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

[falcony]

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.

Comments

[cointosser]

Hmmhmm. You think so? [He gives him a glance and small smile, watching Geralt definitely enjoy his wine. Yes, he is pleased with how good the wine has turned out. Even if it's not, technically, real. Still, it tastes real enough. The buzz he gets here is real enough, too.

It's hard, almost, to remember why he feared returning here in the first place. Even as they'd traveled and he could see the Singularity in the distance, its shadow felt like a pressure pushing on him.]

Oi! [Jaskier whips his hand against Geralt's arm.] Be nice to Moglad. And if anything, he's much more like a flying bear. With a drinking problem, apparently. [The bard laughs, swinging one leg off the edge of the dock. It's already been a bit of time since they've been alone together. Not that he minds Ciri's presence at all, but he does, of course, hesitate to bring up much in front of her.

Which is only fair. It's obvious Ciri hesitates to do the same in front of him. For a moment there is quiet, with only the water lapping underneath them, as Jaskier sips the beer and picks at the paper on its side with his nails. Here, unlike in Cadens, his fingers all glimmer with bejeweled rings.

Of course Geralt knows it's coming.]

You're not going to talk about what happened, are you? To bother you so much. [He at least gives Geralt the benefit of looking away from him, his gaze instead on the water and the sun hitting the surface. Just like it does in their real world.] Did you see her?

[gynvael]

[ The faintest curl lifts his lips. A flying bear with a drinking problem. He wishes life were that simple. Perhaps it could be, when you were a bard in training, as Jaskier has informed him. The training apparently involves copious amounts of wine.

The bottle dangle between his fingers, just over the water beneath. What's there to say? Truth be known, he isn't certain where to start, even if he were inclined to talk about it. Jaskier met her. Neither Yen nor the bard will be pleased, but Geralt knows that it's better Jaskier than him. Except then she'd come to him, somehow, despite it all. Refused to leave. 

He should've left himself.

Yeah. He saw her. He needn't confirm it for Jaskier to know, so he doesn't. Just hums, a vague sound that says everything and nothing all at once. Do you want it to be real? She'd asked it so earnestly. For awhile, he's silent. Like Jaskier, there are things he can't say around Ciri. Here, in this moment, just the two of them, he can. He can say what he will never acknowledge out loud in front of the girl. It's something he thinks only Jaskier might understand, because only Jaskier met him while he was not himself. Only Jaskier knows him from a time before...this. Before the Child of Surprise, before Yennefer, before he was the White Wolf.

It isn't about Yennefer, not entirely. It's about all that happened between them long before they stepped into this sphere. About how meeting Yen without her past and his time lost in the Horizon has made this one thing shadow his thoughts. ]

Do you believe it? About Destiny and wishes. [ An edge pierces both words. He feels too sober, but maybe the fact that he's broached this topic at all suggests he isn't that sober. ] That it's only magic?

[ If he and Yennefer were only ever propelled on a path together because of a wish, if that's all it is, then what of he and Cirilla? How much of that is real? (How much of what he's capable of feeling for them is real?) ]

[cointosser]

Ah. [It's his only response at first to what he knows is a solid yes. Perhaps it's a good sign that Geralt isn't blaming him for Yennefer finding him in the Horizon anyway, despite his best efforts. It's not as if he had the means to control her (nor did he ever want to.)

And truthfully -- though he does not speak it, knowing Geralt will call him a fool for the thought -- he believes that Yennefer was meant to find him there. A sort of inevitability, but more than that.

Jaskier jerks his head towards him, feeling a flare of shame as if Geralt had sensed his thoughts. The bard remains quiet, suddenly weighted with the question. It is not as out of the blue as an onlooker might assume. Geralt is simply like this. This must be what he's been thinking so hard over lately. Why he's spent far too long doing things like polishing his knife or cutting slices of bread.

He swirls his beer, putting his words into a careful line. It feels terribly important, what he decides to answer. Which is funny. Geralt could so easily ignore them, too.]

I think you both put far too much stock in the idea. [Both, he emphasizes. He licks his lips. Jaskier, too, may be saying too much. But he's seen things, whether he wanted to or not, between them. He's not so much a fool to think this conversation will make any difference in Geralt's mind, of what he believes in Destiny and wishes, but it is important to say it nonetheless.] I never considered magic part of your equation.

[gynvael]

[ In the silence, Geralt is still. He studies the ripples in the water, listens to the hum of insects and birds and chatter in the distance. He isn't certain what Jaskier will say. Doesn't try to guess, either. He lets his friend take as long as he needs, unhurried, now that the question is out there. Now that it hangs in the air between them: heavy, waiting.

Jaskier is right. The conversation will make no difference. The answer will change little, if anything, for him. So much of what he thinks, what he feels, what he does, is sunk deep into places he can no longer reach, even if he wanted to uproot what's grown there for years and years. That isn't why he's brought it up, the question of Destiny and wishes and magic. That isn't why it matters, what Jaskier says. No. It matters because—

Because sometimes it's enough, that Jaskier is able to believe what Geralt cannot.

So when the answer comes, he accepts it without comment. A minute or two passes. Maybe longer. When he's out of ale, he tips more of Jaskier's fine wine into both their glasses. Some of the tension has bled out of him: the only indication, perhaps, that he's heard what Jaskier's said, that it's worth something to him. That he will not forget it. He knows when he changes the topic, Jaskier will understand it isn't because he no longer wants to have this conversation but because the conversation has granted him what he was after. For now. At some point, he will find himself back here again. It's how it always goes. ]

And what about your equation? [ He looks over at last, searching. Jaskier's slowly gotten better at his birds, his flowers. But he senses it isn't something the bard truly ever wanted for himself, the magic. Something about that—it hits too close to home. ] I saw your gift. The bird.

[cointosser]

[He gives a sigh. Of course Geralt takes it without comment, a silence that would be so terribly unnatural if he hadn't spent years and years with the man. And it is now up to him to read Geralt's face and see if he even absorbed any of it. With a tip of his wine glass, he peers over the edge of it and finds -- hmm.

Good enough. The silence settles again and Jaskier lets it. He's had enough drink that he can either be quiet or talk an ear off, and with both wine and beer, he's living large, certainly. Plenty of drink to keep a man's mouth occupied.

Jaskier's legs swing off the edge of the dock, humming a tune to the angle and speed of each swing. He titters a humble little laugh under his breath, sucking the taste of wine from his bottom lip.] Ah,, men like me, Geralt, we must work on multiple equations, not spend a decade deciding what two plus two means. [He shoots him a smile. The topic has passed, yes, and Jaskier has accepted it without further word.]

You like it? [For a moment, a single second, something like a humble satisfaction may cross Jaskier's face.] A bit of practice, it turns out, makes one very talented. I think I only have the skill to maintain one so far, but... he's a lovely falcon. [He gives another little laugh.] Sam called me a genius. Rightfully so.

[He's quite clearly never going to let it go. And he absolutely must let Geralt know about it.] I figured you were not much for birds yourself.

[gynvael]

[ Some comfort lies in the familiarity of sitting beside the bard with a drink. Someplace quiet, by the water. Where he will rarely talk and Jaskier will hum a tune or tell some indulgent tale. They’ve been here a hundred times before. He likes to think they’ll be here yet for another hundred still.

Men like me. Geralt gives a soft exhale, tinged with amusement. Of course it’s simple to Jaskier. Geralt can’t really begrudge him for that, even if it can never be the same for him. Perhaps Jaskier has a point. Perhaps he does overcomplicate shit that doesn’t need to be. ]

He’s all right. [ Yeah. He likes him. The bird. It has personality, and even Roach appears rather fond. Geralt will not admit he’s fed the bird once or twice—but probably, it isn’t hard to have noticed him doing so. If Jaskier has found some worthwhile creations within his magic, then. That’s good. It’s a good sign.

He glances over. His lips tilt ever so slightly. ] Show me a horse, and then we’ll talk.

[cointosser]

[All right is practically unreserved praise, and Jaskier laughs at him for it. He can't even admit now that the bird is beautiful, is a feat. A bard making magic birds for his friends. An utterly ridiculous notion.

He has not missed Geralt's eyes following it, and perhaps he even did spy the Witcher feeding it a bit of meat. Only this once with Jaskier not tease him for it.

It's enough to be admired through his bird.]

I'm afraid horses would not be very helpful in the castle when we were skittering about like rats. [He does feel indulgent though, and drunk, and it's enough because it amuses him as well.] Fine! I shall give you a horse. The finest steed in all the land. [He holds his hand over and there a horse builds itself: it is a touch of his magic out of the Horizon, too, because the horse forms from tightly wound vines, a flourish of flowers growing along its back. It stays perfectly balanced on his palm.] Here. A Roach convenient enough to slip into your pocket.

[The horse wickers at them.]

[gynvael]

[ Mm. Good times, trapped in the dungeons. He’d be lying if he said it’s not been easier to breathe out of those cages, but—

Nothing’s ever simple, is it?

He tips back more wine. His head buzzes pleasantly. He’s watching the water—assuming Jaskier’s talking away as always. Not until he catches the spark of magic out of the corner of his eye does he look over.

A horse. Covered in vines and leaves. It moves exactly as a real horse does, perched in the centre of Jaskier’s palm.

Geralt’s eyes brighten. His typical wry amusement is visible, but there’s more, too. A genuine delight, subdued and rare—only just noticeable in the way he reaches for the miniature magical steed with especial care to take her into his own palm. This is the most fucking idiotic thing Jaskier has ever done. And it sends a quiet warmth through him he isn’t ready for.

From the wine, no doubt. Nothing more. ]

They can’t both be Roach. [ Geralt does not explain this statement. He says it as though it’s obvious. He cradles the flowering mare. His tone is teasing, light, but gruff at the edges, too. Like he’s aware he’s shown more of his hand than he meant to. ] She’s almost large enough for you to ride.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier is not so drunk that he misses Geralt's reaction. It is a lot for the witcher. A lot of reaction. A lot of warmth.

It would be so easy to tease him for, but it's so fucking genuine. Jaskier grins.]

You know that makes no sense, right? They're all Roach! [He leans back on a hand, tipping the rest of his beer into his mouth. He sets the glass behind them, struck by the sight of the small horse -- created entirely on a whim -- paw at Geralt's palm, her tail of petals whipping behind her.

Jaskier pushes him with an arm.] Stick to killing monsters, not humor. [That same glow of pride he felt when Sam liked his bird. Magic isn't so bad, when one can create things like this.] As I said. The finest steed.

[gynvael]

[ A frown draws his brows together, though it's not quite erased the softness that lingers in his gaze. How does Jaskier mean, it makes no sense? The remark had been made offhand, but now that Jaskier has questioned it, Geralt finds himself answering seriously. ]

Not all. [ He means they aren't all Roach, at the same time, but even sober, Geralt is rarely one to speak in full context. ] Just one.

[ He hasn't got more than one Roach. He's got one. She's here, in the Horizon, reshaped, and when he gets a new one in the real world, mm. Well. Likely, she'll be reformed in this plane, too. He doesn't know why this seems important to explain right now, but it does, the idea that Roach is not simply a name applied to every damn horse that might come his way. It is applied to a particular horse, at a particular time. Namely, the horse he's chosen to ride. As his companion.

He takes another drink of wine. It slides smoothly down his throat. He sets the blooming horse down between them, confident it'll not run off the pier. And it doesn't, just mimics the gesture of grazing despite there being nothing to graze upon. He watches it for a few moments. ]

I don't know where the monsters are here. [ It's difficult to sense whether he intends this to be a philosophical statement or a literal one. Even Geralt doesn't know, so he lets it sit there for Jaskier to take it as he will. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier laughs, tipping his head back. Geralt is a fucking idiot. He's said it -- okay, he's thought it far more, but he has a feeling Geralt knows. Geralt drunk is somehow even more ridiculous.

He is a bit more fun, though.]

You think too much. [Can a idiot think too much? Absolutely. An idiot can also be philosophical, apparently.] What's that, Geralt? You mean to doubt yourself now? You've always managed to find them before.

[It's thoughtless, the way he does it. How he says the words, and how, when they are done, he leans over and grabs Geralt by the chin, kissing him.

Unsurprisingly, he tastes of alcohol.

It's the Jaskier way. He does it because he wants to, and then sits back, satisfied with himself.] You need to drink more often. Faaaar less sullen. [He
slides a finger over his lips, smiling to himself. With a laugh, he adds:] Much more likely to talk of horses.

[gynvael]

[ That is, Geralt considers, not an unfair accusation. He does think too damn much. He wishes he didn't. That he could think and feel nothing except of the monsters ahead of him that he would kill, and the coin that he would pocket afterwards.

He has. He's managed to find them before, always. Maybe it's more accurate to say, he doesn't know where he will find the monsters this time. Guess they'll simply find him first. In the meantime, he has wine and his...friend. His friend who's leaning towards him between one blink and the next. Geralt opens his mouth to say something only to find it covered with Jaskier's lips instead.

Mm. Oh.

He watches the bard pull away. Jaskier looks pleased with himself, his cheeks flush pink with the wine, a curl of lengthening hair over his forehead. He rolls his eyes a little, turning away before the fond exasperation grows too obvious on his face. He takes it back. Creating that horse is now only the second most idiotic thing Jaskier's ever done.

He's finding he minds neither all that much. It is thoughtless, but not careless. A whim that's come and gone and come again over the years. It is not because of the liquor that Geralt doesn't think twice about what's just occurred. Doesn't address it any further, either, other than a lick over his lips. He can taste the grapes. Not much between them has ever needed to be spoken out loud. Now's no different. ]

Is that all it takes? [ He glances sidelong at Jaskier as he finishes off the rest of the wine in his cup. ] Talk of horses?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier misses nothing, or at least with plenty of drink in him, he sees everything he wants to see, to fee. He feels the lips on his and the ghost of them, and how Geralt's body is not stiff and uncomfortable, but as relaxed as before. He may even see his expression, which is rare, but not completely unexpected.

Geralt doesn't say anything about it, of course, and Jaskier lets many things go, but he does not allow any kiss he grants go by without commentary.]

If you think I kissed you because you're talking about horses, oooh, my friend, do I have many a bridge to sell. [Ahh, and here is the best part of the Horizon: when Jaskier lifts his glass, somehow it is full all over again, and the wine has not coated his tongue so much he can't taste it anymore. The taste is still as crisp and sweet as when he began drinking it, his body comfortably warm, cheeks flushed.] But horses, for you, are one of your least depressing topics.

[gynvael]

[ That gets a soft snort out of him. He thinks, briefly, about stealing another kiss—but the moment’s passed. Another time. If opportunity arises.

Unlike Jaskier, Geralt makes no move to refill his cup or indulge too far in the utter lack of rules this place grants them. He simply picks up the bottle of wine and pours out what’s left. There’s a lot he’s still trying not to think about, not to dwell on. He nudges the small hose along, so that it trots up and down the length of the pier between them.

He misses the simplicity of riding. Of travelling. Not alone but…with someone he could call a friend. Even if it took a long time for him to really accept that. Even if it was easier to push it away than try to keep it. ]

They’re good companions. [ There’s still a faint curve to his lips. He looks over at Jaskier, before adding quietly, ] A rather fine travelling companion.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier gives a great big huff. Oh, now he's started him, and he'll have to sit here and hear about all the merits of horses, which are stinky, placid beasts. He doesn't mind them, but the stench of horse has never been a favorite --

He looks over. Surely is is the drink, and that Jaskier indulges in it so realistically, letting it sweep through his body in the most realistic way, that makes his eyes appear so watery.

A fine travelling companion.

He knows what Geralt is saying. And it is such a silly desire, for a bard such as him. He who has made Geralt's name over a multitude of times. Who has more than carved himself a place in the world -- or at least, on the Continent.

Jaskier smiles, and he leans his shoulder against Geralt's.]

You've really got to stop talking about bloody horses all the time. It's not attractive at all.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt is not certain, exactly, what it will mean to Jaskier when he says it. Maybe nothing. Jaskier knows him well, knows he is not a man who keeps company with those he doesn’t truly care for. He only says it because…he wants to. Because Jaskier has stayed by his side when he had no reason to, after what transpired between them on the mountain. And he’s not certain he can say he’s ever had someone refuse so staunchly to leave him in the face of all that he is. All he has done.

Or maybe he’s just had that much to drink.

He looks down at the water as Jaskier bumps against his shoulder. Geralt does not lean back, but his body remains relaxed. It’s a warm night. He drinks the rest of the wine and lets the breeze ruffle his hair. If he’s indulging in—this. So be it. There’s nothing in the way except a little alcohol and he knows, here, with Jaskier—he knows that unlike so many other places in his life (unlike with Yennefer), he will not find regrets waiting for him in the morning. ]

That implies you find me charming when horses are not involved.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier's laugh is certainly one filled with merriment, drenched in wine. But it comes as easily as all of his laughs do, as more and more of his weight lays against Geralt. More because it's too much effort to hold himself up anymore.

The Horizon allows this. And Geralt's presence adds onto it. He is safe here. In Sam's house, with his best friend, he's never been safer in his life.

Gods, isn't that a thought?

Jaskier looks over with a smile, and he tugs a bit of Geralt's hair simply because he knows he can get away with it. Even through this drunken haze, he will remember all of this. The haze is not real; it's more like a blanket he allows to settle over him. So he will recall Geralt's expression when he held up the horse, a fantastical whim that Jaskier had the power to fulfill.

If he must be here, it makes all the difference he is not alone. That... fuck. If he had come here alone, where would he even be?

Not at Sam's house, enjoying his company. All of this company. It is worth it, almost, sometimes. Being here. Taken from the only world he's ever known.

Ah. It's probably just a drunk thought. He has plenty of them.] You have your charms, Witcher. But I? Will not list them out. Er -- I'm not saying there's even enough to write a list. But I would be loathe to watch your head expand from your ego swelling.

[This is definitely something Geralt's said to him before.]

[gynvael]

[ Geralt waves off Jaskier's hand in his hair with an automatic sort of annoyance, like brushing away a fly. If the bard is going to pass out drunk, he supposes better on top of him than slipping into the water. He wants to say he does not know how they got here, Jaskier against him and practically admitting he has charms, but. He does. He does know.

It's nothing to contemplate upon for too long. ]

Is it my ego we're suddenly concerned about? [ That is, in fact, something Geralt's said to Jaskier before. More than once, undoubtedly.

When his wine is empty and gone, Geralt finally sets both cup and bottle aside. The night is winding down. He wants to end it on a pleasant note. Which...this is. Pleasant, he means. He gathers the miniature horse into his hand. True, he could summon it any time and have it appear at Kaer Morhen. He needn't physically bring it there. But that feels different than taking with him the precise one Jaskier created, here in this moment.

He stands, steady despite all the liquor, but with more concentration and less grace than he normally posses. He claps Jaskier once on the shoulder. He isn't really thinking, for once, when he says, ] I'll see the princess home.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier punches his shoulder.] Oh, shut it. We are definitely concerned about yours, yes. Gods know what years of my praises have done to your head.

[It must be so hard for Geralt to have the most talented bard in the world sing wonderful songs of his exploits and make him so rich and famous. How hard for him. The thoughts make him laugh to himself, lifting up off of his friend's shoulder as he moves to stand.

It isn't the first time Geralt has left him at a party, but at least this is finishing on a good note.]

Ah. You and I both well know she would frown with those very angry eyebrows to know you still call her princess. [Jaskier raises his glass to him, giving him a smile to see him off. He turns back to the water.] But I am glad to hear you found home with her.

[Of course Geralt offered it to her. He only hopes it isn't that embarrassing cabin still.]

[gynvael]

[ Found home. Something about that makes him pause. He hadn't exactly intended it like that, and when he hears it repeated it back to him, he realizes—

Realizes a truth he is far too fuzzy-headed to parse. (Sometimes it still strikes him, that Ciri does not hate it there, at Kaer Morhen, or resent spending the remainder of her childhood in that place—not as the princess she was meant to be but with a Witcher who hadn't a fucking clue what he was doing with a lost princess, other than to take her to a dying fortress where she would be safest and give her a sword.)

He leaves after a second, without saying more. Jaskier has accepted it so fucking easily, the Witcher's place in Cirilla's life. As though it's exactly as Jaskier expected things to be. Not even a question of doubt, to the bard, that it is a good thing Geralt found the girl and took her in.

He almost wishes he carries the same certainty. But he supposes, as he catches sight of Ciri in the dwindling crowd, she seems happy enough at the moment. ]