[ CATCH-ALL ] and what you see is not the dark

[wiedzminka]

Who: Ciri & the friends(?) she made along the way
When: end of May - mid June
Where: Cadens, Nocwich, Horizon maybe
What: catching up after the wild and wacky 800 years that didn't happen
Warnings: in subject lines if necessary but probably none

it's just the gods upturning inkpots
'cause they know what you'll become

Comments

[judgmentbolts]

[ He is buying, in fact... Although clearly he'll be regretting that choice in short order.

After so much of the village had burned, he'd been angry with her for the perceived recklessness — even if it had been nothing of the sort. It had also worried him, in no small measure, and not just for the sake of the civilians. Now that they're free of the dream, he knows that none of it was real; he doesn't blame her for wanting to keep the details close to her chest.

Cid leans back with a sigh and knocks back some of his own ale. ]

The horse was new, actually. The rest of it, not so much. [ He sets the tankard down with a grimace. Cid meets her gaze, though it's hardly any less sharp than her sword. ] Which is why I need to know if we'll ever need to be concerned with portals flying open and monsters pouring out into the streets of Cadens. Tell me you've got it under control in the here and now.

[wiedzminka]

[ She lifts a brow. The rest of it? That's a bit... broad. She wonders what he means, but recognizes that if she's not answering questions, she's probably in no position to ask them. Not immediately, anyway.

The moment is supposed to be serious, and Cid's questions aren't necessarily unwise, but the way he phrases it (and the booze she's put down all too quickly) really makes her laugh. ]

Funny story, that. [ She's shaking her head, snickering. Waves a hand vaguely around them, in the general idea of 'the streets of Cadens.' ]

You're too new. Missed it by a few months. Portals flying open, monsters pouring out -- it's old hat, Cid. Don't worry about it.

[ Ciri shrugs. ]

Not that it had anything to do with me.

[judgmentbolts]

[ He raises his eyebrows. ] Right, that doesn't sound like anything to worry about. Typical afternoon.

[ He understands what she means, in a sense. Though his own memories of his time here are so vague as to be non-existent, most everyone has told him in some way or another that life in Abraxas is nothing short of eventful.

He supposes he'll have to get accustomed to it, but it chafes to be caught up in a cycle of reacting to these things as they come. He drains the rest of his tankard and raises a hand to signal the barmaid for another. He's too old for this. ]

I'll take your word for it. You don't strike me as the type to endanger innocent lives if you can help it -- the opposite, in fact. [ He inclines his head. ] You fight like you were born with a sword in your hand.

[ An invitation, if she's willing to speak of that instead. She certainly seemed to enjoy it in the dream. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ A much easier subject, that. Ciri inclines her head, holding the tankard between her palms atop the table. Cid isn't wrong. She's not in the habit of endangering innocent lives for no reason, but perhaps he overestimates her willingness to step in on their behalf (or perhaps she underestimates herself).

The truth is that their lives here really are often reactive. It's a fate she's used to: the world goes on and does what it will, and she will hold onto what matters through it all, no matter what life throws at them. No matter the cost. ]

Not quite. But I learned. I trained as a girl. With Geralt.

[ When he gets his drink, Ciri raises hers in wordless acknowledgement. Despite her standoffish demeanor, she appreciates his attempt to check in on her. Cid seems a decent man, and she mentions Geralt because she's seen them talking before. They make no secret of the fact they're family; if Cid remembers from their shared visions, they were always family 'there' too. ]

[judgmentbolts]

[ He hasn't pried into the specifics of her association with Geralt, though he'd certainly made an educated guess from the occasions that he's seen them together. Sure enough, it sounds like he was right on the mark.

Not a hard thing to guess, in all honesty. It's not just in the way she wields her sword, but in the way that she conducts herself. Same guarded exterior, same good heart — though perhaps he's being generous with what he's seen and heard of them both. He's in the habit of trying to see the best in people, for better or worse. ]

It shows. Most parents would be glad to know that we've managed to pass on something useful — Geralt is no exception, I'm sure. [ He smiles briefly, wrapping his hands around his own tankard of ale. ] Did you want to follow in his footsteps, or is it that you thought a blade might let you cut your own path?

[wiedzminka]

[ She can't help but smile, just a bit; the guarded set of her jaw falls away, and a warmth replaces the scrutiny in her gaze this far. Ciri shrugs, but it's an easy gesture, not evasive. ]

A bit of both, I would say.

I wanted to be a Witcher so badly. Like him.

[ And she is. She'll call herself that, if anyone asks, and here no one knows the difference. But Ciri remembers, as a girl, how much she'd wanted to be stronger, faster, how afraid she'd been, how small she'd felt. Surely, a real Witcher would be able to overcome these things (she knows better now). ]

In the end, I had to find my own way to it. Sometimes, Destiny shows you a path. You still have to be the one to take it.

[ A pause, something he'd said catching up to her. ]

...you have children, then?

[ Or maybe it was just his turn of phrase. ]

[judgmentbolts]

[ He nods at the first bit, understanding. Geralt is a singular sort; it's not surprising that a young girl might want to grow up to be so fierce. Ciri certainly hasn't landed far from the mark, and it seems she's well aware of that.

Apparently she has a bit of his particular wisdom, too. Destiny indeed. ] That's the way of it, aye — whether you run towards your fate, or away from it.

[ He's about to take a drink when she speaks again, and there's a brief pause in the motion before he takes a swallow. He's always been careful about this particular subject, but after a few hundred years... his perspective has changed. It didn't do him any good guarding her name like a secret when there had been no one there to remind him of what it was when he'd forgotten.

Besides, he's been prying into Ciri's business. He owes her a fair turn. ] Just the one. Midadol. She'd like you, I reckon — doesn't care much for the sword, but she's smart. Knows what she's about.

[wiedzminka]

Yeah? [ Ciri smiles, leaning forward on her elbow atop the table. ]

What can I say? I'm a likeable sort. [ Don't worry: this is said with full, wry self-awareness. ]

How old is she? Your Midadol.

[ If he wants to talk about her. If Cid declines to answer or changes the subject, Ciri won't press him. She understands it must be difficult to talk about someone he's surely missing every day. But she knows too that it might be a relief, to get the chance to talk to someone willing to hear about her. ]

wrapping? 🎁

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid chuckles at that. ] The right people will like you just fine, lass.

[ Somehow, he doubts she has too much trouble finding them. For all her sharpness, Ciri seems more acclimated to people than her father, and even if she wasn't... well, there are worse things for a woman to be than sure of herself.

He takes a swallow of his drink, partly to stall his answering of that question. In his minds' eye, Midadol is still eleven summers, bright-eyed and frozen in amber. ]

Sixteen, now. Last I saw her, she was off to University -- already smarter than her old man by far, for a mercy. Something else you've got in common I'm sure. [ Cid flashes her a grin. ] At any rate, I'll not force you to sit through an old man's ramblings. I'm sure you've got other business to attend.

[ He rummages in his pocket for coin enough to pay off their tab. He'll pick up with Ciri again soon enough, he's sure. ]