[ CLOSED ] my skin peels off like paint

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: April Pre-event
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: In the aftermath of Nero's death
Warnings: Standard Witcher canon.


can't you hear that scratching?
there's something at the door;

discontinued | quantifies | starters below.

Comments

— ◈ clive.

[gynvael]

[ The glade is where Geralt often seeks refuge away from Kaer Morhen. Its blooming flowers and trickling stream remind him of the forests from the Continent. The kind of lushness he's not seen in far too long now that Cadens has become home.

When he arrives, much of the greenery is washed away by thick mud. No surprise. The storms have overtaken everyone's spaces. He finds Moglad facedown in the filthy dirt, picks up the moogle, and sends it off with the. Other one. Who carries its friend away with startling care.

Fuck knows why Geralt bothers to restore the glade. The storm will only swallow it up once more after he leaves. But it gives him something to do. Something to take his mind off the shit. He returns the bushes, regrows patches of grass, cleans the fallen debris off the ground. It looks not much better by the end of the hour, but that isn't the point. Eventually, he retires beneath the sheltering leaves of Bleobheris.

He did not bring it with him. It doesn't matter. The sword Nero left him at Yuletide appears in his hands as though it were there from the beginning. He runs his thumb over the crack in the blade. Lightning flickers overhead.

He should have seen it coming. Perhaps a part of him had. ]

— ◈ nadine.

[gynvael]

[ When there's a lull in the storm, Geralt gathers his cloak and takes the opportunity to get the fuck out of the house. Irritating, that he still can't ride the way he wants to. As much as he wants to not give a shit and do so anyhow, he has Roach to consider. She deserves the comfort of her stable, sheltered from the dust.

Nadine's newly opened clinic isn't far, though. Besides, the endless lightning, the constant shift in the air's pressure, has been bothering his leg. He may as well see if she has something stronger in her stores. Not as if he'll be hunting any time soon.

The last time he was inside the clinic, the floors and shelves were covered in boxes. This is the first he's seen it unpacked, decorated. It's nice.

He shuts the door quickly to keep out the sand. The hour is early, but he isn't surprised to find Nadine about. ]

Quaint. [ He reaches out to help her with a stack of supplies. ] It's finished?

— ◈ jaskier.

[gynvael]

[ The Horizon may not be calm, but at least it's free of sandstorms. Beneath Kaer Morhen, where the temple sits, he can escape the lightning above and the mud. Here, the spring has given way to snow—a white blanket covering the ground. The frost has consumed the usual spring blooms, but. It's still calming.

Inside, the candles are flickering brightly save one—which he lights for Nero. A ritual that shouldn't matter, but one he does, anyhow.

The ache in his heart is familiar. Dull. It has been a long time since a loss has felt sharp and fresh. (Or perhaps not that long; he'd felt that jagged edge when he thought Ciri lost for good.) These days, it's just. Hollow. A knock at the door he knows they must all answer.

Eventually, he goes to the quiet of his room. Removes some parchment. Dear friend, he scratches, but he stops when he realizes he doesn't know what the fuck he means to say to her about this. Or why. It isn't as if she knew the boy. Why would she give a shit? (She will care because he cares. He knows that.)

He pushes the barely started letter aside. Then a presence interrupts, his medallion humming. Geralt need not question who. Only one person enters the temple freely through that door. ]

[oversight]

As it happens, with the weather not doing much by way of changing, Blake finds he needs more than just the occasional scrub-down using the communal bath in his building and therefore takes it upon himself to (continue to) throw himself at the mercy of Geralt and his household. It's not usually an imposition he's willing to inflict, but Blake's grooming routines have been very solitary and personal ever since he's finally had a bathroom of his own, one he didn't have to share.

But sharing isn't unfamiliar, nor is finding ways to overstep certain boundaries, which is why he ends up coming through the unlocked door, telling himself it's as good as an invitation. It's unlikely anyone would invade this particular home, he supposes, while invading it anyway.

"Geralt?" He calls it out on his beeline for the bath, figuring it's only polite to make his presence known. While there's a chance Jaskier's around, as well or instead of Geralt, Blake doesn't consider his timing nearly so lucky; the last several times he hadn't been either. "It's only me—" he says, after a few more steps. He's got a pack with him this time, slung over his shoulder with everything he needs.