Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-10-01 09:35 pm
cointosser) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-10-01 09:35 pm
[ CLOSED ] when I'm like this, you're the one I trust
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.]
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.]
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[He gives Geralt a smile, not quite knowing the situation, but knowing it makes perfect sense Geralt is here, and he is relieved. Something did happen. Something terrible. To him. The pain is quite evidence of that -- but it's moreso he can tell Geralt is relieved.
Jaskier watches him with his head tilted to the side. It is exactly because Jaskier is trying to gather what is going on -- realizing that his last memory is impossible, because Yennefer is not here and she cannot look like that (is he in Horizon? No, this place isn't Sam's home, and it feels. Different,) that he doesn't argue with Sam's order to stay. Though he doesn't really want to move much because it reignites the soreness, at any other moment he would've enjoyed being held down and told what to do in such a sexy way.
He turns his head only enough to see Geralt slipping away. There is only enough time for him to say,] Geralt is fine. I promise.
[It may sound callous, but it isn't meant to be. Jaskier has seen him so much worse. Knows very well what Geralt in trouble is. He has a sense of... sort of what has happened. The magic in him, in the air, at least. He can feel it. Taste the remnants of a potion still in his mouth.]
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When Sam catches up to him (of course Sam catches up to him), Geralt isn't thinking when he starts to push Sam off—an animal impulse that does not want to be touched when he's weakened—but Sam's grip does ground him, and his scent is familiar. He lets himself put some of his weight on Sam. The questions register; he simply hasn't got the mind to answer them right now, so he starts towards the couch instead. Likely, he leans too heavily on Sam getting there, but at least they make it and his knees don't buckle. He'll take it.
He collapses onto the couch with a grunt. His head is pounding, and the tips of his fingers tingle. He's cold in a way he almost never is—a deep chill underneath the surface of his skin. He takes a second to close his eyes before he looks back at Sam: focused, for the moment. ]
You haven't done anything to me. [ It bothers him, more than a little, more than it should, that this is Sam's first thought. Like he'd done something wrong. Which he hadn't. Sam did exactly what Geralt needed him to, without hesitation, and he can count on one hand the number of people he can trust to do so. The last thing he wants is Sam regretting that. ] You saved his life. I owe you.
[ Fuck. He's too tired to put effort into staying upright; now that he's sitting, he wants to be vertical altogether. He grapples around the cushions on the couch, knocks a couple to the ground so he can lay back. The truth of it is, it doesn't occur to him that Sam finds his condition alarming to any real extent, and he's too out of it to read Sam how he normally might've. Geralt's been at death's door so often, this isn't anywhere near the worst. He needs sleep, something to eat when he wakes. As long as he's breathing, his body will sort itself out. That's what they made him for. ]
She thinks she did it. [ Geralt doesn't explain; his eyes are already slipping shut. Is Ciri here? He needs to talk to her, and he's worried she's vanished somewhere again. (Like before.) ] Look in on her for me.
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when they make it to the piece of furniture sam has used as his bed for - what is it, months now? and while he tries to set geralt down with any kind of care and gentleness, the weight of him landing hard into the worn into cushions. immediately, sam is moving to unclasp things, to settle geralt into what he is assuming is going to b a deep sleep, grabbing the blankets he keeps under the couch itself and trying to make it more comfortable, when all he can do is focus on just how much colder geralt feels. the weight of his limbs as they moved. his voice, low and scraped gravel, catches sam's attention for just long enough for his eyes to shift - pausing in his quick, hurried tasks. ] You sure about that? Cause you look like shit. More than usual.
[ and that's the thing, isn't it? sam is used to making mistakes. used to making decisions that don't always work out for everyone. but he has to know what he did to fix it, has to be able to name it. but the next words pull a little of that forced humor from his voice, and sam freezes a bit in them as geralt wrestles with the cushions. he's exhausted, pushing forward with a mixture of adrenaline and purpose, but even that combination doesn't keep him from hearing the simple truth in geralt's voice. and when he answers, he kind of want geralt to know he means it. even if his attention is on getting horizontal, more than any sense of exchanged favors.
sam chooses, then, to let that wait - doing his best to grab at the cushions still in geralt's way, tossing a blanket over him whether or not geralt wants it. he's of course still worried, and that vibrating tension does not leave even as geralt gets settled. even as his eyes fall closed.
sam feels himself smile as geralt's tired words almost seem to slur over his last thoughts, asking sam - once again - to check on ciri. to help keep her safe. sam reaches over, tucking another of the comforters over geralt's frame, even if he knows the other man has all but passed out. ]
I'll check up on her. Make sure she makes it back.
[ and then geralt is out. sam hovers for just a minute, maybe a minute more, to make sure his breathing is even. consistent. slowed heartrate or not, sam just needs to know there is a steady rhythm before he can leave. and he does, heading back into the small kitchen area and picking up the food he'd been trying to pull together from earlier.
it's not much - now cool broth, a mug of water, but he carries it with him back into jaskier's room all the same, feeling an oddly familiar sense of shifting reactions, of picking himself up, and when he steps further inside, a bit of that relief from earlier returns as well to find that jaskier had, apparently, stayed in bed. sam smiles a little, not exactly covering up his concern so much as choosing to focus on the fact jaskier - after what he assumes is nearly two days - is finally awake. ]
Hungry?
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He lays back down, looking at the roof above. It is not the first time he has woken in a bed, not quite remembering where he was. And then small bits of memories sneaking their way back in.
Jaskier jerks and reaches for his arm. It's there. (He was almost afraid it would be gone.) It's there, and it's whole, but there's... there's something wrong with its shape.
His breathing hitches. He decides not to look at it right now. Like a good patient, he waits for Sam to return. (To explain.) And ever-dependable Sam, as Jaskier has learned, does return soon enough, though the minutes dragged like hours.
Jaskier watches his face carefully, both to read his mood and divine exactly what has happened out of his eyesight. He decides what he sees there, whatever it is, he does not worry too much about Geralt.]
Not really. But, I think, it may behoove me to eat. [He doesn't move, though. A bit of a tease.] Am I allowed to move now, sir? [He takes a breath. It's harder to push out the words than he knows it should be.] I do recall you were quite adamant.
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jaskier's response - coherent, together, complete - has sam smiling just a bit wider. moving to come to the side of the bed he'd spent most of the last night and day before. ] It'd certainly behoove something. [ god, he's never going to get over their vocabulary differences, is he? but even so, it is all said with fondness. a kind of tiredness that is expected, given the last two days.
it's not until jaskier says sir that sam, having been almost distracted by what he should be worried about, looks back. lifts a brow. ] You know, it kind of sounds like you like following orders. [ which, for all that has happened, carries an inflection of that playful flirtations, of an easily curled smile. if it were any other day, sam would probably keep up the tone. the joke. the back and forth. but as it stands, he sets the broth and water down on whatever nightstand might be provided and pulls a chair up to settle next to jaskier's bed. ] Yes, you can sit up. [ and then, because he doesn't think he can put off the question for much longer. ] How do you feel?
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It cannot be easy having all of them be so... so apparently here.]
Only when the right man gives them.
[He doesn't have it in him for a wiggling eyebrow or a teasing purse of his lips, but it is miraculous that, over a few strained moments, he manages to sit up. His movements are slow and calculated, and Jaskier cannot help but brace for pain in case it moves over him again. There was so much of it. That, at least, he recalls.]
Oh, you were begging to ask, weren't you? [He rubs his face, his eyes closing. He feels... well, with a poet's soul, he feels very much. But the answer comes to him quite simply.] Overwhelmed. [He lowers his hand and turns to Sam.] Yet quite simply alive.
[He knows some time must have passed. If only because he knows what that sort of worry in Geralt's face looked like. And, now, he sees hints of it in Sam.] You must be exhausted as well. Please tell me you're the type to take time for yourself after all this running around.
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ciri’s still out there - and while he knows she can’t get too far, not with red watching, it’s still another unaccounted for body. and alina, god alina, sam is already starting to think about how he’s supposed to explain all this to her.
all the same, jaskier’s teasing smile, flirting tone, does wonders for sam’s stress. because yes - either jaskier feels good enough to joke, or at the very least has the energy to put up a front. ]
Didn’t we already talk about this? [ sam recalls a conversation about being mister right, a dance, a front lawn and a gentle kiss in the kitchen. still, he smiles, feels encouraged by it all as he suddenly tenses when jaskier moves to sit - arms at the ready if he needs the help.
when jaskier settles, so does sam, watching with a close eye to see if there’s anything else wrong. anything he catches. ] I bet. [ after all of that, who wouldn’t feel overwhelmed? but it’s when jaskier turns to him, says very much alive the relief and happiness and all together light air to his smile is easy to read. ] And good. It was a close call there for a moment.
[ sam sees a flash of jaskier’s seizing body, the fading color, the irregular heart rate. he still doesn’t quite know what happened, still hasn’t quite pieces together why things happened the way they did, but. they’re better. jaskier is better.
sam snorts at jaskier’s worry, immediately turning to pick up the cup of water, leaning over a bit to hand it to him but not quite letting go - unsure if jaskier will need the help. ] I’m doing better than you, or Geralt, at this point. Plus, exhaustion and I go way back. This is nothing new.
[ sam looks at jaskier, pointedly. drink the water. ]
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[As if he's forgotten. It's not the sole reason he recalls reaching for Sam's hand and holding it there, but it certainly was part of it. And now those images are filtering back to him, albeit slowly and, mostly, in a jumble.
He breathes a laugh.] A close call. Is that what it was?
[He feels that's perhaps the boldest euphemism he's heard for a man who was rapidly tearing down death's door, but it's not lost on him that Sam is often careful with his words. A much softer bedside manner than he's ever had with most healers. Even Chireadan, a rarity among even human healers, had been rather gentle with his pronouncement that Jaskier was definitely going to die.
Jaskier had absolutely been about to die. He was not kidding himself. And as much as that thought terrified him, it changed nothing to not believe it, either.]
I don't believe it's quite hard to be doing better than me. Don't brag about it. [He does take the cup, though it's slow and his hands shake a bit, as if he hasn't eaten in -- ah. Days. That would explain it.
He doesn't bring it to his mouth yet. Give him a second to remember he has a body, please.] You know I want to ask. [He turns to meet Sam's pointed gaze. He is so beyond immune to pointed gazes at this point.] What he did. I don't... really remember. Is he all right?
[He'd said Geralt would be -- because Geralt always was -- but now he is worried, a little bit, that Sam brought up his condition at all.
Somehow it brings to mind the wound Geralt came here with. The bite. The one that... should have killed him, too.
Fuck. They were all so very good at almost dying, weren't they?]
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[ perhaps it was much more. perhaps jaskier may have been at, if not beyond, death’s doorstep. but it doesn’t matter now, knowing that he’s fine. that he’s sitting up, he’s laughing, and even if he looks just a bit too fragile and a bit too weak. ]
I won’t brag if you don’t try and turn the attention back in me. [ sam’s brow lifts, marginally combative, before he’s immediately leaning forward with the cup in hand. he’s gentle, with jaskier. patient. there’s not an inch of him pushing further or faster than he thinks jaskier wants to go.
he sits back only when it’s obvious jaskier has the cup in hand, eyes glancing to the door for a brief moment before letting out a breath. ] He’s passed out, but okay. Stable. [ he’s starting to hate the sound of that word, after today.
sam sighs, arms crossing over her chest. what he did. that’s a damn good question. it’s something sam is still trying to piece together himself. ] Honestly, I have no idea. He mentioned channeling, and that you were being drained, and that I had to take his arm and your hand and just kind of… [ sam gestures. that.
but then, a moment later, sam softens - eyes turning back to jaskier. ] What do you remember?
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Passed out? [He stares at the water, then brings it up slowly to drink. It's odd. Passing out. He only does when he's been injured, to allow his body to heal. He's worried and he isn't, but... gods, it says a lot that Geralt allowed himself to go unconscious. Here. In front of Sam.
To save him. What had he done, though? He remembered the potion. Some of... what he must have seen. Honestly, where the fuck had Sam even gotten that thing?]
Channeling. [He lifts his head.] I think I know. I've read it in one of the books here. [What the fuck had Geralt gone and done that before? He isn't even sure if he'd vaguely mentioned it to him or not. Had he? It was the act of... of sacrifice. Of magic sacrifice.
And Geralt did not have magic. Not like the rest of them.
So that's why. Why Sam was needed.]
He gave his life for me. [It's that simple. That infuriatingly simple. The Witcher that did not like being involved.
Jaskier smiles, and turns to him with a lightness in his chest.] Pleasant dreams. Warm hands. Your charming smile. [He winked.] Much better than the last time this happened.
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I think he was trying to make it out the door. He didn't get far.
[ the potion was another conversation entirely. sam would tell jaskier all about it, if he asked, but it's not that interesting a story. the tunnels, the worm, the stolen crystal. how sam has had this potion tucked away for months, trying to find a moment to use it. this was the right use for it, he knows that; he just never thought it would be with everything else, around it.
when jaskier lifts his head, though, sam's attention comes back to him. ] You read about it here? [ so it's something, at least. something they knew could happen, and wasn't just entirely a risk. except then jaskier says gave his life and sam pauses, just for a moment. because something about the words, about the puzzle pieces of what they could all mean, suddenly feels a lot more dangerous than sam had realized.
but it only lasts for a moment, because then jaskier is smiling, winking, saying things like warm hands and charming smiles. so of course sam finds himself smiling in return, laughing - once - at the idea of all of the danger and magic and fear and pain has a last time. even after just recently brought back from the brink of death, and already jaskier is lightening the mood. lightening sam's mood. ]
Have you thought about not finding yourself in mortal peril?
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[He moves the cup slowly in circles, spinning it with small movements of his fingers. The movements with the injured arm feel somehow off, but he cannot quite tell how. It's not pain, really. More like a gentle pulling, like of a strand of hair, deep inside his arm. At the question, Jaskier nods. He did so much reading in Thorne, and now here. Learning the entirety of a world in a few months was quite the undertaking, if you asked him. On top of learning magic.
Luckily he'd always been a good student.
He hums something close to a laugh.] Ah, but unfortunately, it is not I who goes looking for mortal peril. It is completely out of my hands if my friends are so good at nearly sending me to an early grave.
[He thinks with Sam, he understands the lightness of Jaskier's tone -- that he doesn't blame either one of them. And then suddenly, he laughs.] Oh. Like father, like daughter. They've both had their attempt.
[He may be a little loopy still, but there is some sort of cosmic comedy to it. That both Geralt and Ciri have almost killed him. Through no fault of their own. That he may, in the future, already be quite dead. Was Destiny toying with him now? With a man who walked both sides of the grave? Ah, now he understands Hector so much better. That he did not ask the vampires to turn him; he did not want to face eternity. Has a month of this thinking turned him into some sort of realist?
It's much more likely that being so close to death has situated him into a feeling of shock.] I bet you regret tumbling into our terrible little troupe.
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as long as he's sleeping, that's all sam can really ask for at this point.
he's curious about what all jaskier has read. there seems to be so much about magic in this world that sam has barely scratched the surface of, a kind of situation where sam would prefer to remain removed from if he can help it, but the longer he stays the more he realizes he...well. he can't, really, can he? he makes a note to maybe ask jaskier about more of it, later. when he's not loopy with... whatever just happened.
sam's brow arches at the comment, though - curious but unsure if now is really the time. ] Geralt? Really? [ but then sam eases back from that curiosity, if only because he's not entirely sure jaskier wants to talk about the last time he almost died. his tone is still light, though - just as much of that laughter, of the lack of blame - when he speaks. ] Okay, well, have you thought about getting better friends?
[ he can see something cross jaskier's eyes, then - a seriousness, and maybe something else. being that close to death, that shrouded in pain, it puts quite a bit of the world in a different light, and he wonders what it is jaskier's so worried about.
but the thing is - sam can feel himself getting settled, into this spot. a chair next to a bedside, a familiar place for him. but sam also knows that he can't quite get settled, either. he promised geralt he would go after ciri, and he still needs to. red is watching her know, so he knows he has a little time, but he can't get too comfortable. he's not even entirely sure what happened, but he remembers the look on her face, when she'd entered. the way she'd backed away so quickly. it feels a bit like sam is sinking further and further in over his head, but he has to try, doesn't he?
at the question, sam blinks - pulling himself out of his thoughts. ] What? [ then he smiles, laughs a little as a hand runs back over his neck. it feels a bit ridiculous, that he could regret being in this seat, this position, with these people. if anything, this is the first time sam's felt like he's done anything since being pulled through that portal. but how does someone explain that? ] Nah, not even close. [ and even if his words are light, airy and easy, there is a genuine honesty to each and every one of them. sam hasn't even considered anything about this being too much, or anywhere close to something he wouldn't want or somewhere he wouldn't want to be. ]
But you sure keep things interesting, I'll give y'all that.
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[Okay, that sounds terrible, but he's not in a mind to be really paying attention. Jaskier shakes his head.
No. He hasn't thought about it. His friends are perfectly fine. And as he looks at Sam, he knows that even as the group he considers friends grows wider, the quality has not dropped at all.
With all his complaints, it possibly sounds like Jaskier would not attempt to defend Geralt. But he would be the first to do so, if his character were on trial. Despite his faults -- and they are many, specifically his penchant for being gooey, gory, or sticky -- he is. A good friend.]
You're a glutton for punishment, I see. A regular masochist. [He drains the rest of his water, setting the cup aside.] They may never say it, but we're all very glad you're here. Specifically me, of course. And whatever potion you put in me. I'll have to find a new one to replace it, since apparently we're to be in dire need of potions to bring one back from the brink of death.