[ 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

[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. ]