, is a blood-red hunting hawk with silver in between the feathers. He can be found circling around Sam quite often, or perched on his shoulders, but also if you are out and about you can often see him checking up on anyone and everyone. He's a very curious little bird, and also pretty sassy, if you want to interact with him.

If you haven't, or have, been to Sam's domain before, feel free to take a look around. Anywhere is open (save for one locked bedroom) so everyone has open access, but most of the cookout itself will be located in the front yard.

OOC: This is mean to be an OPEN LOG, so leave your TLs or closed threads below! This party will last basically as long as people want it to, but the idea is for it to be an afternoon into the evening. Y'all have free reign save for destroying Sam's home, but if you have any questions, hit me up on plurk (disarmingly or disco (dai#3757). Sam's TL is below, and he will be bouncing around like the good host he is, but lets get a little party started.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Here is not where Geralt would normally be. Especially not after his last trip inside (after Yennefer). But he'd told Sam he'd come in case tensions grew too taut and in truth, he could use the distraction. If Yen makes an appearance, he'll leave. For the time being, he doesn't bring it up: not with Ciri, not with Jaskier, not with anyone. Mostly puts it aside. No one needs to know, even if it's been on his mind, the whole fucking mess of it. Even if he's certain Jaskier and Ciri both can tell something isn't right with him. That he's been distant, focused on tasks that don't need as much focus as he's giving them.

He leaves Roach tethered to a tree at a distance, where she can graze to her heart's content. Sam's home is both familiar and yet not. He remembers being here, remembers being perfectly at ease in a way he wasn't conscious of. Now that the haze of it has lifted, he's noticing all the little things about it that he'd glossed over on his first visit: the architecture of the house, the furniture that's just a bit too uniform, the materials and equipment he doesn't understand. Like those damn flimsy red cups that he absolutely did not accidentally crush at one point. Even Cirilla being here now, not as a shadow of a girl but as herself, it's...

There was something simple about it. About how he'd settled into that kitchen and helped pack away food and asked Sam about his boat. (A boat he's noticed no longer exists.) A sense of belonging that no longer hovers in the air, but hasn't entirely vanished, either, within him. He isn't certain how to feel about that. It is not a sense that tends to come easily to him, if at all.

As much as Geralt's avoided the crowd, there is one person he intends to speak to: Sam himself. Geralt's gone inside the house, resting against one of the walls in a hallway or sat upon the stairs—somewhere quiet, tucked away, where he doesn't mind being while he waits for Sam to inevitably come inside. When Sam finally does, with that familiar effortless smile he wears, Geralt is about to lift a hand to greet him. Except Sam stops, a flicker of too many things over his face.

He studies Sam for a second. Nearly asks, before he decides against it. If Sam wants to move past it without comment, Geralt can do that. He holds out an unopened beer instead. He knows the one Sam has in his hand has been empty for awhile. ] I've seen goat herders run about less than you.

[ here is certainly not where geralt wants to be, no, and sam had known that before he'd even asked geralt to come. he didn't need to know geralt nearly as well as jaskier did to clock the guy for not being a party goer, but when he catches him walking up the drive with jaskier, sam can't lie to himself that he isn't relieved. it's not so much that he didn't think geralt would show - he'd said he would, and sam trusts him, even when it comes to parties. but it's that confirmation, because for all that sam can posture and make grand claims to want every single horizon walker here at the party, he's thankful for the friends. for the people who came that, even if they're hiding away in the staircase somewhere else, offer a support that is both felt and needed.

that, on top of the fact sam had noticed that geralt is a bit distracted by something. he doesn't know what, and sam hasn't really pushed geralt to try and talk about it. it's partially because he's been distracted by his own plans and deals, but he also just...well. honestly. he had a gut feeling it had something to do with yennefer, and sam hadn't quite found the best way to ask about it yet. but he assumes there will be time tonight, or today, and even when it was just seeing them arrive, sam makes a note to find him. just to check in. he feels a bit bad for not having done it until now, but that's what tonight will be for. at some point.

at least - that is what he intends. and then the party starts, and sam gets swept up in it. it's why he's not even sure how much longer it is before he has to head inside for something and promptly forgets it, a whole list of other things, other issues, other problems rolling past. geralt is leaning up against the foyer wall, when sam blinks again and realizes where he is, realizes where they both are, and sees the empty bottle being offered to him. he laughs, mostly at himself, before shaking his head. ]

Gotta get my cardio in somewhere. [ but he does take the beer, reaching around the corner toss his empty bottle away and taking the full one from geralt. ] Thanks, by the way. I'm pretty sure at one point I was getting a refill, but who knows what happened.

[ he laughs, then shakes his head, posting up in the spot on the wall to geralt's left. ]

You good? [ it's said genuinely, like he really does want to know how geralt has been, hiding away in the house and everything. ] Oh, and I saw Roach before I came in.

[ Something inside him relaxes at seeing Sam at ease again. Finding his friend again must've helped, but he thinks it's just this, on top of that. The running about. Hosting. Bringing people together. He gets it. Even though Geralt finds his focus and purpose elsewhere in places that don't involve this much talking, he understands that need to do what you're good at. What you know.

He gives a soft, amused sound at Roach. She isn't real, and she must be gone back home, but he's remade her nonetheless. It's sentimental in a way he'd rather not address. She's only a horse. Soon enough, he'll have another, but...she did take him far over the years. ] She's in good company with your bird.

[ He's noticed that, too: a red hunting bird that's been circling the gathering. It's unmistakably Sam's. Looks a bit like Jaskier's magic. He can't be sure, but Jaskier's been crafting birds around him for the past three months and there's a hint of that same magic there. Geralt's already a bit fond of it.

His gaze fixes on Sam for a moment, returning to the actual question. His instinct is to say he is. He's all right: they're getting by in the city, no one's bothered the three of them, Jaskier's started finding taverns to perform in, Ciri's been researching what lurks in the hills and desert. And Yen is—if she's made her appearance in the Horizon, she must be fine. He doubts they'd bring prisoners to the Singularity for another visit, with the original batch fled. Circumstances are not ideal, but everything is quietly slotting into place. It's working, for now.

He settles on a reply that's not exactly a lie, not the whole truth, either. He is restless, for a dozen different reasons. Some of which he suspects Sam's been catching onto. There just isn't anything to talk about. ] I'll feel better when I can finally ride out there, too.

[ well - that pretty much hits the nail on the head, doesn't it? finding reason to keep moving, finding focus in something else. sam has always thought better when he was moving, and maybe that's part of the reason for this party at all. because for once, sam (thanks to jaskier) had an idea for something that might actually help. for once he could do something actively, instead of reactively.

the jury is still out on if any good will come of this party at all, and after his conversation with estinein, sam isn't really so sure, but he's doing something. he's moving. he's trying, and he honestly does feel better for it. better than he has in a while.

at the amused noise, sam lifts a brow, only to find himself laughing a bit at the image. he knows there are complicated feelings where it concerns geralt and his horse, and honestly? sam gets it. the amount he's become attached to red in such a short time is a little embarrassing. ] My mom used to always say it wasn't really a home without a few animals around. [ and it's the truth, isn't it? who cares if they aren't dogs or cats. they can have horses and hawks and...whatever cow creature kay rode in on. it's fine.

sam asks expecting a few different responses for his check in. first, he assumes geralt will say he's fine and then sam will have to circle through other questions. about how ciri is, about what's been happening, about how geralt and jaskier rode into the party together. second, geralt could simply close up, which would prompt a whole different route when it came to their time together in the quiet house. third - well. the third was something that sam was prepared for, yes, but he realizes it's not really important what the third option was, considering geralt doesn't just answer with i'm fine and move on.

geralt answers with something sam suspects isn't the whole truth, but it is the truth, and it's not lost on him that geralt answers at all. ]

Are you looking into jobs? Like what you used to do? [ sam gestures a bit with the bottle to the space in front of him, trying to find the words and needing a second before he can get there. ] Monsters and all that?

[ Sam says My mom used to always say, and it sends a flicker to Geralt's eyes. It's a look he's probably unaware of: not uneasiness, but something that runs deeper. As if he's been briefly reminded, for a second, that there are those who can feel an uncomplicated fondness for their mothers. Who will bring it up without a second thought, expecting it to be a common experience. He moves past it quickly, though perhaps it says enough he doesn't respond altogether to what's only a lighthearted offhand remark.

Instead, he considers Sam for a second. He half-expected Sam to press further on what he isn't talking about, but. He'll accept the change of subject for what it is. ]

Mm. I found some. Pest problems in the desert. [ Hardly lucrative, but better than nothing. Certainly better than hauling shit around the city, which he hasn't minded—the work's easy enough for him—but which leaves something to be desired. (It's fucking dull is what it is.) He wants a sword in his hand. He wants something to track and kill, something that'll let him focus without losing himself in too many thoughts he doesn't want to have. ] Just a matter of gear. You?

[ What has Sam found to do? He supposes it isn't too difficult, so long as you're willing to do just about anything. The city's big, busy. Few seem interested in vetting a hired hand as long as the job's done. It's worked out in his favour, even if he's getting used to being seen not as a Witcher or a killer for hire, but simply another stranger making his way. Still, he's curious. Sam seems out of place on occasion in this world, like he sometimes expects certain things to be there that aren't. He isn't the only one; Geralt's sensed the same in folk like Amos, too. ]

[ sam catches the flicker just out of his periphery, barely enough of a movement for him to know what it is supposed to be mean, but he catches something. that something is supplemented by the fact geralt, almost obviously, does not respond to it. it sends his mind off for a few seconds, to what he said, to what it could be about. he realizes, as if belatedly, that somehow he and geralt have actually made it months and sam can still manage to stumble over subjects without realizing he's doing it. he chides himself - he knew bits and pieces of geralt's history, knows enough to know parents (and apparently specifically mothers) wouldn't be that simple.

( honestly, he's been slipping on a lot. being back home, or a version of home, has sam feeling a little too close to actually being home. he needs to be better, do better, and he reminds himself to focus. )

maybe he should push. maybe he should dig into what geralt isn't telling him. but he doesn't, today - now, that doesn't mean it's going to be a forever free pass. it's mostly that sam just doesn't think today is the day. geralt deserves a little calm, a little party, and sam is very aware that he's the one who asked geralt to come at all. he'll lay off just a bit tonight, in exchange. ]

Oh? You need gear? [ if he perks up, hearing that, geralt will just have to ignore it. because that is something he can help with. because if there's anything that sam has been doing since they showed up at the free cities, it's been working - between the landlady he's been staying with to easy shops around the block, sam has been keeping busy. maybe too busy, if you wanted to quantify it, but not by sam's standards.

he shrugs, at geralt's question, taking another drink from his beer. ] Nothing big, but work is work. I've been helping the landlady who owns the building I've been staying in, mostly. Taking on smaller gigs around the neighborhood. It's all busy work at this point, but the pay's not bad. [ which is sam's way of saying he's going coin on him. his work with the landlady has been paying for the apartment he's been staying in with peter, mal, and alina - but the other jobs have simply been building up. he's got no real use for the money, but he's also not a fool. ]

What kind of gear do you need?

[ Unfortunately for Sam, Geralt is not entirely ignoring it. Fortunately for Sam, his acknowledgement comes in the form of one raised eyebrow, at most, and a vague tilt of his head without comment. He's not touched on the search for Bucky since, other than looking in on Sam a few days after. It would not surprise him to learn that Sam feels a little like he owes the Witcher—but he isn't sure, either. Sam's always been keen in general to offer help wherever he can.

Almost to a fault, he thinks. Something he hasn't said, but has contemplated now and again—what it is that drives Sam so deeply.

He eyes Sam for a moment, before accepting the question at face value. (Sam's been helping the landlady, because of course he has.) ] Sword. Horse. Tack. The rest can come with time.

[ Armour's useful, but not his priority. The ideal is not to be struck in the first place. That's how he was taught, how he's always operated. It can wait. Hunting with a crossbow would be simpler, but his dagger will do. He knows exactly how far he can aim it.

He props a foot up against the wall, turning the beer loosely between his fingers. ] I'll have my sword soon. [ The smallest hesitation before he continues. ] Ciri will want one of her own.

[ He's told Sam little about Ciri and he doesn't know what Ciri has told Sam since. All he knows is that Sam's aware Geralt raised her, but does not remember doing so. Either case—he imagines that's enough for Sam to conclude exactly how she might've been raised, given who and what Geralt is. ]

[ unfortunately, and also fortunately, for sam - a raised eyebrow and vague tilt of his head is something that sam can easily ignore, at the moment. will happily ignore, at the moment, even. besides, he does appear much better, here in this house, with everyone around, than he did during the search for bucky and subsequent times geralt checked in following. sam still feels a bit off, about it all, but he is starting to realize that no part of this experience in any way is going to feel completely right.

so he just keeps moving, because that's the best he can do.

geralt eyes him, and sam eyes him back - not backing down from the question, but also (hopefully) not looking too suspicious about the whole idea, either. he nods at geralt's list, because it makes sense, he supposes. sword, horse, tack - a sword for ciri, sam supposes, just as geralt speaks it aloud. sam feels himself smiling, both at the timing and also what that says about ciri and geralt and how that has all been going, and he feels himself nodding again. ]

I helped out a guy a few days ago- [ sam waves vaguely, as if actively pushing away the longer story he could go into, but assumes geralt isn't all that interested in. ] He mentioned looking to sell one of his horses. Let me ask him about it, maybe I can get you a deal.

[ it feels good, sam realizes - knowing that he's built up some of that good will that had always followed him, back home. that he's starting to garner connections, people he's worked with and might want to help out. but in that good feeling is something a little more complicated. the reminder that he's officially been here long enough to be able to do that.

his eyes fall to his own bottle, and then turn back to geralt again, a smirk tugging at his mouth. ]

She going hunting with you?

[ A deal. He considers, though not for too long. If Sam can pull some strings out of good will, he’ll take it. He needs that horse before he can do anything—before he can feel as though he’s back on track. And not trapped in this one portion of the world. He’s spent so much of his life roaming, it’s nearly as stifling to be in this city day in and day out as it was to be in a cage.

He nods, accepting the offer. ] Only because you’ll make that face if I turn you down.

[ Sam knows exactly what face. Maybe for once, Geralt can surprise him by actually saying yes without needing his arm twisted over it.

He hums. Yeah. She is. Hard to say how he feels about it. He knows if he trained her, then he’d have trained her well. It’s not that. It’s more…Ciri seems. Happy. Being what she is. And he thinks, she must be the first and only Witcher to have really, truly chosen the life. To have the ability to walk away at any time, with all that power at her disposal, and simply decide not take it.

Whatever might have happened, what mistakes he might’ve made with her—there’d have been plenty, he knows—at least she was able to make a choice. Maybe that counts for something. ]

She invited herself. [ There’s fondness there, like he’d have expected nothing less from her. ] Couldn’t say no.

[ sam's brow arches dramatically as he looks at geralt. ]

'That' face? And what is that face? No- show me, I want to see it.

[ because he does know the face, and he does clock geralt agreeing without a fight, and all of this is something. something important, something impactful. but that doesn't mean sam won't give geralt crap for it. and it's obviously crap, considering how sam's face breaks into a smile and he turns back to the rest of the room - taking another drink, enjoying the quiet house for the moment.

geralt hums, and sam waits for his answer. there's a kind of inherent support, within it - that if geralt doesn't want ciri to go, sam will help him find a way around it. or, if he doesn't want her to go for the wrong reasons, sam will get him through why. he can't really imagine what it must be like, coming from all the different places - a child, that geralt didn't know he had. that child, no longer a child. a woman. a grown woman. sam is still wrapping his head around the time shit with peter, but this...

but at his answer, sam feels any of whatever tension he might have been feeling fall away. ah, so that's how it is. sam's smile lingers a little as he nods, recognizing (or believing he is recognizing - his time with geralt has made him feel like he's starting to pick up on the signs, on what geralt means when he might not say much at all, but he knows a couple of months isn't anywhere near enough to know...) the fondness. ]

You worried she's going to show you up, old man? [ another jest, but sam is happy to keep the lighter air going. ] I mean, you're a little out of practice. And if you trained her, she's going to have the skill and her youth on her side. [ there's a beat here, where sam seems to recognize that what he's said may be incorrect, and he kind of pauses mid-movement. ]

Please don't tell me she's secretly 100. Please.

[ A faint smile meets Sam in return. If he were the type, Sam might’ve got a face in return, but he’s not, so that knowing look is all that’s there. He’s getting better at it—accepting that Sam just. Wants to help. And while Geralt can’t grasp why Sam keeps offering that help to him, if he thinks of it in those terms—that Sam has his own personal reasons for doing so, ones that haven’t got anything to do with him—it makes it easier to take these gestures.

He grunts lightly. He actually is curious what Ciri can do. She isn’t physically at the level of a Witcher, but he knows better than anyone skill makes up for more than half of it. Between him and Vesemir—yeah. He thinks she’s got a hell of a head start. He can’t really say how it’ll make him feel, watching her, until it happens. He’s trying not to think of him and the man who raised her as separate people but. It lingers, always. The doubt. If he can be enough for her so far in the past as he is.

He’s about to say something back when Sam mentions her age.

Geralt turns to him, amused. He’s not told Sam exactly his age, but the way Sam says old man makes him assume Sam must know. Found out from Jaskier, probably. ]

No. [ There’s a wry twist to his lips. ] That’s still only me.

Edited 2021-10-01 15:30 (UTC)

[ whatever it is that geralt needs to do to accept sam’s help, he’s grateful for it. feels better, knowing that it won’t be a fight every time. because it is true, sam does have his own reasons for it, and he’s not going to stop, either. it also doesn’t help that geralt is always so willing to step in, too - so much that sam almost feels like he’s falling behind, in this friendship back and forth.

(he knows it’s not that simple, knows there is so much more to it, but this is friendship, first and foremost, and sam’s found himself feeling comfortable with the term- not that he’s ever had much hang ups about it, but something about geralt makes him think it may be a bit more serious.)

but hearing about ciri, hearing geralt talk about ciri, it’s nice. it somehow makes sam feel a bit more grounded, himself. being around something that feels familial, seeing firsthand geralt’s shadow image come and arrive to him now. sam might have asked more questions- about what the training process is like, what monster hunting is supposed to be.

but the geralt says that and sam takes half a second to look at geralt, as if just to make sure he’s not making some kind of joke, before he leans his head back to the wall and groans. ]

Are you kidding me? [ sam’s tone makes it very obvious that he knows he’s not, and there is a large amount of being put out that sam’s seems to be emitting right now. ] Let me guess- Witcher thing? [ without waiting for an answer, he finishes the beer. feels like he’s allowed that. ] Shit. I should have known you were old as balls. I somehow should have just known.

[ —Perhaps Sam didn’t know after all.

Geralt’s amusement seems to grow—masking, briefly, how much he has on his mind. It is, somewhat, a novelty. He’s lived his life with people simply knowing, presuming, all manner of aspects: his age, what monstrous features he might possess, how bloodthirsty. Up until he stepped into this world, it was rare that he met anyone whose first instinct is not that he’s—different.

Though it’s worth noting that Sam doesn’t appear altogether surprised at the idea. Just put upon. How many has he met who look not near the age they truly are? Some curiosity is in his eyes as he cocks his head. ]

Here I thought you’d appreciate being young for once. [ Is it possible Geralt is enjoying this? Maybe. A bit. There’s a pause before he offers a real answer. ] We do age. It’s merely prolonged. Some say it’s to do with our slower heartbeat.

[ No one really knows, is the implication. No one who could know lived to explain it to any of them. He can’t even say how long their lifespan is. The assumption’s always been it will not be old age that ends a Witcher’s life. ]

[ no, he did not know. not for certain. after spending so much time around first steve rogers, then bucky barnes, sam could kind of pick up on the old soul of it all, but it's the confirmation that pulls this kind of reaction out of him. the nonchalant way geralt just drops the information like it's not weird, like it's not something that normal people think is weird. there is a brief moment where sam almost says as much - you know that's not normal, right - but he instead just ends up snorting, giving geralt a look. ]

'For once'? That's how it's gonna be? Damn. [ there is an air to his reaction, still, that this is all a show. he doesn't really care, and he's not that surprised, but something in geralt's expression and tone lets sam know he's enjoying this, so he sees nothing wrong with playing it up. at his explanation, too, sam just lifts a brow in his direction, curious. huh, he guesses that makes sense. somehow. ] You mean you didn't disappear into the ice for decades? [ nope, sam's not even going to explain that, shaking his head a little. ]

So if your whole- [ he gestures, using the bottle, at geralt. ] Aging bit is slowed, how long can you live for?

[ His lips tilt a little further at Sam’s reaction. There’s an ease beginning to settle between them, one that lets Geralt relax more than he tends to around anyone else.

Though once in awhile, Sam makes a cryptic comment he’ll tuck away for later. Comments such as Disappear into the ice. Geralt considers pointing out that living an extended lifespan is not the same thing as vanishing into ice for several decades, if that’s what Sam’s trying to say—but then he has to wonder between Sam coming back to find his nephews aged several years and people going in ice, what the fuck’s actually been happening in Sam’s life sometimes.

The expression he gives Sam says he’s got questions, but that he’s choosing not to ask right this second. This is Sam’s happy little gathering; a chance to leave whatever shit they’ve got going on out there behind. At least for a night. ]

As long as we manage to. [ The answer comes almost too casually. Geralt tips back his beer. Realizes he could use another soon. ] No Witcher’s ever died in his bed.

[ Just how it is. Geralt has never, not once, entertained the idea of growing old and passing. It simply isn’t a thought that occurs to him, in the same way it does not occur to a fish to dream of leaving the water. ]

[ geralt's not the only one noticing the ease - it's something sam picks up on, even now, even if he appears to be easy with so many others, too. what's different here is noticing how geralt seems to relax into it, how at some point, between now and that first conversation after the tunnels, that this can be as simple as two people, two friends, and that can be that.

( it feels good. feels solid. feels like sam isn't just passing time in a strange place, but is connecting, is feeling whole, rather than waiting. )

the look he gives sam is one that really, truthfully, sam expects. and because of that, sam just lets himself grin, knowing that he's being cryptic and that it's a little unfair and yes, okay, geralt should have questions. but in a game of questions chicken? sam will always win. ( and, actually, he appreciates not having to get too far into this. the news reports, the videos - they've been enough for him tonight, he thinks. ) ]

Huh. [ sam considers that answer, and then upon seeing geralt tip back his beer, decides that they should actually go and grab those. he pushes off the wall, motioning towards the kitchen as he walks, a kind of sign for geralt to follow if he chooses to do so. ] That makes sense, given the job description. [ thankfully, no one else seems to be holed away in the kitchen, so as they step inside, sam goes right for the fridge - grabbing two more bottles before stepping back to the counter again. the deja vu that settles over him is overwhelming, but sam lets the feeling rise and then fall as he reaches for an opener. ]

Okay, so better question. How old was the oldest Witcher you knew? Or heard of?

[ Geralt ends up following, right into that kitchen that's starting to feel familiar despite all of its strange edges. Geralt no longer blinks at the fridge as Sam calls it, nor the stuff arrayed inside he doesn't completely recognize. He settles on a stool instead. Same one he'd sat on the last time they were in here.

Though it escapes him that Sam's reaching for a tool to pop the cap. Geralt takes one of the bottles Sam's set down and simply pops the top on his own, thumb underneath, without thinking twice. His expression is a bit distant for a moment—lingering on how much he wants to say about Vesemir. Not that he's interested in hiding it. More that there's a lot. A long history. A complicated history. ]

Bit shy of two hundred. [ The bottle dangles between his fingers. Away from the people outside, it's easier to talk. Or maybe he's just remembering how it'd felt, chatting with Sam about...the girl. And that boat. ] He's still around. Taught me everything I know.

[ An instructor, he usually says, but he's decided not to downplay it with Sam. There's something wistful in the way he explains. Vesemir's known him his whole life. More and more, he's wanted to talk to him—about Ciri, about this world—and he's not certain he ever can again. ]

[ sam feels good, and that is the prevailing feeling - he is in his home, he has his (and other) people around him, there's no immediate danger looming outside his door. it's not that he's completely ignorant of the truth of their situation, but rather sam finds that there have been more moments, during this night, that he doesn't feel he has to actively worry. it also means he is not, necessarily, actively noticing every detail, every moment. he will have brief seconds of clarity, of noticing his own relaxed nature, of easy seconds passed between people who used to be strangers. but it also means this just feels familiar - that geralt isn't completely at odds with the technology of the kitchen, that out of the corner of his eye sam sees geralt settle onto a stool and sam finds himself thinking that's his spot.

he does, however, get caught up on the way that geralt just pops open the bottle of beer, and it stops sam on his search for an opener. his eyes go from the bottle, to geralt, then back to the second bottle before holding it out for the witcher to take and do the same to.

sam whistles, impressed, at the answer. he can tell there is a weight to the man geralt is speaking about, but he decides specifically not to pry. chooses, instead, to let geralt feel comfortable with offering what he wants to offer. the wistfulness and distance say all that sam really needs to know, right now, and he nods. ]

He sounds a hell of a guy. [ and sam's eyes linger on geralt, just for a moment longer. like he's giving him the space to say more, if he wants to, but also is picking up on anything left in those words. like the feeling geralt is more used to pushing off the question than answering as he had. ] Almost two hundred. Damn. [ and then, with a raised brow to geralt. ] Sounds like you're the young one, here.

[ There's a second where Geralt blinks at the bottle Sam holds out. Then another before he understands—oh. Hmm. He pops the cap on that one, too, before giving it back. It does, now that he's consciously aware of it, take more force than an average stopper to open. (Why has Sam got his ale in bottles he can't open on his own?) ]

He lived through more than most. [ Literally, in a sense. Geralt doesn't touch on it. He's told Sam a few details here and there—mostly to do with how he was created, what he was trained to do—but not that. Not about that night. Besides, he wasn't...there. To witness any of it. He'd only returned in the aftermath.

It'd taken a few days, for the snow to bury the corpses.

He takes a drink. Gives a huff, amusement not reaching his eyes all the way. ] Perhaps if I make it another hundred or two, I can give retirement some thought.

[ He isn't serious. Even Vesemir isn't retired, technically, though it occasionally feels he has. He knows the old man lingers about the keep more and more. Nostalgia or simply misses it. Misses how it was. Geralt isn't certain. He hasn't asked. ]

[ listen - it's carbonated and refrigerated and there's a tool that makes it work. when sam decides he wants some warm ale, he'll ask geralt. for now, he's just being lazy, and if geralt can pop a freaking bottle top with his thumb, sam's not going to waste time figuring out where his bottle opener ended up. so as geralt pops it open and hands it back, sam takes a drink of it.

he is feeling good - comfortable, tipsy but not yet drunk. it's the kind of comfortable he likes most, while in this house. while with others. he leans against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest, propping the bottle in his elbow as he tilts his head from side to side, thoughtful. ]

So he's a survivor? [ because that is the word that comes to mind, first more than anything else. from what he's known of witchers, of their jobs and their dealings. the hints that geralt has dropped of his childhood, how they were created. the understanding that they did not pass away, but instead died because they couldn't keep ahead. if this man, this mentor, was nearly two hundred, it was not because he simply wanted to retire. or at least, sam did not think so.

he is watching geralt, as he huffs. as the amusement hangs somewhere short of his eyes. ]

Do you actually want to be around that long? [ the question is heavier, than the previous questions he's posited. and maybe it's out of place. but sam chances it all the same, waiting for any sign that he's overstepped and that he may need to step back in and shift the conversation again. ] Three hundred years is a hell of a long time to be alive, retirement or no. [ and then, if geralt is too quiet for too long, sam will sort of shift, sort of shrug. it's a lot for him to assume, and from what he knows of geralt, it's not like geralt expects to be around that long anyway. a joke, maybe, but sam had seen the distance there. the thoughts he is starting to think maybe geralt has in abundance, without speaking aloud. ]

Extended aging is nice and all, but it sounds kind of lonely. It's probably a good thing your teacher- or whoever- has you around to give him a hard time in his old age. [ and then they're back - back to lighter, to sam's small smile. to a kind of partial joke, partial truth, wrapped up in the quiet sounds of night in the kitchen, distant chatter from the tv still being on, the people still outside. ]

[ One day, Geralt will ask Sam about half this stuff, but today is not that day. He settles in instead, finding a sort of familiarity with the hum of what Kay has tried her best to explain about the TV and the buzz of conversation just outside the front door.

He does look at Sam at that choice of words: abrupt, off-guard, like he wasn't expecting that exactly. Survivor, as though it's significant, as though it's a title or a mark earned. They've all survived some shit, have they not? Out there, back home. His childhood was drenched in blood and bodies strewn, same as Vesemir, same as what's left of them at Kaer Morhen, but he's never borne the illusion that their experiences are unique. He knows, too well, what humans did to the elves. That Witchers are not the only children discarded by their mothers. Not the only children molded for some purpose or other beyond their choosing.

It's this, rather than Sam's next question, that has Geralt pausing too long. It feels like Sam's recognized a facet of him that isn't real (except it is; it is, and he simply doesn't want to think of that way) but he can't find the words to explain why it leaves him uneasy. Or why it even fucking matters. When Sam shrugs, Geralt meets it with a vague tip of bottle in return. ]

If I get ever there, I'll let you know. [ He doesn't expect he will, so. A moot discussion. He's ended up alone before. He's spent decades alone. Not much difference, to do it for however many more he'll have in front of him.

Geralt catches Sam's smile, the lightness that Sam's extending. Part of him tries to grasp it, but he can't quite manage as well as he wants, even as he responds in kind: joking, a bit, and yet not because Sam has become that. Someone Geralt thinks is maybe good he's got around. Hard time included. ] Is that what you're here to do with me?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ OPEN ] i know some places and i've seen some faces

house + wildcard.

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