[ CLOSED ] when I'm like this, you're the one I trust

[cointosser]

Who: Jaskier, Ciri, Geralt, eventually Sam?
When: First week of October
Where: The desert outskirts of Cadens
What: Jaskier attempts to help Ciri learn magic with disastrous results.
Warnings: Bodily injury, may move to mild body horror depending.



[With the climate they found themselves in, it only made sense for them to really embrace their new... eccentric talents. At least, that was what Jaskier tells himself, and when he tells himself it -- regarding Ciri, in particular -- it all makes sense, of course. If they are all gifted with magic, then it only makes sense to make use of it.

After all, it's free. And they need skills to make a living off of. As far as he understands, Ciri is, er, well. Like Geralt. A hunter.

Magic, hunting. It all fits together.

Okay, fine. He's terribly bored also. And he's tired of being the only one with magic around here. (He's still avoiding the whole plant thing. He prefers not to think about it, actually.]

All right, my dear. I -- well, I don't claim to know many, er, spells, but we can start on what I started on. Simply a little bird. [He, of course, adds a completely unnecessary flourish to his movements, and a bit of sparks, holding out his hand with a dove sitting on his palm.]

It's a bit hard to describe. I sort of... imitated watching it, I suppose.

[He sort of definitely wants to see Ciri try to imitate his flourish.]

Comments

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri has her reasons for being less enthusiastic about the magic than Jaskier. Even though she'd been the one to ask him to assist her with learning some of the spells he knew (especially without Yennefer around, though she didn't mention that part), she kept pushing it off, deflecting that she is busy or tired or otherwise not in the mood. It's beginning to seem like she'll never be in the mood, though.

So finally, with Geralt having taken off on his own for a while and leaving them to their devices, Jaskier has managed to convince Ciri to join him. They've gone out into the near desert to have more space away from the constant press of people in the city, and since it seems less likely they'll draw attention this way. Regardless of whose idea the location was to begin with, Ciri wholeheartedly agrees with it, feeling it safer somehow. Even if deserts aren't exactly the most comforting of environments for her.

She is less anxious with Jaskier by her side, though she still wishes she had a proper sword too. Now, Ciri stands before him, arms crossed, frowning uncertainly as her eyes follow the little dove. ]

You recreated an entire bird simply by watching it?

[ She sounds somewhere between skeptical and impressed. ]

[cointosser]

[At least he can say he's getting used to Ciri's frowning at him. She certainly does it a lot. Wonder who she could have ever learned that from? Hmm?

Jaskier sniffs.] All right, I'm showing off a bit. My first attempt was not so wonderful. It was more like this.

[The bird disappears in a puff. He waves his hand through the air, and soft blue light, moving like smoke, appears bird-like, a mere shadow, for a moment -- and then poofs away into small sparks.]

I only imagined I would be creating little effects for performance. Before I had any indication to the stakes we were under. [This is certainly not going to be the easiest pupil he's ever had. Or his easiest subject. It won't stop him from attempting, however, if it's her desire to try.] To start, I thought of it as another path of the creative process. A new art to learn. [He pauses, looking her over.] I haven't asked, but I would assume you neither draw or paint. What do you consider art, Ciri?

[wiedzminka]

[ He may be growing used to the many subtle shapes of her frowns, just like Geralt's; she may be quicker to smile and laugh than the Witcher is, but she's just as quick to scowl, as well.

Right now, she looks thoughtful, focused -- and a little nervous. Jaskiers lower-level demonstration is hardly met with applause or awe, but it's clear she's paying attention. The problem is, she at once has no idea how he did it and knows, the concepts and theories and practice Yennefer had led her through rigorously when she'd been a child rising back up from her memories. They have a lot of other, far worse memories to get through first before they can be truly heard.

Jaskier's question earns him a faintly different quirk of her lips. They press together thinly, brows drawn. ]

I know what art is, even if I do not draw or paint. That's a very broad question.

[ Then, she realizes she sounds defensive for no real reason, that Jaskier has come out here for her sake, and takes a breath. Tries again, softening the edges in her voice. ]

...but, very well. I think I understand what you are asking.

[ She thinks about it more honestly for a moment before answering again. ]

Swordwork. A master smith forging a blade worth a ballad. The way it moves, an extension of the body. Like a dance.

[ Beautiful as it is dangerous. There's something artful in that, isn't there? ]

...don't laugh.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier puts his hands on his hips.] Honestly, this is going to take longer if you assume every question is an insult.

[He clears his throat. He has no idea why she is so defensive considering he's happily agreed to this whole thing. (And maybe Jaskier is getting a bit too into his teaching persona and entirely enjoying it. It's been a bit since he's last returned to Oxenfurt and tutored a student or two. Or even ran his own lecture!)

His lips purse. Defensive, again! Honestly, is the Jaskier of her life so dismissive? He cannot imagine he could be. (Oh, gods. Was he even there at all?

No. Not now.)]

I'm not laughing! [He sighs.] My dear Cirilla, need I remind you that I followed your fellow Witcher for two bloody decades? And wrote of his exploits? Of swordplay?

[(Because she hasn't heard his songs because he's definitely dead, isn't he? His tunes forgotten?)]

I've watched Geralt fight. I don't understand it myself, but I can see the beauty of it. I've written of it, even. [Okay, enough defending himself and also imagining his future/past demise.] Then I think it may aid you to think of magic in the same way. An extension of your body -- a less physical one, of course. Maybe... ah, the way one wears a necklace. A medallion, even. You know, without thinking, that it's there. That you can raise a hand and touch it.

[He stops here, little flits of blue magic moving through the air as he speaks, as if to show how easily it can become part of movement.] Am I making any sense at all? This is certainly my first attempt at magic lecturing.

ciri; the hills outside cadens.

[gynvael]

(( picking up from here ))

[ His reasons for putting so much of his focus on uncovering what's happened to Mal are multiple: for Mal's sake and because he told Sam he would, on the surface. Under that, a genuine concern that this indicates a bigger problem. And even deeper, the simple fact that he's tired of doing shit all, sitting around in one place. Taking on repetitive menial tasks that leave his mind wandering too often. The second he'd got a sword, a horse thanks to Sam's apparently unending well of charm—Geralt would've found any reason to take off. The lack of a trail, the lack of any information that tells him for certain what might've occurred, it's frustrating, but a familiar frustration. He can use it. It only drives him further. Realistically, the chances of Mal being alive at this point are slim. But he's determined to get answers beyond vanished into thin air. 

Three days into his planned five away, Geralt finds his thoughts turning to Cirilla and Jaskier. They're fine. Ciri can take care of herself; Jaskier isn't doing anything more than toying with his healing magic, his birds, performing in taverns. Cadens poses no more danger than any of the dozens of towns and cities they've passed through. Besides, Jaskier has his birds. If anything happens, the bard will send one out. He puts it aside. Nearly done here as it were. He'll return soon.

Then he hears the screech of a hawk. A sound he'd normally ignore, but that cry. It's piercing. Insistent. He looks up from where he's crouched over a set of tracks. Squints against the evening sun to spot those red feathers and silver streaks. Sam's bird. Had Sam sent it to scout?

No. The bird is not circling. He realizes, with a sharpened clarity, Red is flying straight toward him.

Shit.

Geralt mounts his horse without hesitation. The hawk has turned, leading him straight back toward the city. His thoughts spin for a second before he buries all of them. No point in letting his imagination run loose. His focus is entirely on moving, careful not to ride Roach too hard over the rough terrain despite how much he wants to. He's still riding hard, though, and he isn't thinking there'd be anyone riding at him on top of that. With the setting sun glaring in his line of sight, he hears the pounding hooves too late before he even sees the figure atop.

Only pure instinct keeps him from getting thrown clear off. Geralt curses, grips the reins tight as he veers sharply to the left. The fuck—

Cirilla. He stares. She looks, for the first time since they've met, truly frightened. For a split instant, he starts to look her over for injuries, concern drawing his brows together but. Then he catches it. That is not her blood. He knows whose blood it is. He's smelled it before. Whatever Ciri is already beginning to tell him, she needn't say who. He knows. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ Red's been an enormous help. If it weren't for Sam's hawk, Ciri has no idea how long it might have taken her to reach Geralt.

After leaving Jaskier with Sam, Ciri had run back to the stables he had told her about as quickly as possible, and found herself in luck. They agreed to hold onto the exhausted mule and, with only a bit of side-eyeing at the state of her, let Ciri rent a fast courier horse for a surprisingly generous rate. She hadn't wasted time asking questions. She'd only stopped long enough after that to get a cheap, ill-fitting tunic from the first place she saw that sold used clothing. And then, she was riding for the hills.

Even so, most of the day is gone by the time Red begins screeching and circling over her, alerting Ciri that he's found something. When he takes off, she follows, pushing her horse recklessly despite the uneven terrain. Luckily, the elegant-looking little gelding is sure-footed and obedient, used to riding long distances to deliver messages between the cities; Ciri presses herself down against his neck and urges him up the hill with a single-minded desperation that has them both breathing hard by the time they crest it.

What she didn't expect is for Geralt to be right there when she crests the rocky ridge. Ciri shouts and swears, but just seeing him makes her heart leap into her throat, and all the tension unwinds at once like a spring, a violent surge of relief and fear and stress and guilt all snapping through her brain in a dizzying jolt. ]

Geralt!

[ She's breathless and sunburnt, and her horse's sides are heaving, thick lather shining on his neck. ]

Geralt, it's Jaskier. He--

[ Fuck. Her throat freezes up. This is it, the moment she's dreaded, the moment she no longer has her sights ahead on the next thing to do because the next thing had been to find Geralt and now she has to tell him, and she doesn't know how.

All the confidence and certainty has drained out of her these long hours on the road. The panic grips her by the jaw, turning her tongue leaden, eyes wild.

He's hurt, she wants to say, like it's something she's removed from, like it's something that just happened. Instead, she finally admits aloud what she hadn't been able to tell Sam. ]

I- I lost control. I hurt him.

It's bad.

[gynvael]

[ It's bad. Better news has been delivered, but it tells him Jaskier is alive. He searches Ciri's face, working quickly to piece together what she isn't saying and what he needs to know. She's found Sam, if Red has been sent along with her. Ciri would never leave Jaskier alone unless she was certain the bard was in good hands. Her horse looks about to drop, so she must've rode without stopping straight from the city. It can't have been more than a day since Jaskier was injured. How does she mean, she lost control? Is it her Elder Blood? He'd thought—the Singularity interfered with that.

Geralt shakes it off. That's not important. They can sort that out later. He reaches for Ciri's arm. ] Slow down. How was he when you left him?

[ Do they have time, is what he wants to know. Geralt is willing to ride a horse into the ground if he has to. If that's what it takes to make sure Jaskier stays alive. But he isn't about to do it without cause. They have enough problems on their hands without having to explain why the stable's gelding has collapsed outside the city gates and won't be getting back up.

Fuck. He should've never left. Should've known things were still too unstable in this damn world, too unpredictable. I lost control. He wants to ask her to explain, but that's not what she needs right now. Or either of them. He needs to get them both back into Cadens, steady, and go from there. Sam should be able to find a healer, he thinks, but—this should've never had to be Sam's problem in the first place. Geralt had meant to look after the two of them. Somehow, it feels like he's left them behind instead. ]

returning.

[gynvael]

[ Cirilla does not so much fall asleep as she drops off from exhaustion, but sleep is sleep. He tucks a blanket around her, and keeps the fire going through the night. Geralt, for his part, stays up until sunrise. Watches the desert skyline, dusty and dry and not at all the dense heavy woods he normally travels through. For a brief moment, he lets himself miss the Continent before putting it aside. He readies the horses an hour before dawn, and the second the sky begins to lighten, he shakes Ciri awake.

They ride.

The sun is nearly low again by the time they reach the city gates. Geralt moves quickly, keeping a close eye on Ciri, making sure they draw no attention from those around them. He shoulders past the crowded streets—takes the shortest path he knows to Sam's home. The hawk flies above. He's spent his time with Ciri focusing on her, spent the night putting it out of his mind, what he's afraid he might find when he gets there. Now that he's drawing close, now that Jaskier is within reach, his chest begins to tighten.

He breathes steady. The smell of blood is thick in the air, even from behind the door. He doesn't know if it's from Ciri or from inside. Geralt knocks once, but his hand's already on the doorknob to push his way in if the wait takes more than a few beats.

Tension bleeds into his voice. ] Sam.

[falcony]

[ sam has been awake - he realizes it's been nearly thirty hours, and he knows he's had a nap or so somewhere in there, but between the mess he'd left behind bringing jaskier into the house and alina coming home soon after, his small apartment room smelled of blood and sweat. there are brief moments where he can almost smell the rabbit stew, something savory and warm in the air left over from jaskier's hallucinations, but he hasn't had the energy to actually get food started and between that and the scrubbing of the wood and the pile of fabric in the corner he'd used as bandages, there's little he can do.

the sounds of footsteps up the stairs of the main building don't exactly break through his concentration as much as red's warning, something he's hesitant to call chirping as the hawk seems to command a darker noise than that. but red had been on as much of an alert as sam has been, sweeping from one end of the small space to the corner of the room sam's left jaskier to sleep in, mirroring sam's stress and worry. it should be expected, he assumes - jaskier had made red, himself. of course he would be connected. of course red would worry. but the sounds of footsteps coupled with red actually leaving jaskier's side to come perch out in his rooftop corner have sam looking up just as the voice comes through. rough, tense. sam's been washing his hands so when he looks up and hears his name, he reaches for one of the few clean cloths left. ]

In here. [ he says, above a whisper but not much as he hopes alina is still sleeping and he knows geralt can still hear. sam's eyes go back to the bedroom where jaskier is resting, just able to make out the movement of jaskier's chest. still breathing. still okay. sam is stepping out from the small basin area (what he's turned into a some-what kitchen, though any stove or heat has to come from the kitchen downstairs), which means he'll be facing the door once geralt has it open, wiping the water from his hands.

sam's attention now is to the figures stepping inside - checking to see if there's anything else he needs to adjust to. anything else he needs to take care of, before they (as he's assuming they will) head straight to see jaskier. ]

He's in that bedroom. [ gesturing to the one with the door still open, even if he has a feeling geralt (and probably even ciri) would be able to figure it out. ] Arm's healed up as well as it's going to, but he's been out for a bit.

[gynvael]

[ Sam's steady expression has Geralt breathing a hint easier. Jaskier's all right. Not too surprising, to hear Jaskier's out of it for now, though he still asks, ] How long?

[ It can't have been that long, if Sam's not found cause for concern. He glances over his shoulder at Ciri first, hoping it'll at least help for her to hear that Jaskier's recovering, that he's resting. Then his eyes return to Sam for a moment steps into the room: gratitude and relief, all at once. He doesn't know what the fuck he'd have done without Sam around.

Jaskier's on the bed, arm bandaged, (unconscious, nearly died, and haven't they been here before?), and Geralt simply takes him in. For a brief second, he thinks he can let himself believe everything could be fine. Jaskier's arm will heal, the bard will awaken once he's recovered enough, reassure Ciri he doesn't blame her. They can decide what to do about her magic. Then it catches his ears, a stutter in Jaskier's heartbeat. Geralt's entire body tenses. He takes a step forward, brows knitted. It's nothing. (Isn't it?) He can't expect Jaskier's heart to be stable. But he starts to hear it, too, in the rise and fall of Jaskier's chest: shallow, uneven. A spike in the pulse. No. It's subtle, maybe only just noticeable to anyone else in the pallor of Jaskier's skin, but to him, it's as clear as day: something's wrong.

He's by Jaskier's side in a blink. If he shoulders Sam out of the way in the process, he doesn't notice. His fingers grip Jaskier's wrist. ]

Jaskier! [ Shit. When he spins around, he only stares at Sam as though Sam has got answers. There are none. Behind Sam, though, there is Ciri, colour returning to her pale cheeks. Jaskier's skin grows cold, clammy, under his palm.

Not a scratch. Not a scratch on her, he remembers her saying.

He doesn't want to say it out loud. Not with Ciri present. He looks back at Sam instead. (What the fuck is he supposed to do? His head spins; he can only come up with one thing, and it feels so oversimplified but—) ] Your magic. Can you channel?

[ Sam must have magic; he's only human and so far the most stable of them have been humans with no natural magical aptitude before arriving on this world. ]

[for geralt - post healing]

[cointosser]

[Truthfully, Jaskier has lost track of time since he's opened his eyes again. Things started coming back -- the potion, which must have caused the visions, a fact that no one had really warned him about. It wasn't the worst, though. Almost... pleasant, because he could recall them now.

Even if it was unfortunate Sam had been in the middle of all of that. And had to deal with so much. Not only himself, but Geralt collapsing afterwards. After he'd --

Well. Saved his life. Again.

He's stayed mostly in bed because Sam is quite bossy when he gets his mind in a certain direction, and Jaskier can't say he hates being waited on. He is still incredibly tired, and he'd nearly fainted all over again the first time he looked down at his arm to this long, jagged scar down its length, the skin raised and pale. At least he's managed to swallow down some broth, and there is only a dull ache still around his throat that makes his voice a bit softer. Now there's a sizable sandwich on a plate on his lap that he's been picking at, a book on his other knee.

He turns his head when the door opens without a knock. Easy to guess who it is.] Ah. Slept enough yourself, didn't you? [And yet how relieved he was. He was not used to worrying after Geralt, even though Jaskier was sure he would be fine. If Geralt had been in terrible danger, he would have said nothing at all.] Did Sam force some food into you yet?

[gynvael]

[ As soon as he hears Jaskier awake, Geralt goes to see him. His head is still fuzzy, his strength not all there, but he's mostly recovered. He still needs to talk to Ciri, but he wants to see Jaskier first before he does. He thinks Ciri needs a bit of space, anyhow.

Geralt steps into the room without announcing himself. His hair's only half-heartedly swept up, though he does, to his credit (and Sam's) look as if he's gotten sleep and eaten more than a few bites. ]

I imagine he'll regret his insistence soon. [ Because a Witcher's appetite is not small, and especially not so while healing. Geralt figures he'll hunt Sam a deer later to repay him. In the meantime, he settles against the wall beside Jaskier's bed. He's got something in his hands: the lute inside its case, which had been put aside during all this.

His gaze lingers on the scar as he sets the lute next to Jaskier. The bruises on his throat. (He wants to say at least it wasn't his voice this time, but Jaskier needs his hands equally as much.) ] Decided on which thrilling monster gave you that scar yet?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier's eyes light up. Somehow, despite all of this, the sight of his lute is what really makes his heart sing again. He touches the case, a smile coming to his lips more easily than it has since he woke.

He doesn't need to thank Geralt. It says everything that he even thought of the instrument. Brought it to him again.]

Somehow I think it would be impossible to eat him out of house or home. [He glances to the scar with a laugh and, dare he say it, the smallest bit of a flush.] How did you guess? [He holds his arm out as if for Geralt to inspect it, running fingers gently along the ridge.] Do you think anyone would believe a warg? Surely a bard can fight off a warg single-handedly. Armedly. [He lifts the plate of food and places it on top of the lute case, pushing it towards him with silent insistence.

Hmm, maybe not a warg. He'd hate to get people afraid of wolves again, knowing one of his friends turns into one.

Jaskier watches him, his humor fading. A thousand questions to ask, but only one is prominently important.]

How is Ciri?

sam; late night.

[gynvael]

[ The sky's long dark by the time Geralt is jerked back into the waking world. A stone weighs his chest down as he sits up with a quiet groan. His head throbs dully, his throat is dry, but he is awake. And no longer on the verge of collapse.

He lights a candle from across the room, letting the bit of light fill the room. He doesn't technically need it to see. He just doesn't want to startle Sam if the man's awake somewhere by wandering about in the darkness. The house is quiet, steady heartbeats around him, which means everyone's here. Safe.

Gingerly, Geralt stands, testing his weight. He's steady, so he slips near-silently into the area that serves as the kitchen. Finds himself some water, a loaf of bread he doesn't bother slicing. He tears a chunk out of it. He'll buy another tomorrow to replace it. His appetite isn't there, but he's aware he'll do no one any good without food in him. He intends to get out of Sam's hair by morning. Afternoon. The man has enough on his mind—Geralt isn't even supposed to be here; he'd had plans to keep looking into Mal—and he doesn't want to add his problems onto that already heavy plate Sam carries with him. Sam's done more than enough for all of them. Even if Sam's never going to say a damn thing about it.

Whether Sam's been awake this entire time or he's only just gotten up, that's where he'll find Geralt: perched on a kitchen table in dim candlelight, a half-eaten loaf of bread in his hands and an apple to the side, looking like shit but nonetheless an improvement over a few hours ago. ]

[falcony]

[ sam hadn't exactly wanted to leave the room for too long, between having chased down ciri and making sure jaskier was keeping stable and geralt was still breathing, it felt too tense to leave anything or anyone unattended, but after some time convincing himself that if more people were going to wake up, he had to actually have something in the room to feed them, he decided to chance the ten minutes (max) it would take for him to go down to the larger kitchens, grab something worthwhile, and bring it back.

he should have accounted for running into the landlady and the extra ten to fifteen minutes it would take to recount a watered down version of why there are extra people staying in his room and no, they're not there for good but yes, they will be eating and staying for a couple of days. he should have known better than to run into the landlady at all considering how run down he probably looks, and how she would then load him up with twice as much food as he actually needs just to try and off-set it. either way - it takes sam twice as long, if not longer, to make it back up to his room - a pot of soup, extra breads, cheeses, meats, spreads, fruit, a basket full of things that sam isn't even sure what they're supposed to be but he'd been too scared to say no...

he steps up onto the landing as quietly as he can manage, recognizing the odd hours, hoping not to wake any potentially listening ears. except that by the time he gets the door open and steps inside, he realizes the one he'd been trying so hard to not wake up is already awake, already eating whatever sam might have still had left over, and sam feels himself exhale - not a sigh, necessarily, but there is some release of tension with it. geralt, awake. geralt, up and moving. they're two for two today, it seems. ]

You look like shit. [ sam says, softly enough not to be too heard from the others rooms and with enough lightness to it that hopefully geralt will realize the joke, somewhere in it.

he makes his way to the kitchen corner, setting the boxes and bags and items down on the counter. sam isn't hungry much, himself, but something like his sister's voice in the back of his head says that it doesn't really matter, you can't help anyone if you drop dead cause your body stops working. he stares at the piles of food, the small counter space, and some of that exhaustion seeps through. keeps him standing there, staring, for a moment longer than he really plans before he looks back over to where geralt is still working away at the half loaf of bread.

sam's brow quirks. ] Want something more substantial than that, or are you gonna get sick?

[gynvael]

[ The slightest apprehension rolls through him when he hears footsteps approach, and a hint of fumbling at the door. He thinks it must be Sam, but he isn't altogether himself, his senses still a bit jumbled, and so his fingers close around the kitchen knife on the table.

Then he sees Sam loaded with boxes and bags of...food, it would appear. (Where the fuck did he get all—?) Geralt lets himself relax, releasing the handle of the blade. He sets the loaf aside and takes one of the bags off the top of Sam's pile to help set it down around the little counter. A small huff comes from him: amusement, tinged with simple exhaustion. ]

Still look better than you. [ Some truth sits within that joke in return. Truth, and concern on top of that. Geralt might've passed out earlier, but Sam looks like it could be his turn soon.

A feeling he isn't used to rises in him. Not guilt, exactly. It's—he's pushed more onto Sam than he should, relied on him when Sam didn't ask for it, and even though he's well aware Sam would've given him shit if he'd refused the man's help, he's just never even had opportunity to manage this feeling before. People simply do not lend a Witcher a hand, without expectation, if they bother at all. It's always an exchange: of services, of coin, of—at best—a life for a life. For the first time, he's faced with the sense that he owes someone for something—for a lot of things, in the short time they've known each other—that he understands will never be collected on, because Sam will not see a reason to do so. And he isn't sure what to do with that.

For the time being, he buries it. He considers, glancing into one of the boxes as he does. He can smell a chaos of cheese and a variety of meat (mutton, mostly, but some poultry, too); none of it makes his stomach rebel. A good sign. ]

I can eat. [ He doesn't want to eat, but he can and that means he should. He's spent too long surviving on his own to not understand the value of making sure he isn't running himself empty. ] Should I ask which merchant stall you robbed blind?

ciri; hour or so after The Healing

[falcony]

[ sam hovers over jaskier for as long as he thinks he can, trying to help him get comfortable, to make sure everything was settled and stable and that for all that sam could check, where he was, jaskier was okay. he had to go through the motions of checking the vitals all the same, even if explaining each step to jaskier felt a little silly, and once he got something close to broth into jaskier's stomach and he was settled into bed, he shifts his attention to geralt. to the slumbering mass of a man perched on his couch.

there were so many questions that sam wanted to ask - about what happened, about how dangerous things got, about how geralt knew that would work in the first place and why he hadn't just done it himself - but he watches geralt sleep for a few more minutes before he grabs his things and heads out the door, locking it behind him as he goes. he can ask geralt about everything later, but first he has to check on the last leg of the group, ciri, who sam wasn't exactly sure how she was involved with his, but he'd seen the guilt in her face when she approached him with jaskier in her arms. saw the way she backed out of the room, when jaskier's state had taken the downturn.

now that sam was confident in the stability of both jaskier and sam, he steps out of the small in and - as if being called - red cuts across the sky to land on his shoulder. sam reaches up to scratch at his feathers for a moment before red takes off again, towards where sam assumes ciri has settled, and he takes off in a quick jog.

it doesn't take him long to find her, though he is still breathing a bit hard when he finally slows down. she's got his back to him, which is why he calls out to her - not wanting to catch her off-guard if she's on edge. ]

Ciri! Hey- wait up!

[wiedzminka]

[ It had been tempting to take the horse. Climb into the saddle and ride away, somewhere far, somewhere quiet--

But the last thing she truly wants is to be in the desert alone. And there is nothing but desert and dry, shrub-covered hills all around Cadens for days. It's an unappealing fantasy. She entertains it anyway, all the way to the stables where she'd rented the gelding on Sam's recommendation. Ciri sorts out what she owes, paying the fee and a little extra for the stablehand's assistance the previous day, when she'd show up frantic and covered in blood. The boy deserves it; he can buy himself a drink.

After that's taken care of, though, Ciri finds she has no idea where to go next. The one thing on her mind is the need to put distance between herself and Jaskier. Distance and time. If she needs to travel the length of the whole massive city, she'll walk all night.

--and, apparently, the bird will follow her. Ciri tries several times to shoo him away, telling him sternly to go back to Sam and once even shouting at the stubborn creature doggedly flying above her no matter where she goes. With her nerves frayed and a resentful heaviness growing in her heart, Ciri barely resists the urge to throw something at the offending animal, resorting to shouts and unkind words alone. Until it finally leaves.

She almost regrets it. In a city of countless people and streets thrumming with life, there is an even greater loneliness in having no one to talk to.

It's lucky, then -- though Ciri is too lost in her own sullen thoughts to acknowledge it -- that she doesn't have to wait long or get far before Red finds her again. Before Sam finds her and calls out like a lifeline.

Ciri had simply been walking, briskly, down one of the cobbled streets leading toward the central square. She stops. Sam catches up.

She waits for him to speak up first. ]

[falcony]

[ he’s relieved, in more ways than one, that it doesn’t take too long to track ciri down. yes, he knows he has red, who makes it ten times easier, but sam also has two failed attempts at running through these same streets and not finding the people he’s looking for. it’s a nice change of pace, seeing her standing there. knowing she isn’t just gone. that, and she doesn’t immediately turn to leave once he makes himself known.

it’s the little things.

he catches up to her just a few moments after, unable to keep himself from the quick check-over he does to make sure she’s alright before giving her a small smile. ]

You ran off without saying much, I’m glad I could find you.

[ sam really has no idea what is going through ciri’s head - no real concept of the magic that happened, the pain she has written in her shoulders. but he knows guilt, when he sees it, and the need to help flares hot and bright in his chest. ]

Is it okay if I walk with you?

for jaskier, the day after The Healing.

[wiedzminka]

[ It's well into the morning, nearly lunchtime, by the time Ciri finally slips out of Alina's room. She comes searching for Jaskier with an offering, as if not showing up empty-handed will somehow make her feel less awkward. As if a plateful of sliced apples are an apology at the scale he's owed.

Ciri raps her knuckles softly on the doorframe, where the door itself sits cracked open a few centimeters. She peeks through the gap, not entirely sure if Jaskier's even awake right now. ]

...Jaskier? May I come in?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier starts at the sound, turning to the door. Since there was a knock, that easily eliminates Geralt. He expects Sam, of course, so when it's Ciri's voice, he possibly sounds a bit too eager.]

Ciri, yes! Yes, of course! [He nearly wheezes from the exuberance. Fuck. He coughs, beating his chest.]

My apologies. I'd get the door myself --

[But by the time she's opened it, he's barely moved the blankets off his legs. Which is for the best. He'd probably trip on the way there.] Yet you're far quicker than me, especially now. [He smiles to see her, and it's real relief in his sigh to see she appears completely unharmed. No worse for wear than if they'd simply gone on a horse ride.] How are you, my dear?

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri nudges the door open with her shoulder, stepping inside. By the time he suggests getting the door, she's already toeing it shut behind her; it settles into place in its frame with a ker-chack that seems to echo in the quiet left after Jaskier's exclamation.

He sounds... happy to see her. ]

I brought you some apples.

[ Ciri steps closer to the bed, offering them for him to see before setting the plate on the bedside table. There, she hovers uncertainly, looking him over once, twice. ]

You're all right?

[ He's not reacting badly to her being in the room (again). It's not like her presence has stricken him down. Slowly, Ciri folds into a crouch by his bed so she's not looming over him. ]

for geralt, after speaking with jaskier.

[wiedzminka]

[ The conversation with Jaskier leaves Ciri even more drained than she expected. It's well into the day now, and though her appetite has run off again somewhere, she realizes she probably needs to offer her body something to eat regardless (vaguely paranoid, also, that whatever magic had latched onto Jaskier might not be as dispelled as it seems; if nothing else, it urges her to take care of herself, for now).

She finds Geralt in the main room, where Sam has set up his makeshift little kitchen, rearranging and organizing things in a similar position as the one she'd glimpsed him in on her way to Jaskier's room earlier. Ciri knows that his proximity and the small area they're all piled into right now means that Geralt has more than likely heard everything she and Jaskier talked about; she doesn't need to explain.

She just steps in beside him. ]

Need a hand with supper?

[gynvael]

[ If anyone were to accuse Geralt of stress cleaning, he'd deny it, but that's effectively what he's been doing. He'd rather not leave while Jaskier's on bedrest, doesn't want to indulge in drink when he still feels vaguely like shit, hasn't got anywhere he can go. Which leaves him to occupy himself with what's in Sam's place. At the moment, that's the food. A fucking ton of it.

He's wrapping the loaves of bread when Ciri emerges. He knows, of course; he's heard her conversation with Jaskier end, and heard her coming in. He'd considered moving elsewhere to grant them privacy, but both Ciri and Jaskier are well aware of how far his hearing ranges. If they've chosen to talk close by, he assumes they don't care if he catches snippets of their conversation. (At some point, Geralt will confront Jaskier about why the idiot thought he'd fucking died this entire time and had never said a damn word about it, but that's for later.) ]

Could use a hand eating it. [ He looks over. Ciri is dusty and exhausted, but she looks a bit more herself. Hard to say if speaking to Jaskier helped. He's hoping so. He uncovers a pot of stew from the night before. ] If we leave Sam to manage all this food on his own, I'll never hear the end of it.

[wiedzminka]

[ If Ciri had really not wanted him to hear, she'd have asked him to leave; she hadn't, and she won't. His presence is a comfort. The fact she doesn't have to explain or elaborate or say anything aloud for him to understand. She just needs food, and time to process. Maybe some fresh air in a bit.

Ciri wanders over to the pot of stew, peering inside when Geralt lifts the lid. Encouragingly, her stomach pronounces a tiny bit of interest at the scent. ]

Where'd he get all this?