abraxaslogs | [closed]

[The desert is clarifying.

It always is. Alucard would not have built his was-going-to-be-a-crypt-but-now-it-isn't out there if he did not find the place helpful. For a few days, he howls and runs as a wolf, taking his food from the hunt and refusing to be people shaped. He works through the anger, through the exhaustion, through the miserable feelings of where he erred, and sorts everything. Categorizes what he can to decide if he needs to talk about it more or if it can be put to rest. Sometimes he speaks to himself in the cave and courtyard, and other times he simply lets sleep take him because that's easiest.

A week later, he returns to civilization. Not theirs is a refrain that hangs heavy in his mind. To be human is to be Summoned, to accept apotheosis is to have that freedom, but at different costs. Where the balance lies is the question now, and that is a matter that Alucard knows he cannot solve in a vacuum.

Home is still the cactus. Second-home is the office, and that is where he goes. It is a coin toss to determine if Jaskier will be there or not. The bard did not sound well when Alucard noted him on the little network all Summoned shared.

When he opens the door, it is clear the bard is not well. Far be it from Alucard to accuse anyone of using making food as a form of therapy, but there are little Mog-prints made of flour that lead to the kitchen and...

...a kitchen very much covered in small pieces of dough stuffed with food. His domain, but being reigned over by Jaskier.

Very quietly, Alucard comes to lean in the doorway, one eyebrow lifting gently.]

Julian?

[Jaskier cannot recall the last several days. What he did, where he was, or what he spoke.

What do they call it? A fugue state? A fuck state, if you ask him, because he is every fuck there is right now -- fucking exhausted, fucking lost, fucking falling into memories that impossible, fucking nowhere and everywhere at once.

He feels he has lost something he cannot describe, cannot hold, and cannot have again.

Alucard walks into what could only be a man's complete mental breakdown pressed and ground down into the form of flour. It coats the counters, and Jaskier's hands, and the only reason it doesn't appear to cover his shirt is that his shirt is already white. There's flour on his face, where's he's either slapped his cheeks or wiped away tears, and his eyes are red.

Even Mog is covered in flour, and has escaped to his little bed, eyeing Jaskier warily. Considering neither a ravioli nor a bread roll has fallen to tempt him, he keeps some distance from the kitchen now.

Jaskier raises a hand to wave over his shoulder, then goes back to carefully pinching the ends of a new ravioli shape he is calling "misshapen inspiration." It seems to have a needless amount of crimping.]

Oh, Adrian. Morning, and all that. Or is it afternoon? Haven't really been keeping too much track, you know, since it's ceased to have any meaning -- can you hand me that bowl of ground duck? I'm trying something new.

It is afternoon. Are any of these cooked? I just got in off the road.

[Alucard is starting small and basic, because frankly taking in the sheer extent of Jaskier's handiwork is well. A lot. He isn't sure there is a flat surface in the kitchen not covered in flour or a ravioli or bread or....god, did he make pierogi too? It feels as if this should be his madness, not Jaskier's.

Still.

The dhampir walks over, handing Jaskier the ground duck.]

Is this all from today?

[Right. He's been at this for several hours already, and when he awoke he's rather sure it was still dark... so yes, the afternoon suits. Enough sunlight comes through the windows that his way is easily lit, not to mention the fire in the stove.]

Not yet. I've already boiled several batches. At least two of them I ate myself.

[To make sure they were tasty enough to bother sharing. One with squash (grown himself, thank you) and one with basil and pine nuts. The crunchiness added a strange element to the pasta, but not one he disfavored.

Jaskier is explicitly trying not to think about the fact that his brain is now near-bursting with information of what he can grow: that is, everything. He can grow anything he wants, within reason. But once, he could grow an entire forest in an hour. He could populate it. He could burn it down.

He takes the bowl, sprinkling salt in to mix with a bit of crushed garlic.]

Well, clearly it's from today, Adrian. Do you think I'd leave a bunch of pasta sitting out overnight?

[He's losing it.]

Do you have one you'd like me to try out?

[He's trying to keep things gentle. Surface. Let Jaskier set the pace, because Alucard has often been on the other side of this equation and he knows what always made it easier for himself. Starting there and then adjusting accordingly seems like the wisest way forward.]

In truth, I wanted to make sure you slept. Is there a place for me to sit?

[There's...not much table space, Alucard doesn't know if there's pasta on the chairs. It seems plausible.]

These. [He answers easily, scooping up several still warm ravioli -- as if he'd only boiled them moments ago -- into a bowl, filled with a combination of strong, fragrant cheese and lemon. He has all this time, as many ingredients as he wants or needs... why not try new combinations? He tops it off with a bit of thickened cheese sauce, peppered with bits of oregano and sage. Herbs he knows, without thinking for a moment, both inside and out. Plants he has cultivated and gifted and grown for a hundred years each.

Jaskier begins kneading a very wet sounding mass in a bowl, his rings clicking together and, by now, surely stuck to his skin forever. He'll never get every bit of dough out between the cracks.]

You never usually ask so many questions. [Jaskier stiffens, turning to look at Adrian finally. Even when he passed him the testing ravioli, he hadn't looked him in the eyes. Space to sit is clearly the furthest thing on his mind, especially considering he's got flours in every bit of him down to his unmentionables at this point. Sit anywhere.] You think I'm going mad, don't you?

Edited 2024-05-22 07:02 (UTC)

Mad? No.

[He takes the offered ravioli and then goes to get a fork, because who the hell eats pasta with their fingers?

Fork in hand, he pulls out one of the chairs. It's covered in flour, yes, but not pasta so he'll sit.]

Overwhelmed and drowning in a wave of emotion? Yes. Something I've experienced many times before. [He pauses, taking the first bite of ravioli and--] Oh, that's wonderfully sharp.

[Jaskier eats it with his fingers! Hello, the Continent barely had silverware at the best of times. However, they're clearly more dignified than that, and -- oh, god, he remembers the Continent.

He's not sure if that's a good thing, or a terrible one.

He doesn't want to remember Rience, or his heart breaking, or that demon, or --

He takes in a sharp breath, releases it. He watches Alucard with something unfathomable behind his eyes, stealing their usual glow. He was hoping his friend would simply agree. Going mad seems easy, doesn't it?] I don't want to think about it.

[And Alucard's last drowning in a wave of emotion was related to patricide, and unfortunately Jaskier no longer has a father within reach to take it out on. He's not sure if it would help much, either.] You like it? Am I onto something here?

I don't think anyone does. [Alucard settles into his pasta bowl, now contemplating the sauce.] It is the compression that time that is the hardest for me. Experiencing all of that, then returning to the world and...being expected to function again. There's no catharsis in that.

[He pauses, taking another bite of the pasta.] I think the sauce should be a little lighter. Maybe olive oil with herbs and fried garlic to offset the herbs, rather than this heavier sauce. Which I don't don't like, but could be paired with something meatier.

This sphere doesn't care if we function or not, as long as we're here to power their magical stone.

[Has the experience embittered him? To this point, he found the Singularity both a frightening force, but an ultimately benevolent one. Or, rather -- a force that is trying. He has spoken to it, rudimentary as it was, and felt what it feels. He has spoken to Julie about it, though her connection is surely much more intimate than his own.

And he is tired of it. What was the point of this newest torture? What do these visions even give him, at the end of it all, except a new form of misery? One that not even the Continent could give him.]

You didn't have to actually criticize it. Is there any harm in simply saying, "it's good"? [He drops the dough ball he was kneading with an annoyed sound, sitting heavily down in a flour-coated chair. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, but it really makes no difference.] I don't think there's a way to recover from this. Unless I forget entirely. And seeing as that created even more problems for me in this imagined future... I am beginning to think forgetting is no cure to anything.

On that, we agree. Being forced to be nursemaids to a rock that sometimes has tantrums is no way to live.

[He's never seen Jaskier like this. It's the bitterness mixed with exhaustion that does it for Alucard. It is bad. More than that, it is scary. Uncharted waters, meaning that there's nothing to do but say the wrong thing at every opportunity.

He exhales softly, meeting Jaskier's eyes with apologetic ones of his own.]

There isn't. And it is good. I misread the moment Julian, I'm sorry. [Alucard doesn't move from his seat, but he does put his pasta aside for now to focus on his friend.]

And Geralt didn't even make you into soup. [Which he will explain, but for now Alucard offers the comment only to lend a moment's passing absurdity to this conversation.]

I keep looking at what happened and hating it too, Julian. This place let me define myself in ways that are still so important to me, and...what? I then become shackled to the one thing I care about and am unable to escape it? I'm thinking about pausing work entirely when I finish all current commissions. That's the place where I'm at right now.

[His tone is soft and steady, but not denying the quiet intimacy of what he's offered and shared freely.]

[Nursemaid. A good way to put it. It certainly feels like that, doesn't it? This was a tantrum, and they were fed to it, willing or not, to calm it. And that tantrum, clearly, had the power to commit plenty of destruction.

He'd been there, with the Doctor, with the children, trying to ensure it was minimal. And as far as he knows, they didn't... lose anyone. But truthfully, he's not sure if he fully remembers, either.

His name, quietly spoken, calms him, if only a little. Nothing is Adrian's fault, and he doesn't blame him. He just --]

Made me into what?

[He has heard of people saying something absolutely absurd to disrupt someone's spiraling -- of which he is undoubtedly doing -- and... fuck, you know. It may work. Now he's trying to process what that has to do with anything, or soup, or --

Jaskier reaches over for him, taking his hand. It happens without thought; the way, he thinks, he has taken Alucard's hand a thousand, million times before. When they would walk, they would hold them. When they moved through the world, or answered an Echo, or fell into a deep sleep.] You know what being without work will do to us. And yet... I haven't had an ounce of inspiration. Or a desire, even, to put pen to paper. I've been... here. That's it. Making.

[He moves close enough to press his forehead to Alucard's. Adrian. His closest friend he made in this world, who he had for hundreds of years. (Sorry about the flour, friend.)] We cannot both break apart. It will be far too messy. [He takes a dragging breath, squeezing his hand tight.] But I fear I no longer know what to do with myself.

Soup. [Alucard sighs, shifting just so that Jaskier's head can rest against his shoulder and Alucard can lean his head atop it. He will give that experience one small credit, and that is the question of touch between friends comes as easy now. It is simple, uncomplicated, without jump scares - at least with Jaskier. That's something, at least.] In that...experience...it turned out that boiling my bones helped restore memories. So to prove the point that everything was false, he more or less bet me on my own bones that he was either right or the worst that would happen is I'd be drinking soup made of my own bones. It's absolutely ridiculous.

[It is also something that Geralt does not get to live down ever, thank you very much.

He can't count for how long the absurdity of the moment will hold, so Alucard focuses on the rest. Squeezes Jaskier's hand gently because that's what is needed right now. In a way, it is reassuring to know that creativity and the desire to do that very act has not only left himself.]

I've got a week's worth of being capable to shoulder more than just myself. Going into the desert purged a lot of the first wave of emotions. Not being human shaped helped. [In those words is a gentle suggestion, although Alucard won't hold his friend to his own means of coping.] Cooking like this helps. It's a task, one that requires just enough concentration. We could move onto pierogi, if you want a different dough?

[A better position. He needn't show his face; needn't keep up the mask he's been desperately clinging to all these few days. Jaskier just lets it do what it will, which he assumes is scrunch up and generally look very unattractive.

And cry. He may be crying, too.]

You are both... [He sniffs, pretending that's not what he's doing,] so idiotic.

[And yet, he doesn't even question why either of them would go through it, would agree to it. He can recall Geralt losing his memories. One of the most painful expansions of time in those hazy centuries. And yet he'd been drinking bone broth to get better, from a fucking dhampir god. It's so ridiculous that it sprints past the very definition of ridiculous.

Not being human shaped. A part of him is afraid of reaching for that. A part of him has this insane thought that he may not want to return, as fragile as he feels.]

Pierogi. Pierogi sounds nice. [He takes a shuddering breath, lifting his head to scrub his face before it can be seen.] Help me distribute it after. I have enough loaves for a year. The pantry's full of them.

[For a moment, Alucard considers the wisdom of moving to a different place to sit. The couch maybe, which is much more comfortable than two kitchen chairs trying to bridge out and reach each other. But he can feel something damp on his neck, and he wants to afford Jaskier the politeness of providing the full quiet he clearly needs.

So Alucard settles for stroking his friend's hair, pointedly ignoring the sensation of something feathery in it. Probably just Mog fluff.]

We are. You've met us, right?

[At least the concept has done it's job in the short term. That's all Alucard cares about.]

I can do that. I also think that filling I just had would be wonderful in crispy fried dough.

I have.

[Both of them, for far too long. He knew Geralt from the Continent, knew him most of Jaskier's lived life, but now with these memories, he sees so little difference in knowing Adrian and knowing those from his past.

After a nod, he gathers himself, rubbing his now reddened face. He may have once been a god, but he is still so strikingly human right now.

Luckily, he is not without handkerchief. It clears up his face as Jaskier gathers all that he is again: human, and one with an unfathomable amount of knowledge of plants and cooking.]

You're utterly right. And now that you're here, I can trust myself with hot oil. [He squeezes Adrian's hand again, carefully letting him go.] Are there any other herbs I should add? A hint of fried sage on top, perhaps?

[This can help. Cooking with company. And Alucard has always been an easy presence. After, maybe, he can ask about other things -- how Alucard is coping (it's only fair), how their hidden little safehouse fares.]

Then you know that the type of weird and baffling I share with Geralt is a fairly even match to the colors of our friendship. Nothing about this should be surpr-- well, no. The self-cannibalism is still a surprise.

[It's all lightness and gentle laughter threaded through the words, giving Jaskier the time and the grace to gather himself up properly. Alucard waits until the handkerchief is lowered before continuing.]

I think fried lemon thyme would be better, just because the filling is already so earthy. If you wanted fried sage, I'd consider a more lemon heavy filling. Perhaps lemon and a soft cheese? Or we could do a savory blueberry jam and then add the fried sage to the top of that.

[This? This is comfortable. Familiar. Bouncing creative ideas off of each other, except it's only the culinary that matters right now. Maybe that's safest for them both. Artistic without being the arts they are associated with, and a hair more practical to boot.]

[Alucard catches himself before Jaskier can correct him. Yes, the self cannibalism is still quite a surprise. He does know, however, that Geralt and Alucard have always had a... strange relationship. Since its strained beginnings.

(Somehow it's relieving to remember that now.)]

Oh. Yes. Yes, lemon thyme. A good option. [He doesn't need to take notes because his brain is already working overtime to remember these. For all his criticisms (which aren't much to be fair; Jaskier is just a sensitive sort) he has plenty more good ideas.] We'll do all of them.

[The jam will take a bit longer, but he can grow the blueberries while he zests the lemons. Easy. Jaskier gives Alucard a pot, brushing its round edge with a finger as lemon thyme begins growing from it. He no longer needs to even guess if he knows the correct plant.] I'll get some dough going for you to help fill.

[And it's easy. This is human: the making of food, the dipped spoons into sauces to test their acidity, and the way they move around each other in the Witcher house kitchen. They've been here before, and it is not a memory surrounded by centuries.

After a little time, Jaskier stills, putting down his freshly grown blueberry bush (potted, and neatly trimmed) to wipe his brow. He takes a breath, leaning against the counter.] How are you? You went out into the desert for a while?

[He can ask. He mustn't be selfish. He is hardly the only one to suffer. And that inclination... he fully understands it now.]

We'll need space to do all of them.

[Which means that for now, Alucard's focus is on packaging up ravioli and placing them on pans, then moving the pans into the freezer. It is a slow, methodical thing that involves making sure all of the same flavor dough is together, everything is spaced out, and then it goes into the freezer.

It takes time. Alucard won't discuss wiping up the flour until they've gotten through the dough. All of it is remarkably comfortable. Familiar.

He's standing at the cabinets when Jaskier asks, examining the spice options and contemplating if any should go into the jam.]

I did. It...I needed it. [He takes out a cinnamon stick, giving it a good sniff.] And I do my best emotional thinking when I'm not a person. What I concluded was that I, personally managed those 800 years well enough. The idea of becoming a deity is something I hated and still hate - you were right by the way - but more than that, it isn't something everyone is well equipped for. Then I became angry regarding everyone else's emotions being used like that, the entire situation with Viktor, and then....I just realized that the anger was misdirected.

I'm furious with those in charge for doing that to us. Marching us out, not giving us any idea of what to expect, none of it. Then acting as if this was all fine. That is unacceptable, and right now, that's where my emotions have firmly landed.

[He exhales softly.] But ask me in a week. I may have shifted my emotion by then.

All right, fair.

[Alucard puts it in a matter-of-fact way that hardly rattles him now. He is quite aware the kitchen has become the sight of a murder (of several bags of lour). He's like to buy Cadens out of its supply with enough time. Lucky that he has plenty of coin to do so, if he likes, which he does like. Until this feeling goes away.

He sets the lemon thyme near a window to give it room to spread.

He holds his breath, waiting for Alucard's answer. It's... it's much more positive than he was afraid it would be, honestly. Not being a person feels like running, to Jaskier -- not for Alucard, but for himself -- when he has gotten through so much without magic.

Now... he should have considered the option more.

He nods, quiet. Viktor's situation was certainly a unique one.]

"You are us. You are not theirs." [The final message. He rubs his hands on his shirt, realizing he should have used an apron this entire time. Alas.] I'm honest when I say I'm not even sure what we can do about it anymore. And if it comes true... will it matter what we do now? When these people, alive now, will be dust in our past? [At least his voice doesn't waver anymore as he speaks.] I have this anger, too. And I don't know what to do with it.

The one thing that gets to me... [He comes over, taking Alucard's hand: raising it between them, to have that finger that he notices is now only bone into the sunlight.] We brought pieces of it with us. Making it all the more real.

[Alucard likes having a task. He especially likes it when discussing emotions, so the act of organizing and starting to get everything packaged and into the freezer is absolutely perfect. He finds paper and starts to write down what the filling of each batch happens to be. In happier times, this would count as absolutely normal. It is a steadying touch stone unlike anything else either of them have at the moment, and Alucard suspects they're both keenly aware of that fact.

He keeps talking as he works.]

If it matters is one of the things that angers me. I still recall a conversation with one of them about....everything....and they remarked that this thing is inevitable. I don't want to believe it, but everything with this situation, last year's cult kidnappings, the strange changes we've gone through every so often? I think it may be correct, and Jaskier I hate that. [He opens the freezer door, puts a few sheet pans inside, then closes it.]

This place gave me the chance to define myself away from my father, away from his death. To actually have time to figure out myself in the face of loss. And so to be defined by others again not for a lifetime but for centuries and not be able to change it? That's unacceptable and infuriating in ways I can't articulate but that go down to my very core.

[He exhales slowly as Jaskier takes his hand. The bone is not bone. Alucard tilts his hand slightly so that the finger rotates. It isn't the color of bone. It is glass, and it catches the rays of the sun coming in from the windows. There's a shift in the colors and they glow warm and sunny - the feeling of a bright afternoon in late spring.]

Far too real.

One of the gods?

[He pales, a little. It isn't Alucard's fault; it's something that's been on his mind. Contacting one of them. Making sure they... that what happened to them was as real as the memories he gained of the Continent.

Inevitable.

As a wordsmith, he knows well the weight of words. This one feels insurmountable.

He does not wish to be crushed under this, or to watch Adrian crushed by it. He always knew he would live for centuries; Jaskier had settled in another thirty years, if he was quite lucky (insanely lucky, one might say, considering the things he got into.)

They cannot both drown.]

Better than a soup rib.

[He bumps his forehead against his friend's.] You manage to make it look beautiful.

Innominate. It wasn't on purpose I assure you, they simply appeared one day while I was alone with my thoughts. There's other details too, but I'm not sure that we need to dwell on them now.

[He closes the freezer door shut so he can take stock of what remains on the tables. There's a soft sigh. At least it comes with a soft laugh because everything about the soup is just so silly.]

I wouldn't mind if the rib just stayed inside of me. It's this externalization, all these...outside bones....that's the problem.

[With Jaskier's forehead against his, Alucard pauses. There's something else he has been thinking about with the passage and the sudden snap of time, and frankly, there's something else he should say.]

The only good thing I am walking away with is I know who can be a stable source of support in my life. Constant. Unwavering. And you were and very much are that, Julian. I think you have some idea of how much that means to me.

[The next part is still a little nerve wracking, but only because before, it had not been real. Alucard leans in and puts his lips to that of his friend's gently, aware that this is no shared vision.]

[Normally Jaskier might be inclined to strangle anyone who would drop something like that on him then insist they needn't dwell on it, but right now, he actually nods. He's not sure how much he could take at the moment, and imagining Alucard with all his bones and stained glass casually talking with another god is too much.]

I imagine I would not be quite happy to have my bones on the outside, either.

[At least beyond his teeth. But those belong there.

The icebox gives its normal little groan, and for a handful of seconds it is enough to be in his kitchen, all too human, with a friend he had when he was all too human. There is nothing new to this outside the quantity of what he's working with (and thousands of tomes of knowledge on botany in his head.)

Then Alucard kisses him.

For a kiss, and for how many Jaskier has had, it surprises him. Was his talking of soup and bones so attractive? Yet, he thinks, they did this, too. Many, many times. And he never failed to kiss his friend back... even with his fangs.

He can hardly fail to do so now.

Jaskier's eyes stay closed, his breath a hint stilted. A buzz upon his lips.] I shall remain your faithful friend no matter how much time is ahead of us.

[Outside bones are not an ideal situation. But right now, who cares about outside bones?

The kiss is as normal as it was int the 800-years-that-weren't. Softer from Alucard's end yes, with a little more trepidation, but that's nuance. Details that don't matter in the grand scheme of it all, whereas Jaskier's words most certainly do.

There is a soft smile on the dhampir's lips, and he breathes out two words.]

I know.

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cointosser - 2024-06-06 04:53 (UTC) - Expand

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