Reflecting on it, he shouldn't be surprised. He'd spent a good portion of his time in Cadens over the past few months, and that means he's had more chances to notice something's felt a little off. Something he can't quite put his finger on. The truth is, he tends not to question Julie about what she's doing. If she wants to tell, she will. If not, he has no desire to make her do so before she's ready. Whatever it may be, she seems neither distressed nor worried by it, and that's good enough for him to leave matters alone.
At least until his canteen mysteriously vanishes—a point he'd have noticed sooner if not for the fact that he has a near-identical one from Ciri (there are only so many practical gifts one can give a man like Geralt) and was also dead fucking asleep in the Horizon, which he only does on the rare occasions he spends the night there with Julie. Saovine night, specifically. He's pondering what the fuck happened to his equipment (was it the stablehand?) when he receives the message from Nadine.
He goes to her at once. It does not make him feel better knowing Julie has vanished to the Singularity. It's significantly more troubling, actually. Not that he wouldn't have been concerned had she been wandering the desert, but at least he could be assured she'd be conscious. He could talk to her. Ask her if she's all right. This, though. He knows she means to approach the monolith. And while he can't say if she's aware of what happens to them when the threshold is passed, he sure as hell remembers. He was there for it. When he cannot find her inside the Horizon, when his messages go unanswered, the decision comes easily.
It's possibly a flawed plan. More eyes linger on him these days, and he isn't hard to identify in the first place. He can't bring himself to care about distant consequences when there are more pressing ones right now. He borrows (takes, with permission) Jaskier's gold, informs Ciri he is leaving, and asks Sam to keep watch of the situation while he's gone. Seeing as it's the middle of the damn night, Geralt tracks the merchant— if one could call him that—straight to his home, knocking on the door until a man appears, wrapped in a cloak and grumbling. Geralt exchanges the gold for a portal stone, readies up Roach, and leaves.
He's taking a chance: there's no way for him to tell if the portal might send him straight into the fucking ocean or separate him from his horse. But it doesn't. He lands not at the Singularity, but close. Closer than he's been since Thorne dragged prisoners and guests alike to its crater. The towering relic casts a long shadow under the moonlight, stretching across the arid plains.
And in the center, a familiar head of pink hair.
He crouches a safe distance away from the crater and sighs. It's impossible to tell if she's injured, but he can hear her pulse beating steady, and he can't smell blood. He knows better than to try to reach her; that's not why he's here. If she isn't in her club, he suspects the Horizon must've swallowed her once more. Last time, it spat her out eventually, and he hopes it'll do the same now, too. There's no point in beating his head against a brick wall. He's learnt well that he can't reach where she is. Not really. He just wants to be sure nothing comes to eat her while she's trapped.
Besides, this way, he can let Nadine know Julie is fine. Or as fine as she can be under the circumstances.
A couple of nights pass without incident beyond a pair of sniffing sandcats that soon slink away. He's lying on the dusty grass when a distorted curl of letters etches into the orange sky above. He sits up, frowning. Roach grazes lazily several feet away, oblivious. He's sent her messages before. This is the first time he's heard back. He doesn't know if she never received the others or if he's the one who couldn't see her replies.
no subject
At least until his canteen mysteriously vanishes—a point he'd have noticed sooner if not for the fact that he has a near-identical one from Ciri (there are only so many practical gifts one can give a man like Geralt) and was also dead fucking asleep in the Horizon, which he only does on the rare occasions he spends the night there with Julie. Saovine night, specifically. He's pondering what the fuck happened to his equipment (was it the stablehand?) when he receives the message from Nadine.
He goes to her at once. It does not make him feel better knowing Julie has vanished to the Singularity. It's significantly more troubling, actually. Not that he wouldn't have been concerned had she been wandering the desert, but at least he could be assured she'd be conscious. He could talk to her. Ask her if she's all right. This, though. He knows she means to approach the monolith. And while he can't say if she's aware of what happens to them when the threshold is passed, he sure as hell remembers. He was there for it. When he cannot find her inside the Horizon, when his messages go unanswered, the decision comes easily.
It's possibly a flawed plan. More eyes linger on him these days, and he isn't hard to identify in the first place. He can't bring himself to care about distant consequences when there are more pressing ones right now. He borrows (takes, with permission) Jaskier's gold, informs Ciri he is leaving, and asks Sam to keep watch of the situation while he's gone. Seeing as it's the middle of the damn night, Geralt tracks the merchant— if one could call him that—straight to his home, knocking on the door until a man appears, wrapped in a cloak and grumbling. Geralt exchanges the gold for a portal stone, readies up Roach, and leaves.
He's taking a chance: there's no way for him to tell if the portal might send him straight into the fucking ocean or separate him from his horse. But it doesn't. He lands not at the Singularity, but close. Closer than he's been since Thorne dragged prisoners and guests alike to its crater. The towering relic casts a long shadow under the moonlight, stretching across the arid plains.
And in the center, a familiar head of pink hair.
He crouches a safe distance away from the crater and sighs. It's impossible to tell if she's injured, but he can hear her pulse beating steady, and he can't smell blood. He knows better than to try to reach her; that's not why he's here. If she isn't in her club, he suspects the Horizon must've swallowed her once more. Last time, it spat her out eventually, and he hopes it'll do the same now, too. There's no point in beating his head against a brick wall. He's learnt well that he can't reach where she is. Not really. He just wants to be sure nothing comes to eat her while she's trapped.
Besides, this way, he can let Nadine know Julie is fine. Or as fine as she can be under the circumstances.
A couple of nights pass without incident beyond a pair of sniffing sandcats that soon slink away. He's lying on the dusty grass when a distorted curl of letters etches into the orange sky above. He sits up, frowning. Roach grazes lazily several feet away, oblivious. He's sent her messages before. This is the first time he's heard back. He doesn't know if she never received the others or if he's the one who couldn't see her replies.