[ open ] let the ultraviolet cover me up

[vixening]

WHO: yennefer and various.
WHAT: various prompts, some closed, some open!
WHEN: End of October/through November
WHERE: castle thorne, the horizon, etc.
WARNINGS: n/a atm but will update

Comments

closed { ciri.

[vixening]

[ there is something to say about how ciri says 'tomorrow', and in doing so, yennefer thinks of nothing else. she supposes she must sleep, supposes she has to get up the next morning and find her way to dress, to her meals. she makes her appearance and checks in with the courtesans and the other mages and does what she would normally do, keeps to her regular schedule. there is nothing about her day that differs, not really, other than the fact that yennefer finds herself distracted. her mind wandering down paths, ideas, reasons.

part of her wonders if this is a good idea - with her meeting with the queen upcoming, with the eyes that will most likely be on her, around every corner and in every hall. she considers the options, considers the worst case scenario and the best. what would happen, if anyone did know where she was headed, what meeting she was about to find herself. it's easier, if she focuses on the possible outcomes, if she keeps her mind only on the reactions, on the court that she's made herself a part of so meticulously over the last few weeks, then her mind won't stray to last time. won't wrap itself up around what she did, without knowing. what she said. who she was.

no matter where those paths lead her, yennefer ends up back in her room. it's not any earlier, or later, than she would have normally turned it. nothing about it seems out of place. but whereas normally she would be preparing for bed, yennefer paces her room. considers, again, what could happen. what this could mean. what she could be doing, in agreeing to this - and then yennefer settles onto her bed. closes her eyes. remembers what kylo told her, that first time, about focuses. about centering. and then, suddenly, she is there. back in the horizon, once more.

yennefer breathes, feels the difference in the air, the way that even this place that is not physically present, an illusion to the greatest degree, and yet even she could lose sight in it. she begins to walk, not quite recognizing where within the horizon she's ended up, but knowing she will find her way as it happens. knows she will find ciri. ]

closed { jaskier.

[vixening]

[ the text appears in the middle of the night - an hour that no one in their right mind would be awake. but that is the risk, isn't it? the risk that she always is willing to take.

the truth of it is that yennefer doesn't think all that much about it. she knows he will be awake, she knows he will get the message. the only real risk she feels she is taking in this moment is whether or not her message will be answered. not necessarily with words, but in action. if he'll actually do it.

were it any other situation, any other time, yennefer would rather be caught dead than reaching out to him. coupled with the memories she has of their last time in the horizon, she'd honestly have rathered she never see him again. but the truth is - what ciri had described as her powers exploding, as how she'd almost killed jaskier. it's a longshot, but for yennefer to really understand what happened, she'd need to see the damage, too. or whatever was left of it, if jaskier was still breathing. ]

Meet me in the Horizon.

-- Yennefer of Vengerberg

open { to all.

[vixening]

TBA

[cointosser]

[Jaskier is, unsurprisingly, awake. He is an artist and he keeps a poet's hours -- and who among them does not find the night of the city the most romantic time? It is actually as his quill is scribbling across the word autumn that words in a script unfamiliar to him roll out against his eyes.

It's very lucky he's gotten used to this now, because this would be entirely startling --

He nearly yells. Yennefer? What the fuck?

If any adage comes to mind, it was out of sight, out of mind, though the spectre of Yennefer's presence certainly haunts him between Geralt and Ciri and their... emotions about her.

For a long enough time, he doesn't respond. He waves the words impatiently away and begins scratching along the paper again.

He's damned, though. Jaskier is damned -- cursed! -- with curiousity. One might say an invasive sort of nosiness. He cannot ignore the intrigue that comes with the idea that Yennefer would call on him. Especially considering... things between them. In the Horizon. He is actually quite sure, in some ways, she had been avoiding him after it.

You couldn't help but make yourself seem so terribly mysterious, could you?

He offers nothing else but the sarcastic quip, but he imagines it's plenty answer it itself, when he could have so impudently ignored the message at all.

Of course she has offered no further aid in finding her, but the Horizon is not that large and he has a secret weapon. Already he's been adamant that his writing space be quiet -- not that it's much of an ask from Geralt or Ciri -- so it is not difficult to close his eyes and concentrate, slipping into the place that opens its arms to welcome him.

The Horizon is always bright in his domain, with the grapevines stretching away from him. There is half a constructed bit of Oxenfurt he's played with, but mostly left to be... a rather nice corner of brick.

His weapon is there, however, waiting for him as he'd hoped: the white wolf that stalks Geralt's domain, the scars showing in the sun where its fur does not grow.] Hello, old friend. [Jaskier gives him a bow.] I need your help finding Yennefer.

[Somehow he imagines that even a wolf's face can show surprise.]

[vixening]

[ there are a few moments following the message that yennefer has to go as far as pacing her room, filtering through questions. of if it was worth bothering, if there is anything of note to gain from this. she does not want to see him, not really, but in ways she herself isn't even fully away - she and jaskier are similar in their curses. curiosity, it seems, haunts her just as heavily.

jaskier would understand better what happened, that day with ciri. because whether or not he knows actual magic (she's stubbornly refusing to admit that he can, even now), he would have a different set of eyes on what happened. on how ciri reacted. yennefer does not want to talk to him, especially when she knows it will likely be long-winded and unnecessary more than anything, but she needs more information. and she can come to a place of resigned acceptance, that this is the best way to find that.

does that stop her from feeling infuriated by his simple scrawl, appearing before her eyes? no. but the anger is a centering piece for her, if nothing else.

she does not answer - she doesn't have time to bicker with the bard, and she doesn't want this to take any more time than she needs it to, so before she can change her mind yennefer settles on her bed and closes her eyes, concentrating in the same way kylo had instructed her, that first time. waiting for the feeling of peace, the rush of air.

when she opens her eyes, it is to an open plain. yennefer recognizes that she did not give jaskier a place to meet her, a centering location for them both to head to, but it doesn't change much. she hasn't begun to work on her own domain, the only times she's been present she'd spent drifting between other's, so she instead heads off into the hills and grasslands that have appeared before her. there's a kind of confidence (there always is) in her steps, knowing she will find what it is she's looking for, one way or another. ]

[cointosser]

[It is not too much time before the wolf is huffing at him.

Because it is the only creature with ears within earshot, it takes the brunt of Jaskier's complaints. That she would call on him so late (even if he was already awake), interrupting his writing. And it was good writing, too! Calling upon him like he was a manservant, without explanation. It was just like her. (The wolf rolls its eyes.) Acting as if everyone around her was simply there to please her whims whenever she had them. It was disrespectful! And he was quite sure whatever she called him for was... well, it was probably going to be stupid and a waste of time. She would probably end up insulting him. For nothing.

The wolf sighs. It snuffles about in the grass, trying to pick up a scent -- then lifts its head, straight as an arrow.

Oh. Fuck it. He's not walking to her like a peasant. Though Jaskier's caravan is no longer with him, one of the large, decorated horses appears. He rounds onto her saddle, the horse following the wolf as they lead him out of his own domain into the wild. The Singularity rises in the distance, dotted with a forest at its base now.

In the distance, he can spy her. The black hair is unmistakable. Despite himself -- and how frustrating it is to feel it for even a moment -- there's a sense of longing.] This had better be bloody worth it.

[vixening]

[ yennefer walks for some time - she doesn't pay attention to how long, and ciri's voice from that first meeting - it just depends on how fast you want to go. she supposes that if she really wanted this interaction, if she really wanted to see him, perhaps this would take less time. as it happens, yennefer walks, and then continues to walk, her attention tugging more and more towards the singularity itself.

she supposes, if she wanted to, she could simply turn and stop looking. that there is always the possibility that she could call this off and deal with whatever frustrations jaskier will bother her with for the next however long he wants to spend his effort doing it. and honestly, maybe that is what keeps her moving forward - one part because she knows she is the one who reached out, and the larger part that jaskier will simply be insufferable if she didn't show.

it is around that thought that she sees the figures ahead - the horse, and the figure on its back who she could assume was jaskier, and gwiazda, the wolf, at his side. at first, it's jaskier who takes her back - to the front seat of a caravan, to something younger, brighter. laughter, and a gentle tightening in her chest. her hand, on his knee, and the warmth of that being okay. (it's almost unbearable, in a way. to think of that interaction, of the conversation, of him.) but then, where that warmth had been, is replaced by a sudden chill. it's the sight of the wolf that catches yennefer, freezes her to the spot. because yes, that wolf had been her companion, had taken her step by step through the horizon itself. but the sight of him, in that moment, brings her to a quiet room, a warm room, a single bed. it sends a shock down her spine, a tension that sets her back on edge again. the feeling of being back to this horizon, of being out of control, torn open, left bare. it brings her to a stop, right on the edge of the forest.

( the urge to run is back, suddenly, aggressively. but yennefer, as if in reaction to her own internal whispers, settles to the spot. she is here for a reason, an important reason, and she thinks back to ciri. to the fear in that initial message. )

and so, as if to cover that hesitation, yennefer lifts a hand (unnecessary within the horizon, perhaps, but habits die hard) and a large tent appears - flaps pulled back, a large, comfortable living space set inside. yennefer waits for a few more minutes more as jaskier continues to approach her, before sighing and ducking inside - giving the impression that she's almost tired of waiting for him. hurry up, it seemed to say. ]

[cointosser]

[Perhaps Yennefer has just enough time to see Jaskier throw his hands up in the air in complete exasperation just as the tent appears.] Oh, yes! Of course! You've been waiting here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, this whole time!

[His horse stamps its hooves to rival his own annoyance, kneeling down so he can slide off the overly decorated saddle. Jaskier brushes his mane, deftly braided with flowers, kissing his nose.] I'm not mad at you, of course, old boy. You did a very good job.

[He looks at the wolf.] And you. Worry not, my friend. You needn't go in if you'd rather not.

[The wolf does follow him to the tent, but it sits firmly outside the entrance and stretches out with an arch in its back, a roll of its shoulders that is far too familiar.

He steps inside. It is, of course, magic, in the way that everything she does seems to be. Magic and annoying. Something about this fully-furnished tent, as if he's stepped directly into a bedroom of a manor, grates on his nerves.

His fingers curl up.] Yes? So? Please, do stop leaving me in utter anticipation of what you've invited me here for. I must insist that, despite your thoughts otherwise, my time is valuable.

[vixening]

[ she most certainly did. and perhaps jaskier, from his distance, could just make out the dramatic way she rolls her eyes before stepping inside. the decorations remind her a bit of the setup she generally brings with her on her time on the road - more space within than is possible (magic, she'd told geralt on that mountaintop), with a full bed, table, chairs, desk, mirror, drawers. usually there is food, set out on the table for her to pick at as she moved about the space.

as it stands, the tabletops are bare. she walks over and hangs the cloak on a hook stand in the corner of the room, dusting off her skirts with a flick of her wrist. she has to admit, the ease at which everything bends around her, only waiting for a will an imagination worth the potential, is addictive. she can understand why kylo and ronan enjoy their time in this place, when they go. when she next looks over to the table and chairs, it is covered in the usual materials she takes with her - components for spells, mixtures, plants and herbs and materials she knows may be useful, should it get that far.

when he steps inside, yennefer turns to look over her shoulder to him - bored, expectant, waiting. she watches the reaction of the space cross his eyes and hears him start to talk, though her own eyes move to the wolf. gwiazda. he stares back at her, as if aware of her discomfort at the memories he stirs, but unmoved by it. he deserves to be in this place, sitting right at the door to the tent, and it is up to her to accept as much. yennefer takes another small breath and turns back to jaskier just as he exclaims my time is valuable and a single brow of her arches. ]

Unless you had someone in your bed, who you left to come meet me here, I don't know what else of importance you could have been doing. [ it's like 3 am, jaskier. writing or not, you can do that every other hour of the day.

yennefer turns to face him fully, then, her eyes moving over every inch of him she can see. she looks theoretical, if jaskier is watching back close enough. trying to find each and every bit of detail she can that would help her onto her next step. after another moment of silence (from her, as she's sure jaskier is simply prattling away) yennefer interrupts whatever monologue he'd started off on. ]

Ciri reached out to me about her abilities- the Singularity's effect on them has apparently brought them out of her control, and she came to me seeking help. [ that, specifically, is said to hurt - though it's a question of if it does, indeed, matter to jaskier. that he has magic here, and still ciri reached out to her. that his own understanding of it - his healing, and flowers, and whatever else ridiculous thing this place had bestowed on him - was not enough. but, even in those intentionally sharp words, there is a worry. a concern. for ciri, and for what she apparently is capable of and cannot control. ] She claims something went wrong while she was with you, and that she nearly killed you because of it. [ yennefer starts to walk, then, circling around jaskier as she continues her searching. she has seen jaskier on the brink of death before, had brought him back from that brink herself, so it is not hard to imagine it - what must have been blood. massive amounts of blood. and jaskier, in the midst of it, once again. yennefer's head tilts briefly, curious. ] And unless you have meticulously recreated yourself in the Horizon so as not to show it- you've been healed. Completely, if not nearly so.

[ she comes to a stop in front of him once more, arms crossed over her chest, as violet eyes jerk back to his own - intense, inquisitive. the djinn had been what had nearly killed jaskier before, so what exactly was it to bring him down this time? ]

I want to know what happened, from your perspective.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier sighs, and it is not so much dramatics as... as a sort of cold disappointment. (What was he expecting beyond stepping into a pit of vipers? Of barbs? That was all Yennefer has ever offered anyone.)] Simply because you find no respect for it does not mean it isn't valuable.

[Though one may question why everyone's first thought is always to him fucking someone. It's not as if it's the only bloody thing he's ever done in his life.

While Jaskier is no fan of Yennefer's pricking at his ego, it doesn't mean he isn't quite used to it. It's always the same sort of comments, as she is no different from any critics of the past -- comments on his age, his appearance, his choice of livelihood, his talents. At this point, in his age, he can ignore it.

But his expression belies how this particular barb brings blood. His brows darken, and outside the horse gives a bit of a vicious whinny.

It stings. It's sharp and cold and precisely handled, and more horrid is the fact that it works, that he knows it hurt, and that she will know it hurt. That it mattered to him at all shows that he has a weakness for her to tear into, like a wolf dripping spittle in anticipation of a kill.

(He should have known. He should have. There is no sign of that woman he met here weeks ago. With a gentle hand on his knee, and a genuine smile. A compliment in nearly every breath. So why is it as she pricks at him with knives does he still watch her face and look for it? There are so many fucking women in the world. So many others who aren't complete --)

So this is about Ciri. It's not surprising, when it seems so many things of late are about her. He crosses his arms across his chest.] Yes, well. Only one of us was actually there to help her, misguided attempts or no. Because only one of us values people over their own political machinations.

[There's no heart in it. Honestly, most of the time he enjoys a bit of back and forth, but there's something different in it now. Now that he's seen... frankly, more than he was ever meant to of her. His arms tighten, but crossing his arms does nothing to make him feel any less like a rabbit being sniffed at by a fox, and it leaves him a little cold -- wondering if she wishes the magic had taken him out completely, if only so he could not be this persistent fly in her hair.]

I don't hide the shadow its left imprinted on me, no. [Of course it is curiousity about what the magic itself was. What Ciri can do.

And it's here Jaskier hesitates. Because he isn't a fool, and he knows what sorceresses are like. Can easily imagine what they care about -- the same as knights and kings. What is it that would stop her from using Ciri, too? When she steps on others like stepping stones? He still doesn't understand what she is to the girl. Why, when Yennefer was thrown into that cell, Ciri had sounded like her heart had broken over a few bruises smudged over a pretty face.

But this means... Ciri herself had reached out to her. Predictably with the same power that had others' words printing themselves behind his eyes. She went to Yennefer, of all fucking people. For help.

He can't imagine it. This woman helping anyone else for nothing. Even when she saved him -- she got something out of it. Or she certainly tried. And how stupidly poetic would it be, for this sorceress to try to use the power of the second magical being to nearly kill him?] Since when have you ever cared for my perspective on anything, Yennefer? Shouldn't you be taunting me on how my near-death should be my next ear-grating song?

[vixening]

You didn't have to meet me. [ she says, a bit curtly, because for whatever reason she feels as though that is an important fact to share. that he did not need to come, at her call. that his presence here was his own decision, and for all he wishes to blame her for not respecting his time, the truth is that he had all the power to simply not show.

still, it's a strange sensation, to feel the prickle along the back of her neck at jaskier's disappointed sigh. at the reaction he gives to her pointed barbs. she had said those things to draw that darkened expression, to remind him that while she may be halfway across whatever cursed continent this appears to be, she is still her. the great yennefer of vengerberg, just as he'd called her on the cart, last time they had been here, in this same place. because that is why she'd done it, isn't it? to remind him that she is herself, the powerful, the in control. that she is burying whatever version of herself he'd last seen with each and every passing second, because now she remembers. now it is her, rather than the singularity itself, who is in control. this control echoes in the space around them, too - from her stance, her tone, the way the tent and space and firelight in the candles around them bend and shift to her exact, precise requirements.

she knows he is looking for it, can feel his searching eyes on whatever might be left of that girl in yennefer, now. nothing, yennefer wants to scream. she was not real. what jaskier will see, now, is the meticulously crafted yennefer of vengerberg that she is, today. together, controlled, balanced.

( the control had been hard-won. decades of work, of determination, of yennefer seeing tissaia's face that night of the lightening. looking down at her, reminding her of how her emotions would get her in trouble. and while they were also a blessing, also a help, this was not the time. not around jaskier, not after their last conversation. )

yennefer continues her circle, her search. eyeing every inch of jaskier she can find. it feels a bit like she is sizing him up, as if she is making sure he fits a certain set of requirements, but for what she still isn't sure. he is too smart to leave something visible, yes, but there is more than enough information to be gleaned from his stance. his presence. the half-hearted tone that he tries to strike back at her with his words, the way his heart - still - doesn't seem to be in it. ]

Do not assume you understand my machinations. [ it is said distractedly, an easy way which she barely notices the attempt from him. the poorly lobbied cut that she doesn't bother acknowledging, even now. ciri had already had her try at yennefer for the guilt, for the fact she hadn't been there to help. yennefer does not see the use in getting into it now, either, especially not when she knows her own cut had actually hit.

but there, that, its shadow it left imprinted on him. knowing that it is there, she can find it - the shadow of chaos, the echo, the footprint it might have left. yennefer comes back to the front of him now, eyes lit and sharp at the idea of it. so it did leave a mark, a mark that couldn't be healed away - she opens herself up to feel where it could be, sensing something that could be an echo of chaos in his arm. his arm. she wants to know, and that want is written clearly across her face. she's about to ask about it - or, perhaps ask is a bit of a stretch. show me she nearly commands of him, the threat that she could make him, if she needed to, somewhere in that look. except that she doesn't say it, doesn't command it quite yet, because jaskier is looking at her like a cornered animal, defensive and lashing out, and yennefer finds she doesn't quite have the patience for it, which is evident in the way she pushes a breath through her nose. her own tired sigh. ]

I did not bring you here to talk about your songs. [ the feeling catches her again, of what he'd said in the horizon. that songs would be written of her, too. she blinks the feeling away with some ferocity. ] You were the only other person there, when it happened. Ciri has her own understanding of it, but when you lose control of your own chaos, your focus isn't on the detail. You can either tell me what you saw, and what happened, or I can find it out for myself.

[ she reaches out, then, and one of the chairs around the table scoots across the floor - not quite taking jaskier's knees out from behind him, but stopping just inches away. ]

Now sit.

[cointosser]

Yennefer, please. You are no more complicated than any other person on this plane. Or on ours.

[If there's one thing that he finds insufferable, it's that. That sorceresses, those with power, and specifically people like Yennefer find themselves the main characters of every story, not just their own. And that she somehow thinks she is completely unknowable. A force rather than a person.

Or perhaps he's simply very tired of being dragged about by powers greater than himself. At this point, he sees only little differences between Yennefer and the Singularity. One talks more. Unfortunately.

And yet because he met that other Yennefer, the one they both hardly mean to mention, he feels that even stronger. Believes it. She is not unknowable. There is a person who speaks of her desires and of herself with humility and with truth. And now there is a woman working double-time to bury her ever deeper.

He takes the seat. There's no reason not to; his standing means nothing in this push and pull between them. In the Horizon they are equal only because of what has been forced upon them, but he is not so stupid to think that out there, in the plane they occupy, that they are the same.

Jaskier often finds every excuse in the world to vacate the area Yennefer is in whenever she shows up -- and so often does she seem to show up where he and Geralt are (or, to be more specifically, where Geralt is.) Now he's here, caught in the middle of a lion's den; and yet he finds he can keep his eyes on her face this time.

It's the way she says it. Songs. Like a hiss, an annoyance. In a moment, for a second, his eyebrows soften. There's something there. In the vehemence.

And then he sees it, staring at her. (He's sort of listening.) The shape of her jaw. It's not there, the angle he'd seen before, and yet it is. A hint. No. No, a ghost. A ghost of a woman who'd been silenced and killed.

Despite himself, he makes a snort to himself. How fucking poetic, isn't it? You are no more important than any other, and yet here he sits anyway, attempting to figure out how one mixes oil and water into one woman's soul.]

Hasn't anyone ever told you that you catch more fish with bait rather than poison? I make no mistake in thinking you wish to talk to me, but you needn't make this whole thing so miserable.

[As the words come out, he's trying to roll his mind around what she said. That Ciri lost control of her chaos. He's heard the term, though rarely; obviously he doesn't mix too often in magic circles. But isn't it fitting for what happened? A lashing of chaos. Even after talking to Ciri, it's clear she isn't quite sure what happened, either.

Yet she told Yennefer the same as he. That she lost control.

Fuck. This would be much simpler if he had any idea what Ciri -- what Yennefer was to her. But there was plenty he would not admit, shutting it tightly in the back of his mind.]

Do attempt to not look too condescending. [Because he knows she will be, as he leans back in the chair, as he begins:] We went into the desert outside Cadens. I was going to teach her a minor healing spell. [His lips curl at the edges.] Actually, one I think you might be familiar with as well.

[Considering it was the one he'd given her before he threw himself into a portal. Ah. That still warms his heart to think of.] I set it up so she would practice it on myself. Ciri said she'd never... tried it. Using the magic here. Considering she was in the cells, but after, too. [He skips over the fact it'd been fear that kept her from it.] So I had to explain the process of... [He gestures with a hand, rolling it through the air.] Pulling on it, I suppose.

[vixening]

[ it’s not that he hits a nerve, or even that he hits too close to a nerve for yennefer’s liking. it’s simply that she is not actually trying to be complicated. short, maybe. uninterested in easy conversation. but she is not here to discuss her intentions just as much as he’s not here to listen to her ‘grand plan’. she huffs out a breath, the imminent eye roll more of a wave of pressure than anything else. ]

This isn’t complicated. If you don’t start answering my questions, I will find the answers another way.

[ she’s already tired of this, of his incessant blathering, the flippant way he tries to act like he’s not - inherently - afraid of her. and the truth is, he doesn’t have that much to fear, here. the horizon does bring their influence to a more even playing field, but more honestly, yennefer is not her to hurt him. she is more likely to simply walk away because he’s being annoying than she is to try and act on any of the thinly veiled threats she voices.

it’s a complicated sort of feeling - that she is here for ciri, and yet somehow it’s more. that in being here now she is faced with something else entirely. something rougher around the edges, harder to swallow.

( yennefer has spent decades on her own, decades with only herself to depend on. and yet something about the fact she knows where they are, all of them, how far they are, how they’re all together… )

he sits, and she lets out something of a put-out exhale, turning back to the table and creating and removing all sorts of herbs and materials and things she’s trying to decide if she will need or not. jaskier sits, and snorts, and makes himself comfortable and yennefer turns back to him with a single arched brow. ]

Would you rather I try and placate you? Slowly ease my way into your good graces until I can press out the information I’m looking for? [ there is a practiced charisma that slips into her words, and as she steps towards him, a sashay to each step. she is practiced, in these ways, and while she may not be a world reknowned bard as he, she has done her fair share of slipping into bed chambers for the sake of information.

she paid too high a price for this fixed jaw, this unbent brow. and whatever echo jaskier may find, it’s places there. chosen, to be shown.

when she closes the distance between where she’s been at the table and his chair, it had all been with that air of performance, that insincerity, but as she stands directly in front of him she drops it all in a single moment. how quickly she can shift, from one to the other, how easily she could be something else. and yet she doesn’t try to - here. he looks at her like he’s looking for something that doesn’t exist, and almost in spite of that she shows him her. now. nothing else.

( because she does not like the way his brows soften, do not like the crawling it that he knows something about her she had not wanted known. she notices these things - how he does not stray from her eye contact, how he does not carry that overtly intimidated body language. honestly, it does not bother her in this instance, if only because his theatrics get old, and she needs information from him. and yes, she knows jaskier can still talk even when scared, or upset, or whichever way he would normally feel here, but she finds this easier, somehow. ) ]

Show me. [ she thinks she knows, her eyes drawn to one forearm over the other, but unless he makes it impossible or decides to refuse her, yennefer doesn’t particularly want to force him. still, her eyes drift to the arm, the sleeve which covers it, wondering, curious.

there is a snort from her, when he tells her not to look too condescending. he could always ask, but yennefer does not adjust, and jaskier should assume as much.

as he drifts through the explanation, though, yennefer frowns at the memory. jaskier, healing her. yennefer, watching him disappear through the portal with rage. she feels a spike of it now, that he would think to heal her, when she could have done it herself. when she would have, if given the time. but even more than that, she had not wanted his kindness. did not want his concern. and now where has that led them?

ciri, with magic she can’t contain. chaos, bursting at the seams. yennefer loses herself in thought for a few moment, thinking through what it could mean. that she’d been trying to heal, but that…what? the exchange had taken from jaskier, rather than ciri herself? she’d known there have been changes from the singularity, that it’s influence has adjusted everyone’s connection to chaos, to their control. yennefer had felt it, too, but it was less of an imposition as a slight shift in the pressure, the feeling.

she blinks, as if remembering jaskier was there, her eyes going to his face then back to his arm. ]

And it didn’t go as planned. [ she can imagine what it would have been like - the magic, backfiring. chaos, exploding in every direction. ] She should have been able to feel it enough for magic to occur, but what happened after that? Did she simply… [ she gestures to jaskier, to his arm more specifically, but in the movement she touches on all of him. ] Harm, rather than heal?

[cointosser]

[It would be terribly simple for Jaskier to take those words as a threat -- Yennefer, as it seems, is all about threats -- but this time, he doesn’t. What will she do, then? Torture him for answers to something that, really, he cannot find a reason for her to be so interested in? No. He thinks not wholly well of Yennefer (the pleasant, flirtatious woman he’d met before aside), but he does not think she would hurt him like that. Not for answers. Not for something so simple. So boring, almost.

Placate slides off her tongue and the way he meets her eyes changes; for a moment, a flare of heat. Of a memory that forces itself so forcefully at the front of his mind, though in this place, with her, it’s the last one he should be thinking of. There is nothing romantic in retelling this event to him; there is no pleasure in knowing something she does not. Of having some ability, he thinks, that she does not.

A memory of mouths pressed together. Of how bodies can fit, even seated side-by-side. Not hunger, or lust, really. It was –

Undefinable.

And here the memory combines confusingly with this: with Yennefer turning to him with a soft tone in her words, in the very slight way the angle of her brows softens itself. It’s a game. Their game. Not that they play it together, but they are certainly both players, well-versed, in this game. Perhaps it’s that same tone that she used with Geralt to make the Witcher lose his mind as often as he loses his word. The very specific aura in a very specific woman that can make a man’s mind turn to utter slush the moment she walks into the room. Into their tavern.

They are players in the same game, played for very different reasons. Jaskier’s voice has also gone soft in the past, his compliments highly targeted. He has purred words and come up with songs on the spot in this same game. Seduction can be easy and it can be fun… or it can be a weapon, as he well knows.

Because her weapon, this blade, finds a soft spot in his skin, and slowly, just the tip begins to push inside. (Or was it already planted there by a woman with a crooked jaw and an open fascination with his song?)

Somehow, it’s that frown, that annoyance in her recollection of his magic touching her, healing her, that pushes the blade deeper.]

No. It was far from what I planned. [And here he pauses again, noting how close she stands to him. She is utterlyunfettered and undisturbed by his presence. It’s not so much how one may adjust to a fly being on the wall, but… as if he were an open tome and her finger was beginning to follow the words.

Jaskier clenches his fist, then unclenches. The scar pulls at his skin exactly how it does out there. He is himself in the Horizon; though others have changed their shape and he certainly has the same ability, it’s simply not something he finds interest in. So when he begins to roll his sleeve up, the same ragged shape of uneven, scarred skin is there on his arm: from wrist to nearly the point of his elbow, a mound like a jagged mountain range, paler than the skin around it, still slightly pink where it still heals naturally.]

I felt it, at first. The spell, the healing. [Perhaps it is the best he is a poet, because he doesn’t hesitate on his descriptions now. Truthfully, he wants to know. He wants to know what happened. (What he did wrong. How they can never have this happen again. And she, despite his dislike of her, is still a master in this art compared to him.)] Then there was a swelling in the air, like a bread when it begins to rise, except too much of it. It can’t rise fast enough. It was heat and pressure, unnatural. There was a light. Blindingly white, like a star. Like she created a star between us, and it simply burst, and the burst split my skin apart like a sword.

[Here he begins to turn vaguely grey, the pallor in his cheeks dropping; for a moment, his head spins. There was so much blood, but it wasn’t just the blood; he’s seen so much blood in his life. It was a cut of skin like the side of a cow. Of skin attached to fat attached to blood and arteries and all of that down to the bone. The very, very real sight of white bone.] I think... I remember her face, for an instant. Quite clearly it was not what she expected. But also as if it was too much, and she knew it was.

[wiedzminka]

[ All things considered, the Horizon isn't that large. She might remember, from her last time here, where the wolf led her. Where Ciri showed her to, after her long wandering. She might remember the mountains, the cold winter air, the scent of evergreens. The Keep.

Ciri is there. She had accepted their meeting would probably be at night, considering Yennefer's in the castle and not free to simply take a few hours to meditate whenever she wishes. They'd briefly agreed on a time, but talked no more after that. It hadn't occurred to Ciri to give Yennefer a location; Yennefer has no Domain of her own, and so Kaer Morhen is the obvious assumption.

Impatient with waiting, unable to simply let herself relax (it had been difficult enough to meditate successfully to even get here), Ciri has materialized her sword and is on the training grounds in the courtyard when Yennefer approaches. The sword itself now matches the one she has in the physical realm; it's for the best to practice with the weapon she'll actually be using most.

Although Ciri senses Yennefer's presence immediately, she finishes the motions of her practice against one of the dummies on sticks. It had been more to distract herself than anything, but she's fairly sure she's managed to recreate her new sword's exact feel and balance now. For a few more moments, she simply allows Yennefer to watch her, not wanting to appear too excited, too invested. She's still a little cross.

But finally, she turns. She sheathes her sword, but does not allow it to dematerialize. ]

...Yennefer.

[vixening]

[ there is a lot of this that could be terribly simple. their meeting could be a simple exchange of information. this conversation between them could simply be old acquaintances, with a common interest. they have enough of those, people who they share, people who they care about split between them. ( even if, here, they are not split at all - jaskier went with geralt and ciri, remained with them as they left through the portal. yennefer made the choice to stay behind, chose to put this distance, and now she is here reaching out to him.) they could even simply be enemies, at each other's throats at any given moment, jaskier with his words and yennefer with her anger and their way of surviving, through it all. despite it all. if anything about this were meant to be simple, it could have been.

but there is no part of this that was meant to be simple - yennefer knew that, the moment she decided to make the connection between them. the second that she realized she needed to be here, despite the rest. because she does remember, too - the cart, the smile, the brush of his palms to her cheeks. she remembers it in detail, exactly, clear detail, no matter how much she'd rather push the memory away. would rather push any hint of that girl, open and trusting, hesitant and meek, out of the memories of everyone she met. that is the girl who had been sold for four marks. who had carved away at the tissue of her own wrists. a girl who did not know her own power, did not realize she could do this all on her own.

( that she would have to, in the end. because it will only, ever, be her. )

the simple truth - the actual simplicity of it, working its way into this moment - is that they are more alike than either of them want to admit. they know this game, know what they've each played, what they've done and had to do. coming from different places, different lives, different paths - and yet here they are. armed, in their own ways.

because she is adept at holding blades. she knows exactly the pressure to administer, the feel of the steel in her palm. but this is different, this isn't a sharp blade for the purposes of pain. jaskier looks back at her with a searing look of heat and yennefer, as if despite herself, feels her body pause. it's not a hesitation, it wouldn't be, because yennefer does not hesitate - but she can feel it, the change in the connection between them. how jaskier's entire body seems to be adjusted, slightly shifted, less them and more that. that moment, that touch, that kiss.

it catches her, too - something she keeps secret even from herself. a burst of a moment, a rise in the air of the tent.

( what is she even doing, here? with him? with this? the anger she feels towards him is low burning, but nothing compared to what she thinks of herself. for showing him these things, for having that still somehow so much a part of her that the horizon could pull it out. )

yennefer forces breath into her lungs, almost horrified with herself for the fact she had held her breath at all. it is a slow, seamless kind of breath. as if she's sighing, as if she's considering his words. she is so close to him, now, and as he clenches the fist on the arm in question, her eyes are drawn again. watching, closely, as his long fingers go about rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. the scar shows itself, then - a long, ragged, angry thing, and her eyes follow it from his wrist to elbow. each bump, each quickly healed stretch of flesh. she can feel the echo of the magic in it, too - like the air after a lightning strike, crisp, electric, delicate.

blindingly white. he says, and yennefer considers the image. ]

Like lightning?

[ chaos, in its purest form. if she was able to produce it, create something of that magnitude all on her own...

yennefer can hear him explain, the tilt of his words, the crafting he does with each breath. she hears him and takes into account each piece of information he gives her, the account of the air rising, and then exploding. the burst.

without warning, yennefer reaches down towards it - brushing her fingers along the pale skin at his wrist, where the scar begins. the skin feels new, but solid, and yennefer tilts her head a bit to the side as she draws her fingers up his arm, running them along the ridge of the scar itself. as her fingertips move, she feels the magic left over, and while she still is putting together the pieces of what happened, it is there. she can feel it, against his skin. ]

[vixening]

[ somehow, she had known the moment she materialized in this plane that this meeting would need to take place at the keep. she knew, despite the way everything in her wanted to stay as far from it as possible. if she were already stepping directly in the path that she'd been avoiding since her last visit, it would be a kind of twisted feat of fate that this meeting, the one thing that could successfully pull her back, would be to the place that she had the most complicated feelings towards.

it was not easy - none of this was ever going to be easy and yennefer has lived her life knowing as much - but the feeling that tugs at her as she approached the mountainside, the keep hidden up in the rocks. it nearly causes her pause. nearly. but she's able to keep moving, if only for her recognition of the figure in the courtyard, the echo of someone yennefer knows but doesn't want to see, in each swing.

she approaches all the same, a kind of tension in each of her steps as she grows closer, though there is effort to hide as much. she comes to a stop to watch as ciri finishes the movements, the swings, and she can tell ciri carries with her some of that anger from her messages before. good, yennefer thinks. because if nothing else, she can understand anger. ]

Ciri. [ because while part of her wants to say cirilla, or perhaps even princess, yennefer remembers ciri's request from their first meeting. whether or not she keeps up with it in every other conversation they have, yennefer uses it here - a sort of offering, in a way. after a moment's pause, yennefer's eyes turn to the courtyard around them, familiar and yet not - like a dream, or distant memory. ] Do you share this domain? [ with geralt, she doesn't say. ]

[cointosser]

Lightning? [He repeats the word with a tilt to his head, and a slight frown. Half because he is curious, why that comes to her mind first -- but half because he feels it. The air. And focusing on the question of her simile is much easier than trying to figure out... that.

It is not the same. She is not who he kissed on the trail. And yet she is.

Ugh! He should never have thought about it. He is not confused about what his heart, or his head (or his loins) want, and it -- it isn't this, and it certainly isn't where he's here, in Horizon, explaining how he almost died with nearly clinical detachment so he doesn't pass out or vomit.

It's been minutes since she last said some biting remark, and now he craves it. The twist of that knife. Anything to distract from how close she has moved to him; close enough he feels the heat of her skin and the weight of her dress.

The question. It was left in the air too long.]

I've never been struck by it, of course, but... yes, I suppose, like lightning.

[Jaskier watches her carefully. Like lightning. Yes, some things are quite like lightning, aren't they? His thumb rubs along the side of his index finger, realizing that she had paused before he answered. Held her breath. It doesn't mean anything, of course; another way for her to sigh, for her to show her impatience with his presence. That's it.

That's it. Nearly a mantra it becomes, as silence settles, deciding what to pick and place as he continues.

Yet he doesn't make it that far.

She touches him. Not a harsh grab of his arm, jerking it towards her to inspect it. It is clear that's exactly what she's doing. Inspecting. Yet there is absolutely no need he can think of for her fingers to trail down that mountain range of skin. It is instant, the effect it has on him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, almost as if the touch hurts -- far from it. The shiver down his spine, the way the hairs on his arm begin to rise. (He remembers the taste of her.) A pause in the middle of his forearm, until she goes towards his elbow. (The weight of her hand on his leg.)

He goes dizzy with it. All at once, the smell of her hits him. He is only human, but so close, there is no mistaking it. Lilac and gooseberries.

In that bed he woke in. After the djinn. The same scent. When he'd woken from a rather randy dream to a woman on the edge of the bed, her black hair cascading down her back, completely nude. (He definitely still recalls the shape of her breasts. Which he maintains is not his fault.)

He can't help himself. He looks at them now, the swell of them against the neckline of her dress, up to the long length of her collarbones, her neck. She must put the perfume there, he thinks, if she uses perfume at all. Perhaps this, too, is magic.]

D-... do you feel something?

[On his arm. The scar. Obviously.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri's neither stupid nor blind; she's recognized the tension between Yennefer and Geralt, even kind of recognized it. It's almost familiar, but only in a way she doesn't really like. Their disagreements have always been unpleasant to her, though she rarely witnessed them. Namely, because she spent most of her time with each of them apart from the other. The Horizon seems to have thrown that understanding off balance, even if technically they are still apart.

So Ciri isn't sure if Yennefer will be upset when she responds. She doesn't necessarily care about Yennefer's annoyance toward her relationship with Geralt, if that's what it is. She refuses to sound defensive. ]

Kaer Morhen was my home too.

[ And so was Ellander. Yennefer simply does not know it. ]

...I have a cabin around this way, though. We can talk there. It's warmer.

[ She leads Yenner around one side of the courtyard, which she's expanded with another training area and a private stable for Kelpie (which she can wander in and out of, depending on whether she wishes to be with Roach or not). Nestled against the mountain's slope, surrounded by evergreens, is a cottage, sturdy but unremarkable, as snow-covered as the rest of the keep.

This is where Ciri leads Yennefer, and when they approach, Kelpie trots out to greet her. Ciri gives her mare's nose an affectionate rub, materializing a small apple in her other palm and offering it for her to lip at and ultimately accept. She does not look at Yennefer while she talks. ]

How are they treating you in Thorne, really? What is your life there like?

[vixening]

[ it's another disconnect between them that yennefer catches before she can allow herself to really get caught in it. the distinct way ciri does not argue with her question, does not sound defensive, despite the place for it. it's the same feeling yennefer had back in the cells, like she's three steps behind, and it curls uncomfortably in her chest.

so she hums, nods once - because she knew that. knew that ciri had spent time with geralt, here. that she had spent years growing up, here. yennefer has a strange feeling of both knowing this place, and not - the only path she's really familiar with the one to a specific room, up a set of stairs, tucked away from the rest of the keep. it's the only place she knows how to go to, and yet the one place she wants to stay as far from as possible. it reads in her figure as that same sort of tension, of a discomfort that yennefer does not quite turn away from, but hesitates to move towards.

ciri mentions a cabin, though, and yennefer just nearly perks up at the sound of it, following ciri as she starts off around one side. the horse that yennefer remembers from their meeting trots out to meet them both, and yennefer watches the affectionate way ciri nuzzles at the horse. is caught, unwanted, by an image of geralt. she takes a breath, turning her eyes instead to the image of the cottage. the question does not quite draw her attention - ciri not looking at yennefer, and yennefer not looking back, either. not yet, though there is a feeling they don't quite need to, either. ]

It is boring, more often than not. [ is the easy, initial answer. yennefer exhales, not quite a sigh, as she tucks her hands into the muff she materializes for herself, the biting cold of the air not uncomfortable, but cold enough. ] After the escape, I joined a group who were protecting Ambrose from someone attempting to attack him while he'd been frozen. My actions earned me an official apology from the mages, and a seat at court. The native Thorneans aren't any more complicated than any other royal kingdom, so it has been mostly politics. Confirming my use. [ there's a nonchalance to her words, a kind of disinterest as she shrugs. yennefer clearly does not find anything in thorne a threat to her. but then again, that is partially why she remained, isn't it? because it won't be a threat to her.

she hates all of this, of course. there'd been a reason she'd run from aidern when she had. but there's a reason for her to remain there, now, and she looks at ciri with a bit more interest now. ]

And how are the Free Cities?

[vixening]

[ of course he wouldn't understand the connection. there would be very few who would - who have the memories, the tower of the gull, holding a bottle up to the growing storm, the ultimate expression of chaos. honestly, yennefer questions whether ciri herself had been through the trial, if she'd never been to aretuza herself. yennefer still remembers the feeling herself, of the chaos - condensed - shooting through her veins. the lashing out she'd don at tissaia herself. (there is a distant thought that jaskier would recognize that version of her, in a way. she'd already begun to understand her own power, her connection to her chaos and that of the world around them, but the jaw, the brow, the arched spine. what would he think, of that yennefer? the in-between, not quite her now, but not quite her then, either.

then, yennefer chastizes herself - it doesn't matter what version of her he might think he knows. that yennefer is gone, dead, buried long before he was even born. )

yennefer notices the pause, though. by the way his thoughts linger, his eyes still on her. she is so close, close enough that reaching out to touch him is easy, and with him sitting before her now, leaned back in the chair, with the way his chin has to tilt up to see her, just enough that she can see him swallow, and it's...interesting. interesting, how she runs her fingers along the scar. interesting, how instant the reaction is. the shiver, the tension - if she weren't aware of his thoughts, or at least the vague senses of his reaction, she would believe he was in pain. that there were some lingering, exposed nerves along the scar.

as it stands, she instead catches onto the shift in jaskier's thoughts. how he is thinking about something more tangible about her, now. a half-real kiss, yes, about her hand on his knee, yes, but now it's more. their first meeting, her naked body, a searing heat that pushes through him as his eyes adjust to her chest, bent over in front of him even now.

he is but a man, after all, and yennefer feels a surge of something akin to relief at that. because this? this is known territory. and more than that, this is something she can control. something she is adept at navigating, that she can wrap her fingers around and feel. for a brief, wonderful moment, jaskier is not thinking about the her before - of the memory of the cart, of the things that other version of her had done - but of her now. the shape of her breasts, the proximity she has to him now, the electric feeling of her fingers on his scar, the scent, that he can probably smell even now (though it is but a passing thought that she brings it with her into the horizon). this, this game she knows all too well, this is a place she inhabits, and there is a sudden need in her to follow it.

( does it matter that it's with him? does it matter that she doesn't need to do this at all? no, no it doesn't, because this is her own choice. this is her choice. and if she comes to regret this in the morning, well - it wouldn't be the first time. )

he asks her if she feels something, and yennefer does. static, in the air, but also a lingering sense of the magic that had torn him open. that had produced so much blood, probably tissue, probably muscle down to the bone. she adjusts her hand very slightly, this time letting her thumb follow the ridge of it down from his elbow, slow and meandering. she watches him for the reaction, again, adjusting to lean just a bit closer, shifting to be that much closer. he probably watches it, with his eyes on her chest - how she leans, how her breath settles. ]

Hmmm. [ she hums, low and specific. she is watching him closely, for his reaction, for that shiver if it comes again. there is a kind of heat that builds in her gut at the idea of this, at how close she leans to him, how his chest rises and falls. the feeling of the scar under her thumb is a familiar one, one she is used to brushing against, whether it be on another body or those same ridges on her own wrists. different situations, different causes, different lives - leading them to this one, exact moment.

if jaskier does look up to her, again, he will find a thoughtful look in her eyes. the tilt of her mouth, not quite a smile, but pointedly content. this is preferred, she so decides, to whatever it was jaskier had been harboring somewhere in his ribcage after their other meeting. because wrapped up somewhere in this is her own urge to kiss him again, not to feel that same press of gentle lips, not to chase after the brush of his thumb against her cheek, but instead to reach in and grasps whatever version of her he's still holding onto. to squeeze it out of him with her own fingers, to suck it from his mouth.

he still thinks of her - that lost, gentle girl that had been so thoroughly killed by the life yennefer had been born into. the girl who never had a chance to live. and now it's yennefer, who must kill her, who - if it comes to it - must rip her from jaskier's very memory. replace her with the only yennefer he should have ever known.

and so, she does finally smile - the length of her body tilting ever so slightly once again. ]

I do. [ when her thumb reaches his wrist, it continues just a bit further - her nail tracing gently to his palm, a circle in the skin of his hand. featherlight, almost in direct contrast to the heat she lets show through her eyes. ] Do you feel it, too? [ and that is when yennefer leans forward, her free hand reaching by his cheek to settle on the back of the chair, wrapping around the wood there. it lets her lean closer still, all but poised above him. the curl of her mouth, his breath close enough now she can feel it against her, if he breathes hard enough. ] Now that you can access it- chaos. Magic. [ her thumb brushes over his wrist again, the scar. she waits to see how it feels for him, how he reacts to the continued touch. ]

It can be addicting.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri's palm moves over the horse's long, graceful neck and the side of her jaw as she listens, petting her fondly. The mare snuffles at her other hand, looking for more apple; finding none, she lifts her head in Yennefer's direction.

Ciri finally turns to follow her gaze. ]

She remembers you.

[ Or she's just looking for treats. But Ciri's posture is more open now, inviting without words, if Yennefer wishes to come closer. The offer is there, even if the horse is the pretense for it. ]

I see. Ambrose. He's the highest mage in the court, right? The one who pulled us out of our times and places. Being in his good graces may accomplish much in the future.

[ She understands why Yennefer set herself up like this, defending the man responsible for their summonings. Though Ciri may not be too clear on the political intricacies of Thorne's court, she doesn't need to know the details to understand how Yennefer's positioned herself. Or to understand that it means Yennefer's publicly siding with Thorne's goals and methods, perhaps even as an enemy to the prisoners who fled and allied themselves (truly or not) with opposing forces. She understands, and she does not care. Despite her bitter words over the mental link last night, Ciri's not upset at anything Yennefer has done and not the least bit worried about her true intentions. She was simply angry that Yennefer hadn't reached out herself, after forming the connection to the Horizon, the one place they can actually meet right now.

That anger, at least, is fading quickly now that Yennefer is here. She kept her word. If it still hurts a little that the circumstances forced their meeting to be like this, then Ciri simply swallows that hurt and focuses on the outcome. They're here now.

She reaches out, and in her hand is another little crabapple. She offers it to Yennefer. ]

Enormous.

We're in Cadens. So far, we have spent most of our time saving up for necessities. Weapons, gear. For Geralt and myself. Jaskier has established himself in a few of the local taverns, and his reputation is growing as expected. I've been doing deliveries and guarding goods, taking small hunting contracts.

I'd like to visit some of the other nearby cities soon. Haven't had the chance yet.

[ She's avoiding the topic. The one she brought Yennefer here for in the first place. For just a few minutes, the conversation can be about something more pleasant. Simply catching up. ]

All in all, Cadens is hot and crowded. Many times bigger than Novigrad, even. But I don't hate it there. There are plenty of things to see and do, at least.

[cointosser]

[In retrospect, he should have phrased his question better. Or, perhaps, more accurately. In retrospect, he should not be allowing her touch to linger so long on his skin. (Has it been long? Do the seconds become hours now, all of a sudden, where he has never once considered his time spent with her, so eager to vacate her presence as he usually is?) This meeting is culminating into a long series of mistakes that are trapping him.

And yes, even in the Horizon, he can feel trapped. Sitting on this seat in her tent, her domain surrounding him, with her hovering so close he could not stand without pushing her out of the way first (which he does not dare to even consider doing.)

The problem is, this trapping has somehow reimagined itself. Whatever memory of that other Yennefer he brings with him, or whatever he sees in the long line of her neck and hears in the smallest hesitation of her breath, makes him feel less like prey and more like --

He swallows heavily, swearing up and down that the tone of her voice has changed. Grown heavier. She is still touching him. She is still touching him, elongating the motion as it goes back to his hand. Which, even after all his years of playing, is terribly sensitive. The muscles of his legs tighten as he sits up a little straighter, the tips of his fingers curling.

Oh. Yes. He feels it. Feels something. Feels a lot of things he absolutely, for Melitele's fucking sake, should not be feeling. Meeting her in the Horizon was a mistake. Not only now, but before. Where he was still blissfully unaware she was nothing more than that woman who used him for power, who held a knife between his legs like she enjoyed seeing his fear and the raw spike in his voice.

As she leans over him, her breasts only come closer -- close enough for him to kiss, for him to put his mouth on. No, fuck. Not now! And now he's thinking about it. It's his fucking mind, betraying him again -- knowing that, if Yennefer had not been Yennefer to him in that wagon, he may have laid out a blanket, slid his hands under her dress, and invited her to stay. Simply for fun.

Fuck. She's playing the game, and of course, she is beyond skilled at it. She may even have been at it longer than he's been alive.

His hands tighten, fingers curling into his palms. Growing tighter, nails biting into the skin.]

Is -- is that what it is to you? Addictive? [He pulls his eyes from her breasts (gods, they really are fantastic) to her face, though he can't quite meet her eyes now, so they settle on her lips instead. (This is not better.)] I cannot believe the great Yennefer of Vengerberg could be a slave to her impulses. Even magic ones.

[vixening]

[ it is not difficult to sense it in him - how suddenly he's become quite aware of the shift in the air, that edge of tension that shoots through him upon realizing where, and how, the control of the situation has gone from the pair of them to settling much more firmly on one side of this conversation. it is a place that yennefer prefers to be in, and as she watches him try to settle in the chair with her leaned in so close, there is a distinct feeling of satisfaction that comes along with it. a feeling of satisfaction that seems to emit off of her, as she senses the heat coming from him, how he has to straighten himself, how his body suddenly feels very, very close.

his fingers curl as her own drag up the scar, and there is a sharp, specific kind of look in her eyes. towards him, towards this. his eyes are on her chest and he's thinking about them, about her breasts, about touching them - and she adjusts, once more, barely a movement but in it a kind of encouragement. she is easing him over this edge with each breath she takes, reveling in how he can't quite seem to stop himself from following. ( and he fights it, of course he does, but this is not the first time yennefer has slowly worked down these walls in others and she sees no problem in taking the time to work them down for jaskier, too, just as she drifts her fingers up his arm again to his elbow, and then slowly, carefully, back down. )

he gives a valiant effort, though - of pushing back. of holding true. and while a part of yennefer could feel defensive, at his statement. could have dropped the smile and let the tension shoot back through her, to straighten her back and create more distance, she doesn't. instead, she takes it for what it is: the lashing out of someone trapped, jaskier desperately clutching at rungs of the conversation, trying to find his footing. yennefer, in recognizing it, in seeing how his eyes do move from her chest but then settle instead on her lips, lets the smile grow instead. ] I am no slave, and never will be. But I remember the first taste of it, long ago. [ she forms each word with practice, with an elegant and precise easiness to her mouth. he is watching her speak, but he is thinking about kissing her - and while she knows it is not the first kiss they would have shared, this is quite different. this is more of how it should have ever happened.

( she tightens her hold, around this other yennefer, that he is still clinging to. she squeezes, and squeezes, and squeezes again. ) ]

This is your first time with it, here. And you've been using it more than you thought, yes? Little moments, flourishes, chances to change things in ways you never before dreamed. [ it's obvious to her that jaskier has used his magic, and while she knows it's a risk to assume, it's not hard to imagine. jaskier, making small flowers. jaskier, healing her as he'd left. he's using his magic, using it often enough, and that is a feeling yennefer knows. ]

Tell me, Julian. [ slowly, she finishes the trek down his scar to his wrist, brushes her fingertips over his nails, his knuckles, where he's got his fingers clenched tight, biting into the skin of his palm. there is an unspoken demand in them - to loosen his hand, to let her fingers find their place in his palm once more. and if he doesn't relent, she has other tactics.

like now - how she tilts her head so slightly, lets her hair fall over her shoulder, leaning closer and closer until his eyes can't help but meet hers, her weight leaned back against the hand propped against the back of his chair, her lips mere inches from his own. again, there is the spark in her eyes, the lingering smile on her lips. she's having fun, this is fun, and as her body leans over his in this chair, she considers her next move. considers, and then acts, by lifting the hand that had been brushing over his fingers to instead lift them to his jaw, his chin, the pad of her thumb drawing from his lower lip on a trail down to his chin, and then under. the soft skin there, and then lower still, down his neck, over his adams apple, pausing just for long enough to feel him swallow. ]

What is it you feel, now?

closed { the queen.

[vixening]

[ yennefer has played this game before.

her place in court, her seat to the side of the throne. she has watched monarchies grow and die and replaced over and over again, and she knows what it means to find power within it. it is a subtle art, positioning yourself among the right people, in the right places, making the right opinions known. it almost doesn't seem fair, in some ways, that the court of thorne is so similar to aidern, or others, that she's come across in her many years of life. but then again, much of what has happened hasn't exactly been fair. most of life, as it turns out, isn't fair.

and so yennefer makes herself known - she frequents the mages study halls, she introduces herself and makes light conversation with the courtesans. she keeps her distance from ambrose, specifically, though that isn't difficult and makes it known her curiosity and interest in the crown, in the queen, in the people who ran this kingdom that had welcomed them here.

because that had been something of a priority for her - just as she'd learned all her years in court. your place meant nothing, without the backing of the royal family themselves. and while there had always been distance, yennefer was not afraid to take the steps she needed to. to make her requests.

and it just so happened that - after what felt like no time at all - her requests have been met. and agreement, for a private meeting with the queen. which is where yennefer is now - making her way down to the throne room, towards a meeting that had finally been called. she had some ideas of what this meeting could entail, some potential directions it could take her, but yennefer easily slips into the role she's played before. adept, experienced, with hopes of gaining favor and maybe a bit more. but that, she knows, depends on the queen herself. ]