[ CLOSED ] eyes black, big paws

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: March
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: Catch-all
Warnings: Standard Witcher canon; nsfw marked.


and it's poison in his blood;
we took you right from your mother's womb;

discontinued | quantifies | starters below.

Comments

[gynvael]

[ He rolls his eyes. It is not, as Jaskier well knows, about the coin. In some ways, it never was. Not even back before they met. Perhaps he's simply more willing to acknowledge that these days. To himself, at least.

Once Jaskier sits in his palm, Geralt transfers him to his shoulder. The soft feathers tickle his ear.

Is he? It isn't accurate to say one way or the other. He pushes open the door sectioning off the copper tub. ]

Gods, war, the Singularity... [ He puts Jaskier on the edge of the tub, then strips off his leathers, his shirt. ] What comes will come.

[ He sinks into the steaming water and stretches out his leg as far as he can. He rubs his thumb into the muscle of his thigh, where the bone aches. They have made this sphere their home. He has no wish to run from its threats. Wherever they go, they will face something. If not gods, the Wild Hunt. If not power hungry monarchs in Thorne, then power hungry emperors in Nilfgaard.

He isn't here because it's safe. He's here because no matter the dangers, Ciri will never be the sole target the world pursues. Not how she was on the Continent. ]

What talk have you heard from the townsfolk?

[ About the storms, the Summoned. He knows Jaskier frequents every tavern and street corner. ]

[cointosser]

[He knows it isn't. But still, he's never missed an opportunity to poke a bit of fun. Or remind Ciri or Geralt of the goldmine they're sitting on. Some days he wish it wasn't just him spending the coin.

Then again, he does invest it. In clothes, mostly. And Nadine's new shop.

Jaskier fluffs himself up.] Don't get all fatalistic on me now.

[He doesn't argue the point. There's nothing they can really do about it as of right now. If it comes... it comes. Like the storms, they will weather it. Things can be changed. They've already broken free of the path Destiny originally set.

Jaskier carefully flutters over the surface of the water before safely landing on Geralt's unharmed knee, carefully ducking under the water and shaking himself vigorously as the wet whips about. He does it over and over again, a bit of an instinct carried over by all his times being a songbird.

It feels good, all right?]

Nothing particularly illuminating, only that this weather's not unprecedented, but is unnatural. It's gotten people missing. The worst of people others notice missing, I mean. [He thinks the words a tad more slowly so they send in a way that isn't annoying to read when one's relaxing in a tub.

Or when he's dunking his head in the water.

He stills, moving his feet a bit higher so they're not standing in water.]

Do you recall when we came back from Ikorr... in the portal. Something happened there. I'm not one to be superstitious, as you know, but this time... this feels like an omen.

[gynvael]

[ In all honesty? Geralt can't find a reason to discourage Jaskier from bathing as a bird. It saves room in the tub; there's plenty of space for him to stretch his legs this way. He releases his hair from its cord, a rare act that suggests just how filthy he feels. The grit of sand is much different than blood or dirt, and the steam causes bits of it to clump and stick.

So mostly what they've all discerned, then. Unnatural. How long before the Summoned bear the brunt of the blame in the eyes of the townsfolk? ]

Mm. [ He lathers the soap. ] A warning, more like. I think we were being spoken to.

[ And that's troubling, in and of itself. What does it mean if these entities take a closer interest in them? And why? The Singularity has always been a point of concern, but the gods have been more distant. The last time they made themselves known, it was the Heralds—and those were...hm. It felt like a response.

This does not. This feels like a greeting. A beckoning.

A long silence passes. Then: ] I'm no stranger to forces beyond. But I've not ever been the target.

[ He's only ever been involved in an effort to protect Ciri. Now, it's...it isn't that he wishes for otherwise. Of course not. Only that he isn't meant to be anything of note. He's a Witcher, nothing more. And yet here, on this sphere, he's been marked as not only something different, but almost special. They all have.

He doesn't like the feeling. ]

[cointosser]

Oh, yes, quite obviously. Something out there desperately wants to speak with us, and it isn't the Singularity. Which, truly, limits what -- or who -- it could be.

[He shakes himself off, fluffing up, sending tiny drops of water in an arc. Then he flutters up to perch on the edge of the tub.]

I'm not sure there is an intentional target here. But I do know... I may have, ah, accidentally spoken to the same entity. At the party. Completely accidentally.

[He may as well bring up his suspicions now. In case things get... stranger.] To be fair, it was entirely Lucifer's fault. He was eating insects off the floor and being... eccentric.

wrap 🎀

[gynvael]

[ His brows take on a small furrow at that. ] He does that.

[ Somehow, he's more surprised Lucifer and Jaskier have not crossed paths before this, but then, Lucifer has often kept to his side of Thorne.

Although—did Jaskier partake in the insect eating? Geralt stares at the round little owl for a long moment, as if entertaining the question. Or the image, perhaps. It would not be the first time Jaskier has simply. Put things. In his mouth.

He decides not to ask, leaning back against the edge of the tub. ] Tell me more about this conversation after I've another drink.

[ It's not as though hearing it now will make a difference. He knows Ciri received her own encounter, too. For now, he's tired, and he's willing to put aside talk of gods and whispers until the morning. ]