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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She swallows, looking away when Geralt says that, feeling... useless. And sad. She hadn't even been able to hold things together while Geralt was gone. ]
Take me with you. [ Ciri says instead of answering, looking back up to meet his eyes. ] When you go back out to look for him.
Let me help.
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When his reply comes, it's softened—for him—but no less honest. ]
What we might find, it's unlikely to be good news.
[ He isn't saying no. He gets it, that itch to do something, anything. Especially when such a core part of her, her magic, left her feeling out of control. He just wants to make sure she understands what they're heading into. ]
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I am aware.
I can handle it.
[ Even if they find his half-chewed-up corpse out in the desert. In truth, that would be better than not finding him at all because at least Alina and Sam would have answers. ]
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(His feelings have more than only to do with Ciri, but as always, Geralt has stubbornly avoided speaking of Yennefer at all.)
He can offer Ciri this, though. So he will. ]
You'll need a blade of your own. [ The apple crunches between his teeth. ] If we commission one tomorrow, she'll have it ready by next week.
[ There should be enough coin. He's satisfied with the smith he'd found, after a couple of weeks with his own sword. ]
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After this though, the need to feel a sword in her hands and some semblance of control -- to have something she can do and feel confident doing -- is suddenly overwhelming.
Ciri had been ready to argue her case; she's immensely relieved she won't have to. Geralt seems to understand.
Of course he understands. ]
Tomorrow it is.
[ Though next week feels like a long time from now, Ciri understands it will take time to forge a good blade. And frankly, if they're being grimly honest, it's unlikely Mal will turn up alive whether they leave tomorrow or in a week.
It still feels better than doing nothing. ]
...Sam's landlady bequeath any liquor upon him alongside this feast?
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As for liquor— ]
No. [ He reaches into a cupboard to remove a bottle of vodka. It's topped up enough, but the cork's pushed in half-heartedly, as though someone's clearly already gotten into it and intends to do so again soon. (It's him. He's someone.) Geralt offers it to her. ] But I did.
[ He may or may not have slipped into the tavern next door some time last night or early this morning. Eating all of Sam's food is one thing, but drinking all of the man's liquor feels a step too far. ]
Think the bard could use some now that he's learned he's not to attend his own burial? [ He isn't asking Ciri how she is or how Jaskier is doing; he heard it, their talk, and Ciri understands that he has. That she will be all right given some time. There isn't much to discuss past that, and he especially doesn't want to make her go over that conversation a second time with him. Jaskier imagining he's been dead this entire time, though—honestly. What the fuck. ]
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That's the stuff. [ She sets the bottle down with a thud between them on the table. ] Better than I expected it to taste.
[ Geralt's quip about Jaskier's misconception actually earns him a snort of laughter. Ciri shakes her head, chasing up the vodka with the rest of her bread. ]
We could all use it, I think. But-- shit. [ Ciri rakes her hands through her bangs, shoving them aside. ] I can't believe he just walked around miserable over something so ridiculous for weeks.
[ In fairness, if he'd been right, and he'd asked-- what would she have even said? What can she tell them? Is the future set in stone? Is destiny?
Ciri swears under her breath and reaches for the bottle again. ]
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I'm sure he's pleased he's as obnoxiously famous as ever.
[ He's making light of the whole incident; it's easier to do so. Something about Jaskier's presumption, atop his recent near-death experience, reminds him that Jaskier is. Human. Which he's obviously aware of, it's just—in general, he prefers not to consider it. The knowledge that there will be a time when Jaskier is no longer here.
Ciri curses, and Geralt wonders if they share a similar thought. The moment the vodka is free from her grasp, he takes it, too, for a swig. It's been a quiet day so far. With luck, it'll stay that way. ]
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[ At least as far as Ciri knows. She just shrugs and grunts in vague assent, sopping up the broth from her stew with a fresh slice of bread. The magic may have healed and given her energy before, but her stomach now reminds her after those few gulps of vodka that she's barely eaten anything the last couple days. The heat of the liquor in her belly is already traveling up to her head. At least, it feels that way.
Her limbs seem suddenly heavy, and when she finishes her bowl, Ciri rests her arms crossed on the table, leaning far onto them so she's slouched over halfway across the tabletop.
For a while, she lets the silence stretch out, occasionally taking drinks when Geralt isn't. ]
All that... [ she sighs suddenly, dropping her forehead onto her arms. ] And he still insists he'd like to help me practice controlling my magic.
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He snorts. Is he surprised to hear that? No. Not one bit. Though he thinks Jaskier would be helpful around her when they aren't actively slinging spells. He's...
Heartfelt. At least can distract her with his fucking awful humour.
But there's someone else who might actually be able to talk Ciri through what the fuck is going on. And now that they've broached the topic, Geralt can't sidestep it any longer. So he takes another drink and sets the bottle down. ] Are you able to reach Yennefer?
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No.
I looked. This morning. But... she hasn't made her own piece of that other plane yet.
[ For a moment, Ciri hesitates, the way her voice wavers hanging onto the end of that sentence like she might say more. It takes a minute before she actually gets to it. She has to summon up the energy to lift her head back up, arms crossed on the table in front of her and eyebrows creased uncertainly. ]
When I couldn't find anywhere that seemed hers, I looked through the rooms in Kaer Morhen. In case she had one, like I do.
I found something. But I think it was left for you. It was, er... in your room.
Sorry for prying. Did you receive any other notes from her? I haven't been able to speak with her since that first time, so I have no idea--
[ Ciri pauses again, trying to gather her thoughts, growing increasingly slipperier in her head. She sniffs, and realizes with a bit of a shock that her eyes are watering. ]
I will not ask after your private matters, but if you've talked to her at all recently, please tell me.
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His fingers curl and uncurl around the edge of the kitchen table. He tries not to think about the implications behind Ciri believing Yennefer might have a place in Kaer Morhen. They obviously have a different relationship, in Ciri's time, and it makes everything twice as complicated. Expectations where Geralt does not want to have any.
Yennefer is working towards her own ambitions in Thorne. For Ciri's sake, for her own, whatever it is she is telling herself these days, he doesn't give a fuck. Doesn't want to care. The last time they spoke in the Horizon is the last time he will let himself sink into what he knows he isn't meant to have. He moved on a year ago, before this world forced her back into his life. He intends to move on again.
When he finally turns to Ciri, his expression is careful. His brows knit together. ] Ciri, I can promise you if I knew anything about Yennefer, I'd have told you immediately. When I last saw her, she had no memories. [ And yet. She had found her way to him. Lingered around him with an instinctive familiarity. (It's not real.)
He hesitates. I found something. He shouldn't ask. He shouldn't—both because he doesn't want to know and because it will imply Geralt's not seen whatever it is Ciri has found. That he's specifically not stepped into his room for the past month or so. ] What did you find?
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She rubs the edge of her sleeve over her eyes. ]
A pendant. You haven't seen it yet?
[ She assumes this means it's a new token, that Yennefer has been by Geralt's room recently and he wasn't there. ]
There was a note, but it didn't include any information. Only said it was for someone important. A gift for you, I suppose...
I just wish she'd let us know how she's faring. That she's safe and out of the dungeons, at least. Can't she be a little less cryptic?
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No. [ His frown deepens. A gift. He gives a soft huff, not meant in reply to Ciri. Just. Of course. She had left behind a token, before vanishing completely. How very like her. Someone important. As if that meant anything now. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't.
He places a hand on Ciri's arm. The girl looks miserable. He can't assure her they'll find Yennefer, but he can assure her of one thing: ] She's not a prisoner.
[ He's almost certain of that. That she was able to enter that plane at all tells him she's maneuvered her way into most of Thorne's good graces. As far as he remembers, none who remained in Thorne were prisoners. They'd fled to Nott. Yen must've joined the ranks of those welcomed in order to be brought into the Horizon. And he's glad for that. That she's safe. But it also makes her silence sting that much more. ]
Her absence is not to do with you. [ He searches for a way to explain that isn't I fucked it up, and so did she and comes up empty. ] I'll see what I can do to contact her.
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But Geralt is here. She looks at his hand over her arm. Again, she chooses to believe him. It's all she can do right now. ]
...all right. I'll let you know if I manage to reach her too.
I don't know if she can help, but... if anyone can... maybe. [ It's not just that. Ciri just wants to see her. Even if it makes her a bit afraid, too. It's hard not to overthink it when Yennefer has the means to reach out to them and clearly hasn't. ]
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For a moment he thinks of asking, Did she ever help before? He doesn't. Ciri must've sought Yennefer for her magic, and yet it's Ciri herself who explained to him that she's not ever had full control over her Chaos. Whatever assistance Yennefer may have tried to provide the girl back home, back in her time, it's clearly not been enough. Not even after all these years. And he isn't sure it will be now, either, with the Singularity being an added complication. But that isn't what's important, in the end. What's important is that Ciri believes Yennefer might help, that there is someone out there she trusts who can help.
So Geralt decides not to question it. Not yet. She needs to even speak to Yen first. In the meantime, Geralt is here where Yennefer is not. He can't give her much guidance over her magic. But he can take her mind off of it, off of what happened, off Yennefer altogether, and he's at least beginning to learn how to do so with Ciri. ]
Why don't we go now? To see the smith. [ Still daylight out. The woman should be available for another couple hours. ] I could use some air.
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Ciri sniffs again, rubbing her face, and nods with a touch more enthusiasm. For now, she puts the rest out of her mind. She's told Geralt what she can; he's promised her all that he can in return. After this, it will be up to Yennefer -- and Ciri will just have to keep checking in. She determines to ask the wolf in Geralt's domain to keep an eye out. She knows the beast is not entirely an animal, and if it can take messages for Geralt, then it can act as lookout too. Small steps, but even that is progress. So she reminds herself, and resolves to focus on what she can do.
Namely, get a proper weapon. Arm herself in a way she knows. No magic, just cold, hard steel.
Ciri wipes her mouth and pushes off the table with both hands, standing quickly. ]
Me too.
[ The sooner the better.
As it turns out, the afternoon air -- cooler lately, though not nearly as cool as the season should be -- does a lot to clear her head. ]
* * *
[ The meeting with the smith had gone well, as Ciri had known it would since Geralt had recommended the woman. But even if she were the most competent smith on the planet, one can only work so swiftly and still turn out a quality product.
Ciri has been impatient these last few days. She's spent her time outside more often than not, at the library or the market, poring over maps, gathering materials she'll need for longer trips outside the city. As promised, she consults with some apothecaries and provides Jaskier with ointments and strict instructions, relieved to see him regaining his strength quickly. But the rest of the time is simply waiting.
Until the day she'd been promised a finished blade. ]
Geralt. Let's go.
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He's been worried. Not exactly that it could happen again, but that Ciri is...That Ciri needs more than he's capable of. A part of him keeps searching for a way he can help, only he knows he can't. Not how she truly needs. And it's not the first time he's wanted to and failed to help someone. Hardly. It's only that this is the first time it feels so fucking important.
So it is for her, that Geralt has put extra coin towards Ciri's weapon to both encourage the smith to prioritize it and for something a bit more. But it's also that this is all he knows how to give.
Maybe it's not enough. He isn't sure. Still, Ciri shows up the morning of practically bouncing, and he can admit her eagerness settles some of the uncertainty he's felt. He turns around to face her with one eyebrow raised, a spoon stuck in his mouth and a bowl in one hand. There's fondness in his expression, though, even as he sighs and shovels the rest of breakfast into his mouth. ]
She's assured me your sword will not walk away if you don't retrieve it on the hour. [ It's only a gentle prod. He's already pocketing the key to their room and following Ciri out the door.
Fortunately, the smith isn't far. She seems to spot him from a distance; by the time he steps up to her, Ciri's weapon is already presented on the table. Geralt stands aside so Ciri can examine it—and because there's one more thing he wants to give her afterwards. Once they're both satisfied with the workmanship. ]
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It's not as though this will fix everything. A sword won't close the gap between her and Yennefer; it won't bring Mal back; it won't undo the damage she's done to Jaskier or help her control her dangerous powers; it won't bring them closer to figuring out how to get back to their proper times and places. But it will make her feel better. And it will make her more useful.
And for that, Ciri is suddenly brimming with anxious eagerness, desperately wanting to feel-- complete might be the word for it. She hasn't spent so long without a proper weapon in years. Even if the city doesn't call for its necessity on a day to day basis, she's still felt out of sorts, itching to train and practice in the real world, not only in the Horizon.
When she thanks the smith and picks up the sword, Ciri knows immediately. The familiar feeling washes over her, relief and excitement, pulse quickening in her veins, fingers tightening on the hilt; and yet, she is also perfectly calm, concentrating on the weight and balance of the steel in her hands. She moves it from one palm into the other, fast but controlled, not swinging it around but testing with minute angles of her wrists how it feels in one position or another, then with both hands, making sure the grip is long enough and the blade is light enough to move exactly as she needs it to. Satisfied with the result, Ciri nods toward the smith with respect. ]
This is a fine blade.
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Satisfactory, he thinks. Ciri feels the same. The smith looks pleased with the compliment, even if her reply is a confident, Of course it is.
Geralt drops the remainder of the payment into her outstretched palm. It's a little more than what's owed for a single sword—the reason for which becomes apparent when she gives him one more thing in return. It's smaller, sheathed in leather: a silver dagger, not especially intricate in its design but as well-crafted as the sword. A snarling wolf head is engraved in the pommel. He's noticed the medallion Ciri has given herself inside the Horizon. (Sometimes it strikes him all over again how much Ciri simply belongs in Kaer Morhen.)
He holds it out for her to take. ] You shouldn't go hunting without any silver.
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Ciri blinks. Geralt is turning toward her now, holding something. A dagger.
She steps forward to take it in her free hand, eyes wide when she sees the wolf. ]
Geralt...
[ Her voice wavers, just a tiny bit, throat suddenly gone tight. She blinks again. Then smiles, soft and sincere, all the way to her eyes. ]
Thank you, Geralt. I'll rely on it.
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Perhaps a steel dagger for Jaskier in the future. Just in case.
He smiles back, a rare one that's a little more than a subtle curl to his lips. ] We'll ride when you're ready.
[ He knows she'll need a couple more pieces of gear. But this is a good start. And then they'd see what they could find out there, if anything, about Mal. ]