abraxaslogs | [ open ] gonna keep movin', gonna roll to town

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[ open ] gonna keep movin', gonna roll to town

WHO: sam wilson and OPEN
WHAT: various prompts, some closed, some open! (open log for oct/nov)
WHEN: End of October/November
WHERE: cadens, desert around the city, horizon, etc.
WARNINGS: n/a atm but will update

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[While normally going to visit Sam would leave a swelling of warmth beneath his breast, today was far from the case. After nearly an hour of convincing her, he's only just managed to have Ciri swear she will not go out to search for Geralt until he returns. If they are to go searching for the Witcher, it only makes sense they have a companion who can fly.

While he's quite sure he could summon Red to himself, the idea of practically thieving away Sam's companion leaves him ill.

And while he has made a point to arrive with a gift of some sort every time he visits Sam -- repayment for the dinners he's offered, his drinks and treats, and moreso his company -- this matter is too urgent. Jaskier's knocking is loud and insistent, far from the polite, rhythmic taps from any other day.]

Sam! Hellooo? I need to speak with you! It's vital.

[Bless Melitele, he's in. There's a noise and then the door opens, and Jaskier strides right in with the open invitation, his hands moving frantically as he begins to explain.] It's about Geralt. He's gone. I mean -- he's gone, but not in the normal way, that way where he sorts of disappears for a few days hunting. We found Roach, but she'd been out in the desert for at least a day, and I need Red. [It's only here he pauses, swallowing.] We're going out to find him.

[ truth be told, lately sam has been home a lot more than not. he doesn't plan it that way, and honestly doesn't prefer it that way either, would rather be out and keeping busy and not allowing himself the chance to focus too heavily on past events. but sam worries about alina more than he doesn't, and with everything that happened with geralt, it feels...wrong. to spend too much time over there. so sam finds himself here, in this now nearly empty apartment, entirely unsure of what he should be doing or what he should be working towards.

( there are dark moments, too, where sam sits on this couch in the dark and misses steve, with a kind of suckr-punch to the gut pain. he'd have a plan, he'd know what to do, he- )

so, when the knocking comes to the door, sam is of course there. and with the voice that follows sam only needs a couple more steps until he's at the door, pulling it open. it's panic that swells in him first, from the tone of voice jaskier pushes through the door as well as the basically everything that has happened over the last few weeks...sam doesn't like being pessimistic, but considering their track record, something is probably wrong. ]

What happened? [ though the question falls on seemingly deaf ears, as jaskier walks easily right into the room, already explaining, already talking about what's happening. sam closes the door behind them and crosses his arms over his chest, preparing himself for the news.

though even with that preparation, sam isn't actually ready to hear it - geralt, gone. not just hunting, but gone. sam's stomach drops, heavily, and the color drains from his face. it may be a bit of an abrupt reaction, but jaskier says he's gone and sam's mind goes to mal, to peter, to bucky, and the weight of the worst case scenario drops along with his expression. ]

You found Roach? [ because that's what does it - the fact that roach had been alone, the one thing geralt would have never allowed. he's gone. he's gone, and the last thing that sam did...

he shakes his head, turning to the next in the far corner of the room where red had made his home. sam tilts his head and red, awake and aware, glides over to land on his shoulder. sam is tired, exhausted even, but these are familiar steps to fall into. ] Of course you can take Red. I can help too, if you need it. You're going out to the nest, right? Where he usually hunts?

[He nods. Lost in the explanation, he looks at Sam now. What he expects (what he cannot help but expect) is Sam coming quickly with the reassurances he'd tried to give himself and Ciri -- he's after something good, he doesn't think of letting anyone know, he does not need guardians -- but that isn't what Sam does.

It leaves him feeling as if he'd made a leap over a precipice and misjudged the distance.]

Roach found us, more accurately. [With what Ciri thought was blood staining her flank, but Jaskier simply is skimming over that detail. It doesn't matter.

I can help. And he's not already gathering everything he needs to do it.

Jaskier has been so carefully stepping around Ciri to make sure that she doesn't fuck off and disappear to the same place Geralt has that he has not had time to lose himself in his own worries. He simply does not worry about Geralt. He never has. This, though. It feels different. And they were never meant to be here.]

Yes. Around there. [He looks from Red to Sam, the bird tilting his head as if to signal something. Not that Red needs to. Jaskier isn't a fool.] No, I don't think -- it's not that I don't trust you, because I do, but Ciri is on edge and I've barely managed to stop her by myself.

[And he has a suspicion Ciri would not be thrilled to have anyone she does not absolutely trust with them, especially if... if something happens. He trusts Sam, but he cannot give him Ciri's secrets.] I'm sure it's nothing. Perhaps he ran into a particularly cranky basilisk. [He doesn't believe that at all, actually.

It's not convincing. He pauses, then takes Sam's hand. The color has not returned to his face.] Are you all right? Don't tell me you'll miss Red that much.

[And there's Jaskier to a T -- the same one who'd made jokes after meeting Lady Death right on the edge of her lands. If anything, the tightness in his chest coils tighter. Something feels off, and it's not only about Geralt.]

[ there is definitely a more sam-like reaction to be made here. something threaded with more optimism and even a joke at geralt's expense about his loner tendencies and how much he likes to add on years to all of their lives, especially considering his own extended one. but the truth it - it's not where sam's mind goes to, first. not to reassurances, or the belief this will all work out. instead, it's to empty apartments, doorways where the scent just ends, missing people and missing faces and the overwhelming, crushing weight of being left behind.

sam nods, a bit distracted, at the sound of the details. of roach finding them. sam is in motion even as jaskier speaks, but comes to a slow stop when he mentions ciri, when he mentions trust. it's not that sam doesn't know ciri doesn't fully trust him, and it's not like he expected anything else, but when faced with no, don't come and the sudden, added weight that he's not needed and there's nothing for him to do, well. it's not jaskier's fault, it's not anyone's fault, so sam just sort of swallows the feeling back. ] Right. No, definitely. And if anything, someone's got to be here if he comes back and you both are still gone.

[ because that's logic, that makes sense. he nods and sort of sets down the pack he'd been carrying - expression still a bit lost as he tries to grapple with...what? the fact that geralt might be gone too? that something in him is screaming that this isn't random, that something has to be happening? he thinks about moving back to the kitchen, thinks about rubbing at his jaw, but in a moment of jaskier seeming to know exactly what sam is planning to do, reaches out to grab his hand. ]

What? [ he blinks at that, some part of him knowing it's a joke but not quite connecting the dots. ] Oh, no, it's not...that. [ pull it together, wilson. sam looks back and sees jaskier watching him, sees the concern and focus and, well. god. he must really look awful, huh?

i'm fine sits somewhere in the back of his tongue, but he's able to catch it before giving voice. knowing how much of a hypocrite it would make him sound. realizing how much he might not be taking his own advice. so sam exhales, trying to squeeze jaskier's hand in a more reassuring manner. ]

Sorry, I just...I can't shake this feeling that something else is going on. [ it's insane, but at the same time, could he really put it past thorne to be pulling something like this? to taking all of them? sam feels a bit like he's crazy, like he's trying to sit at home in this tiny apartment and find clues in something that doesn't exist. maybe geralt just got lost, maybe he got waylaid by more bandits, maybe he's totally fine and the guilt and weight is just sam overreacting again. ] There's just a lot that seems to be happening.

[He only just bites back an apology, but... honestly, he cannot apologize for attempting to avoid Sam getting involved in their shit, once again. He's done enough. More than enough.]

My thoughts exactly. [He isn't only agreeing to agree. If something happens to Jaskier again, then... they can keep going. He's being realistic. But if Sam were there, if he and Sam were both to be hurt and injured, and Ciri incapacitated somehow -- how is it he's often the optimist, and yet he's already prepared himself for the worst?

Geralt is only missing. Geralt is not gone.

He simply cannot be. They came here together. There's a fucking reason for that. Whether it is Melitele's hands at work, or Destiny, or simply a shitty sense of irony. It's simply how it is.

Jaskier's eyes don't leave his face, attempting to discern exactly what's going on here. Sam is not what he would call laid back. Not in this way. Every time something has happened, he was there. Boundless energy, reassurances. He hadn't even said, I'm sure Geralt's fine.

Usually he doesn't need to hear it, but this time. This time, he really could have used it.]

Something else? [Sam looks lost. Lost in a way he's not sure about. It's true he hasn't seen Sam around their place for a little bit, but... what could've happened? The ghosts? No, he can't imagine it was that. That was really an idle annoyance, if anything.] Hold on. What are you talking about?

[ sam would have argued that point, if he’d been in any place to know jaskier had been making it. he’d have argued that their shit was his shit, that they’d crossed that bridge long ago. but then again, had they? with everything that happened out in the desert, with everything he saw that geralt was capable of, the bodies strewn, mangled, the blood. sam was still healing, himself - the stitches he’d seen himself along his side, the still healing rib, the way his shoulder…

sam didn’t have any right to be mixed up in their shit. not with how he’s acted. now with how far away he is from what jaskier expects, how ciri and geralt assume the world to be. not with how he responded to that reality, their reality. not now. he lost that link, in a way, just as he’d been slowly losing every other link he’d made.

he feels adrift, in a way - without something to tie him down. without a home, a foundation, a set. he does not need to be mixed up with jaskier and ciri because he is not part of that, no matter how much he might have thought. not anymore, and maybe - in a way - not ever. ]

Yeah. It’s a good thought.

[ the words feel a bit hollow, in his throat. because geralt isn’t gone, he can’t be gone, except maybe he is. maybe he really is gone, just like mal, just like peter, just like bucky. and where does that leave them? sam tries to swallow, he does, and even red can tell there’s something wrong - nipping at sam’s ear to pull his attention away from the empty bedrooms and back to this room. to jaskier, looking at him, reading him, seeing too much.

sam pulls his hand out of jaskier’s grasp, then, giving a poor attempt at a reassuring smile. ] Sorry, it’s- [ nothing. except even now, sam can’t bring himself to say it. even if he’d rather push this all off and not being words to it, would rather push it away for another day. but then his gut clenches, cramping in over itself, thinking about what another day might be. who else will disappear? alina? ciri? jaskier? it can’t just be a coincidence, can it?

he exhales, but it doesn’t feel like just that, something heavier trying to push out through his lungs. ] It’s just a lot of people are disappearing, lately. Mal, which was a while ago, yeah. But then Peter, and Bucky… [ sam’s voice doesn’t crack, necessarily, but there’s a kind of shake to it around bucky’s name. the kind of shake that sam has felt before - that he took for granted, having him here. that he should have known. he should have known. and it’s that thought that right now has him feeling a bit fragile, despite his every intention. despite the way he clenches his jaw. ]

Now Geralt. And I know, we don’t know for sure he’s… [ gone. ] It’s just weird, isn’t it? That he didn’t tell you? And if something did-

[ if something did, and the last thing sam had done had been to flinch away from him…

he feels unsteady, suddenly, and reaches out to set a hand on the closet thing - the table, a chair, the couch. ] Take Red. [ sam says again, though he sounds distracted. ] Go check. Just in case, right?

Edited 2021-11-20 02:44 (UTC)

[He senses this is going very poorly already, despite the lack of words he's offered into the conversation (a rare occurrence for Jaskier, to be sure.) He'd only meant to come and grab the bird then be on his way, but Sam's... Sam's everything has his brows knitting, a new worry settling in his chest.

Either he is completely unobservant, or everyone who knows about this has been lack in their desire to share with him. Disappear? He's met plenty of people in this city, in every city he's been with, and there are more than not that he meets once or twice and then does not see again. His assumptions are never that they have disappeared.

This is, however, his first time being magically summoned to a different plane at a sorcerer's whim. So there's that.

Sam's voice cracks and Jaskier is grabbing him again, pulling him to the couch where he immediately sits beside him. His hands stay on him, the worry flaring into a brighter flame. Bucky. Right. His friend. Sam's friends, or people he knew well, his reaction confirmation.]

He's not gone. This isn't abnormal for him. At all. It's -- [He sighs, and removes one hand to slide through his hair, his fingers shaking at the tip. No, that's far from the strange part. It's Roach, coming alone. It's Roach with blood on her coat.]

He's not gone. Something happened to him, and we have to figure out what. But that isn't what's got you so fucked up, Sam. It feels like more than this.

[Red resettles by moving onto the back of the couch, but either by Jaskier's proximity or his inability to keep a lid on his magic, the bird has begun fidgeting, fluffing up in distress. Just in case. It's shit reassurance.

Is that it? Sam thinks Geralt has disappeared into the ether like the rest? His friends, he reminds himself. They were important to him. And though Jaskier had met their acquaintance and enjoyed their company, his head is entirely on Geralt. He has to harden his heart, at least for now, because he can't... even he can't fucking deal with htis all at once.

He can't pretend this isn't impossible to deal with. If this happened to Ciri, or Hector --

Jaskier moves his hands to Sam's neck, facing him, waiting until Sam's gaze meets his. No reassurance will make their disappearances not like knives in his chest. Even if they're gone, though, Sam is here. And he has to keep moving.] Breathe.

[ that is the worst part about it, isn't it? that jaskier had simply come to get red, that it should have been an easy enough arrangement - that red would have gone to help look, that geralt isn't gone just that something happened to him, how this is not abnormal and how something's happened and how things will be fine. they will be. objectively, sam knows this - or, rather, a part of sam knows this. an objective part knows this.

his mind scrolls - waking up to empty rooms, hurried searches through the streets, having to tell alina, missed meetings in the horizon. the heavy feeling of loss, of a sudden emptiness, of a drop in his gut that tells him there's no reason to keep searching, not really. not when they're gone.

( it can't be all that different from the snap, can it? one moment they were here, the next they weren't. bodies, lives, memories, wants and needs, gone in an instant. sam wasn't there to pick up the pieces, maybe, but he saw the aftermath. the stuttered way everyone tried to get back into step.

but what if they never come back? what if none of them go back? what if this was it? )

it's roach, alone. sam wasn't even there but knew that wasn't good. couldn't be good. wherever it was geralt had gone, it had not been by choice.

something curls around his chest, constricting. it makes it hard to breathe, even as sam tells himself he has to. even as he forces the air into his lungs. you're panicking a voice inside his head says. you're having a panick attack, and jaskier did not ask for this. sam doesn't fight it when jaskier reaches out for him, walks with him to the couch when he's led.

( five years. five years. he was gone for five years in the blink of an eye. how many blinks has it been? ) ]

You're right. 'm sorry. You need...you should. Go find him. [ he's not entirely sure what it is he's saying, his mouth looking to fill the space, to make it seem like this conversation is still moving, and it's not just. his falling apart. because it's been years since he last had a panic attack, years since he's been in this moment, this space. he's gone, he can't be gone. it'd been a different him, all those years ago, but the feeling is all the same. when he's through all of this, he's going to feel more embarrassed about it than anything, but for now all he can do is keep his chest from exploding, the beating of his heart fast, and erratic.

red mirrors jaskier's concern, walking back and forth a few paces on the back of the couch, uncertain, anxious. distantly, sam wonders if birds have the same sort of empathic bonds as dogs sometimes did, if sam's own panic could possibly set him off... nevermind that he is magic. nevermind the obvious connection to jaskier.

it's only when jaskier's hands make it to sam's neck to turn him that he realizes he'd been holding his eyes closed. only when his face is held there, just for a moment, that he lets them open again. jaskier is looking back at him when his eyes focus, browns knit and eyes bright. sam nods at first, and then exhales, suddenly, before he inhales again soon after, trying to slow his breath and finally feeling like he can get control of it again. when he takes another couple of successful, steady breaths he lets his eyes close again, his head falling forward and falling gently to jaskier's shoulder.

breath, breath, breath. on second, two, and then a third. his hand, shaking only slightly, reaches for jaskier's wrist. squeezes once - in apology, again, but also in thanks, while he lets his heart rate settle. ]

[This is spiraling. Sam is spiraling. Jaskier knows it well because he's been through it himself. During performances. Among the dead. In the events he has seen on his travels. It's good he's got him sitting, because at least if anything happens --

Fuck. He's not a healer, but he can be here. And hope that's enough. Because once Sam's sentences are no longer full, he can only think this will get worse if he goes.

Isn't that how it always is? The ones who take care of others, with their reassurances, their strength that never falters, the ones who heal and save lives and sacrifice bits of themselves -- in the end, they all have their breaking point.]

Like that. Lovely. Follow mine.

[They breathe together. Jaskier wraps his arms around him -- not tightly, but there, a solid weight to rely on. Maybe he needs this, too: the silence, the beat of another's heart that his own can follow. Because from the moment Roach returned to them, he's felt this constriction, this panic, taking hold of his chest and dragging him from place to place, a clawed grip he cannot get out of.

He can't be gone.

Jaskier acknowledges the squeeze with a turn of his hand, letting his fingers find Sam's.] It's all right. You're no more nuisance than I was. [It's what he's afraid Sam might be considering. Since he was the, how did he say it? A man of action. But here, he struggles. He freezes.

Jaskier would be the last to judge.] I promise.

[ years, he thinks. years, since he last was in this position, talking himself through the act of simply breathing. years, since he's been that out of control of his own reaction, of his own physical response. god, it's embarrassing, yes, but it's also terrifying. to think that even with all he's done and processed and been through, it can still sneak up on him like this.

though this isn't really sneaking, is it? he'd seen the building blocks piling, had watched the water level rising over the weeks. he should have known, should have done anything else, but he'd let it build and build. part of him wonders if that's part of the reason he'd reacted as intensely as he had with geralt, if the fact sam's been on edge is the reason why it'd felt so overwhelming...

he focuses on jaskier's voice. on the sound of his breathing and the weight of his arms. it's a few more moments, or maybe minutes, before he feels like he actually has a handle on anything at all, and he spends it with his eyes closed and his forehead on the other, not thinking about everything. just focuses - on jaskier, on this, on the breath coming in and out of their lungs. he squeezes jaskier's hand and jaskier shifts his fingers back, letting their hands lock, and sam takes it. focuses on that, on their breathing, for just a few moments more.

( he can't be gone - sam clings to that too. )

it's alright jaskier says, his voice level, soothing. sam ends up laughing, though the laugh turns into a small coughing fit before long, finally pulling himself off of where he'd been all but dead weight against jaskier and running his free hand over his face. he's got a headache, now, his body matching the ache like he'd been in some kind of fight. ] Fuck. [ it's still said with a kind of laugh, breathy and thin. maybe not embarrassed, but kind of disappointed - in himself, more than anything. ] I'm...so sorry about that. I did not realize I was that bad.

[As the two of them find a calmer rhythm for their breaths, so, too, does Red settle. The bird's feathers begin smoothing down, the snapping of his beak and the low noises quieting. His legs tucked down as the bird perched, sharp eyes softening.

There was quiet between them. And perhaps that was part of the problem. Jaskier had seen so many people in this house when he was healing, giving them a wave or a small chat as he gathered his breakfast. There was always the creaking of floorboards as people moved around, or light chatter, or the cabinets closing. Now, it was so terribly quiet.

Jaskier holds him, and breathes with him, and even hums a song under his breath. Waiting for as long as his friend needs. (Giving himself this moment where his mind latches onto nothing. A place where he cannot entertain the thought that his friend has --)

Sam finally says something -- or attempts to, with a laugh and a cough, and though the situation is far from amusing, Jaskier allows him to pull up with a smile of his own.] I said it was all right. Don't you listen?

[Clearly not. Jaskier watches him through his half-hearted attempts at laughing, peering through the guise they try to raise. What he sees in Sam's face allows him to let go of his hand, though he stays close, moving his hand to Sam's leg instead.] You were a bit too busy, I imagine, to notice. But it creeps up on us all. [He sets a hand on his shoulder now, rubbing his thumb there.] A lot has happened, very swiftly, all at once. And you have handled it expertly.

[ there’s something to say about the way that red’s settling seems to encourage sam’s own. for only having the bird around for a couple of months, now, red’s become so much a part of sam’s every day as breathing, and the thought strikes him suddenly.

jaskier’s bird, jaskier’s magic, jaskier’s patience, and sam falling apart at the seams.

there’s a smile and sam manages a laugh and he feels a little better, if only for the fact their conversation seems to start moving. sam shakes his head to jaskier’s question, holding back on another apology. alright, alright, yes. jaskier says it’s fine, but that does little for sam’s own internal voice - you know better than this.

jaskier’s words are comforting, or trying to be, with his hand on sam’s knee, but he says you were a bit too busy and sam huffs, rubbing a hand across his face. ]

Yeah, well. [ i can’t afford to let it creep up. sam presses his lips together and shakes his head. ] I wouldn’t call any of that expert. [ he offers jaskier a small smile, though there’s something self deprecating about it, a bit sheepish. he feels worn through, frayed and exhausted and rough around the edges, like a string that had been pulled too taut and stretched and then let loose, after. his head is still pounding, too, but that will probably take a few hours for that to fade. ] But thank you, all the same, for all of that.

Edited 2021-11-27 15:48 (UTC)

I know there's a "but" following that, and you're wise to keep it to yourself. There is no reason for a but.

[As if he doesn't have exquisite amounts of experience with this sort of... man. Someone who picks up the world and takes all of it at once, good or bad.

Perhaps nothing he says will smooth the moment over entirely. Human minds have never been that easy to satisfy. But he can't sit here and listen to his laughs, seeing his smiles, knowing they are forced. That they don't fit what just happened.]

Suffering tragedies, and carrying them, dealing with them, and moving on... yes, I would call it expert. [Or maybe he's trying to say it for himself. Strength for the road into the desert, where he still has yet to know what they'll find.] Here, stay here. I'm making you tea. And if you allow yourself to roil in guilt by the time I return, I will spill it on you.

[ sam snorts, once, at the tone that jaskier takes. he gets it, he does, and it's interesting to see the same thing sam would say if their situations were flipped said back to him. ]

Has anyone told you that you can be kinda bossy? [ there is little to no bite to the words, and if anything sam still sounds like he's trying to piece himself back together. it's still vaguely forced, but filling out with each passing second - with each breath, each moment that brings him further from the worst of it.

jaskier's not wrong, is the thing, and sam knows better than to try and let himself roil in the guilt. knows better than to let it suffocate him. which is why, when jaskier mentions tea, sam holds up his hands in a sort of surrender. ]

Yes sir. [ a beat, and then sam relaxes a bit more - like he's making the conscious decision to let jaskier do this, take care of him. ]

[There's a sharp "Hah!" from the kitchen at Sam's little jest, while he sparks a fire and begins heating the water. He investigates through Sam's cabinets until he finds what he's looking for: a box he's stashed here many weeks ago for when Jaskier helps himself to Sam's food, which is more often than it really should have been. (Look. He was healing.) Inside are still a few sachets of soothing tea.

A whole pot of tea should be enough.

Jaskier wastes time in the kitchen to give Sam a time to himself to either clean up or pull the pieces back together. He picks things up, puts them down, reads a few handwritten labels. All very necessary things until the tea has steeped and the sugar's been added.

He returns bearing two full cups on saucers with little cookies surrounding them, and he offers one plate of both drink and dessert sternly.] You would not believe the amount of times I've heard it. [He picks up the conversation as if no time has passed, returning to his seat beside his friend.] Though I have to say, I don't mind hearing you call me sir every now and then.

[They aren't going until the morrow, so he has time to help prepare Red for the trek. Perhaps he needs this, too. A space to let all the coils in his body release. If only a tad.]

[ jaskier moves over to the other space, the other kitchen area, and sam takes the opportunity to deflate - leaning over and pressing his face into his hands. he doesn't need all that long, just a few moments of breathing, of centering, of piecing himself back together. just a few minutes where jaskier busies himself in the kitchen (a familiar enough sound, if he's being honest - jaskier spent a lot of time in there, not that long ago) and then sam can take a full breath, where he feels more himself, more whole.

as if timed, that is when jaskier returns back to the room carrying two cups and cookies, and sam makes a face that says where did those even come from? without needing to voice the question, moving over to give jaskier the space on the couch. ]

Didn't realize that was a thing for you, but somehow not surprised. [ there is something light and a bit easier in his tone than he's had so far, like he's actually relaxing as he takes a sip of some of the tea. ]

[Jaskier knows the face. He has his ways. And... he'd very much enjoyed sweets during his recovery, when he could actually keep something down.

Despite this very hard knot in his stomach, he manages a choke of a laugh, quiet and ended too early. Sam, even in this state, is rather good company, he thinks. Even when he's here for Sam more than he'd meant to be.

It's a good place to be, too.]

A thing? [He pauses.] Ah, I see what you mean. Well, Sam, everything is a thing for me, given the right person.

[He looks a bit better, less of that awful pallour in his face. Jaskier's shoulder bumps his as he raises his cup to drink, and he begins to prattle: telling Sam that, with this new gift of his for plants, he's begun selling little herbs and things to the alchemists near the market. It's something to fill the air, to remind Sam, perhaps, that he is still a part of them. Red settles down, wings smooth, feet tucked in.

It gives him a sense that when he goes out with Ciri, it'll be fine. They'll find Geralt, hale and whole. Nothing out of the ordinary outside that... that Roach got away.]

[ honestly, what goes mostly unsaid, is how much of that simple gesture means a lot to sam. that jaskier knows where to go, knows where things are in sam's place even when sam isn't there to direct him. that jaskier not only knows where to go and feels comfortable in doing it, but that this whole thing - this whole exchange - has an air of familiarity to it. something grounded in many moments before. something that sam can set his feet on and feel (distantly, maybe) at home.

there is a large, geralt-shaped elephant in the room, but jaskier manages a laugh - even if it was only part of his real ones - and sam feels himself smiling a bit more too. he waits for jaskier to get there, feels himself roll his eyes a little. ]

I would be worried about everything, but the right partner does make all the difference.

[ he looks better, yes. and feels better. and with jaskier sitting close enough that it's easy to press back, to hold the contact while jaskier begins to prattle. interjecting when he needs to, feeling good just listening when he doesn't. it does fill the air, and really, that is the most of what sam needs - the reminder, the presence, the moment that feels normal and not different and that this is all what his life has become, lately.

the conversation takes as long as it needs to, and probably doesn't end until sam notices jaskier looking fidgety, or there is a distinct difference in the angle of the sun. either way, it's probably sam who sets down the now empty cup of tea and moves to stand, saying how jaskier needs to get going, how ciri is probably going a little crazy herself, how he needs to go find what geralt got himself up to. because things will be fine, sam feels it too.

it will be fine. ]

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[ open ] gonna keep movin', gonna roll to town

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wrapping up maybe? c: