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

[falcony]

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

Comments

[falcony]

[ normally, sam is more acutely aware if others. usually, sam is more concerned with those others than even himself. be it the concussion or his injuries or whatever else, though, sam doesn’t catch the tension in geralt, or how the he retracts his hand. doesn’t offer it back.

sam pulls himself up, to his feet. he keeps his eyes on the ground under him, to his own hands and limbs, to literally anything else except for the scene around them. there’s a rolling in his gut, but he can’t tell if it’s the concussion or something else. he swallows, to keep it down, to keep his focus anywhere else, and for that reason it makes him jump when geralt hands him the bandages - a tension shooting through him before he notices what it is he’s handing off. what it’s about. ]

Right. [ he doesn’t look at geralt’s face, something keeps him from it, but he does take the strips of fabric, does make as quick a job as he can of wrapping them around his arm and middle, trying his best to keep his hands steady.

his mind is spinning - on the bodies, in what they’re doing here, on the blood. and maybe it’s the sheer difference of it that has sam so unmoored, how just a few minutes before they’d been joking, nearly laughing, and then - this. he doesn’t even know their faces, their names. he’d caught the bloodied doll, he’d heard the comments they’d made. they weren’t anywhere near decent people, maybe, but-

sam’s stomach lurches, but he keeps it down with a final tightening of the bandage with his teeth. pulling himself fully back together - or as much as he’s going to be able to. he feels sick, but he can’t attach it onto one specific thing, but when sam looks up to see where geralt had busied himself, the feeling increases. unsteady, uncertain, unsure. ]

Ready when you are. [ sam gets out, walking over to where geralt had kicked off his dagger. the dagger he couldn’t bring himself to use. ]

[gynvael]

[ He cannot, in all honesty, recall a time when Sam will not look him in the eyes. It's not an unfamiliar thing, though. More than a few find his unnatural gaze unnerving. Perhaps that it's too familiar is what digs under his skin, removes any desire to close the gap between them that he might've held solely by virtue that they're (friends) acquainted. This is not the first time things have changed abruptly, and he knows it won't be the last.

If Sam anticipates he'll try to clean up the bodies in any way, Geralt does not. He does clean his sword, wiping off the blood before he slips it back into its sheathe alongside Roach. She's a hint skittish, stamping nervously. He calms her easily with a gesture, and adjusts the saddle on her back. He keeps one eye on Sam, just in case, but Sam seems to patch himself up all right on his own. Amount of blood doesn't seem too bad. A few sutures and some rest should do. But he can tell from how Sam moves that hopping up on Roach isn't going to be a simple thing, so he hangs back, if Sam needs a boost.

For the most part, he isn't giving any of this much thought. If it bothers him (it does), he sees no reason to linger. He's done more for less, has had far more explosive reactions than a bit of tension, and at least Sam has not fled in the opposite direction. So. Right now, he just wants to get back to the city and wash the blood off. It's beginning to itch where it dries, some of it sticking his hair together. ]