[ 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]

[ His attempted motivation and bringing Geralt's supposed teaching methods into it elicits a vague snort from Ciri, who reaches over and takes the knife from him first and foremost before attempting anything else. As it was barely a scrape, there's not really any blood on it, so she only wipes it quickly on her trousers and sheathes it again as she considers what she needs to do. She does not mention that it was Yennefer whose methods were more bullying than teaching some days, far more than Geralt. Yennefer is not here. Yennefer, for all she'd taught her, had not been there before, either.

Nobody can do this for her. Jaskier can keep explaining until the sun goes down, but he is right about one thing: she won't be able to do it unless she does it. Unless she tries. ]

Please, Jaskier. Be quiet.

[ This is said with her best attempt at gentle patience, as he recommends.

Ciri places her hand over his arm again, where the shallow cut has already almost stopped bleeding, the edges of it blurry with dried red that hadn't thickened enough to drip properly. She takes in a deep, slow breath -- and with it, she begins to concentrate. To expand her consciousness to the air around them, the heat, the dryness, the sand, the earth. The elements that make up everything around them, the chaos (magic) that stitches it all together.

She reaches out, not pulling or grabbing, but asking. A timid supplication. It is just a little wound; it only needs a little magic, only a little borrowed energy from the earth and the air, only a tiny droplet out of the faucet. ]