[ 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

[gynvael]

[ He lets her talk without interrupting, his focus on her. However much she wants to say, he'll take it. He supposes, if she needs to let out what's on her mind, then he'll be here to listen. He needs to know, one way or the other. Needs to think it over, so he knows what he's looking at by the time they make it back, knows what their options are. And it lets him gather his thoughts while she tells her story. Geralt is used to fixing. Solving a problem. Piecing together details to create a picture that makes sense and working from it, ignoring all distractions while he does.

And he does have a picture: Ciri, already powerful, now even more so under the influence of the Singularity, combined with Jaskier's newfound powers that the bard hasn't fully gotten under control, provoked on instinct when he was in danger. A fucking spark to an oil drum is what that is.

Shit.

Ciri is a coiled spring beside him. He isn't used to knowing the right thing to say, to make someone feel better. He can tell her she isn't to be blamed, and she will still feel as though she is. He can't truthfully tell her everything will be fine, because he doesn't know if they will be. A restless buzz hums under his veins, one he can't quite shut off. It wants to do, to act, and he can't. Not until they return. He wishes, somehow, that he'd been there to keep this from happening at all. It's a foolish whimsy. One he is aware need not be entertained, and yet it crosses his mind all the same. That he should've been better at protecting them.

In the end, he does the only thing he can think of, what he remembers once made the world a little more bearable when he was still young, when words felt not near enough: maybe it'd been Vesemir who was there, maybe one of his brothers—either way, he hesitates, then slides an arm over her shoulder, unsure if she'll accept the embrace but not really knowing what else to do. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ Geralt doesn't say anything. Ciri doesn't look up.

She lapses into silence, letting the minute noises of the nighttime settle down around them. Their breathing. The faint rustle of movement beside her as Geralt shifts.

His arm settles around her, surprisingly warm, and for a moment, Ciri freezes in surprise. Her breath catches, stutters-- and then comes out a quiet sob, as much of relief in the sound as there is sadness. She leans into him, tucks her knees up and curls against his side, made small. There are only a few tears, scattered by her eyelashes.

Mostly, she is quiet. And she stays close. ]

[gynvael]

[ In the silence, the sun sinks behind the horizon. His chest feels heavy. Ciri's weight against him is absolute. He digs the nails of his free hand into the loose sandy dirt, the scant dry grass. Really, he's just—exhausted to shit. But Ciri is here, so he pushes aside the distinct urge to lay facedown in that sad trickle of a stream.

He breathes out. It's a few minutes before he finally speaks up. ] You know Jaskier will hound you for life if you blame yourself. Only one of us needs to be subjected to him. Have I told you about the time he stole my clothes?

[ He already knows Jaskier will be worried about her more than anything. If he's awake. (He'll be awake.) Geralt's not certain how that draught Sam's got works, but he does distinctly recall Sam telling him it carried the same properties as the crystals. A problem for Sam to deal with, for the time being. At least Jaskier's mind is unlikely to carry dark images.

His fingers slide over a smooth flat stone, his other arm still around Ciri. He considers, then lays it on the ground before them. When he finds another, he stacks it on top, delicately balanced. It's as much to keep himself occupied, but. There's an unspoken invitation for Ciri to join if she wants. Perhaps they both need to just not fucking think right now. Night's longer, with winter just weeks away. They have too many hours to wait out before they can ride. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ Geralt will only know she's not asleep due to her breathing and heart rate, she sits so still for several minutes. It's not until he speaks that she stirs slightly, sits up just enough to discreetly wipe the traces of tears on her sleeve. She doesn't pull away. ]

No... you haven't.

[ She doesn't make any comment toward whether or not she blames herself, and how Jaskier may or may not hound her for it. That'll have to be between them. Later. When the bard is awake again. When he's okay. ]

Why did he do that?

[ Her eyes follow Geralt's hand, the way the stones lie on top of one another in delicate balance. For now, she doesn't join in. But she's watching, and she's focusing on something else -- so that's a start. ]

[gynvael]

[ Geralt doesn't press. Not about that. He feels too much like he's finding his way in the dark, still trying to catch up with everything that's happening. He just. He hadn't known. That's what it comes down to. To Ciri, he does. He has known all of these things about her for years, has probably helped her through it, learned from the mistakes he's undoubtedly made along the way. But for him, right now—

She's answering, so he holds onto that, tenuous though it is. ]

He decided it was the ideal way in which to get me into new clothes, and lost both to the damn river. I nearly left him in the woods that day. But we did discover it's possible for me to get into his silk breeches.

[ There's some fondness, in how he tells it, something he doesn't often let through when it comes to Jaskier. He stacks another stone on top, turning it until it sits without wobbling. Thinks of the knucklebones he found in her room, and wonders if he ever played it with her while they were travelling, while they were at Kaer Morhen. When she was younger. They're memories he can only imagine at best. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ As Geralt tells the story, Ciri's eyes move from his hands to his face, watching him. There is a note of fondness in his voice. How they must have bickered. It seems to be a happy memory.

She almost cracks a smile, imagining it. ]

I'm certain you looked very fashionable. [ She says this in a way that makes it clear she thinks he probably looked rather silly, in fact.

After a moment, she reaches down finally to grab a flattish stone of her own and start a little pile next to Geralt's. ]

If you were wearing his trousers, what was left for Jaskier?

[ Talking about him makes Ciri worry-- but she was already worried, and at least this way, the subject is lighter, if he's going to be on her mind anyway. ]

[gynvael]

He tried to tell me the same.

[ A smallest curl lifts his lips, at least for a moment. There are, if he sits and thinks about it, dozens of stories he has about Jaskier. Even for a Witcher, two decades is awhile. A long time to have—a companion. He wonders if Ciri has any of her own. If he and Jaskier were still...friends, that many more years, he imagines Jaskier must've spent plenty of time with her, too.

He gives a soft snort. Very little was what. ] His complete lack of shame.

[ Another flat rock joins. He glances over while Ciri builds her structure. His shoulders relax just a touch. A light breeze stirs the dry earth around them. They'll be all right, her and Jaskier. It's a thought he holds firm because, right now, dwelling on the alternative will do nothing to help.

Besides, Red is here, waiting to guide them the rest of the way come morning. Geralt wants to think, if Jaskier were gone, his magic and its creations would be, too. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ This time, her lips do quirk up as she looks over. Some of the tension sloughs off of her shoulders. She intersperses finishing the jerky she'd left in her lap with reaching over to nudge stones in place, and listens to any further embarrassing stories of Jaskier's Geralt might divulge into the quiet of the night with only the occasional, increasingly sleepy interjection.

Eventually, exhaustion takes its toll, and the anxiety and adrenaline have drained away enough to let her rest. She nods off in the middle of one of Geralt's tales, head heavy on his shoulder, and dozes there until Geralt nudges her closer to the fire and the blankets.

Some force of nature must have taken pity on her at last; it is a blissfully dreamless sleep. ]