[ 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]

[ 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. ]