an awful noise filled the air;

[iustise]

Who: Geralt & Lord John Grey
When: Early October
Where: Free Cities; The Badlands
What: Lord John moves to Free Cities; things do not originally go as planned
Warnings: None atm, will update as needed



It is not the first time Lord John finds himself with no idea of where in the world he might be, but the desert is decidedly a new twist. As he swallows back the wave of nausea that seems to accompany every portal he has taken, John shoulders his pack of meagre belongings he has managed to bring with him and squints at the scenery around him. He had done his best to scurry quickly out of the city to Nott, where he met with Yennefer and the mage who had sought him passage out of there. But time waits for no man, and already the sun is beating hot and heavy overhead. Perhaps he should have thought to bring more than the one waterskin he has with him...

It takes a bit of stumbling around, but John manages to find shelter, of a sort. Some sort of rocky overhang that at least provides a bit of shade from the sun. Wrestling off his jacket, John does his best to fold it up and stuff it into his pack, quickly coming to the conclusion that he's going to have to rethink his entire wardrobe, if the temperature in the city is anything close to this. Shooting Geralt a quick message that he's made it safely, John sits and waits and does his best not to think too hard about the whirlwind of events that have made up the past day. Or about the desert around him, for that matter, and what might lie beyond the rocky outcroppings, where he cannot see.

Having no better way he can think of to spend his time, John starts to sing to himself. Silently. He certainly knows better than to make any sound aloud. And when that gets old, he begins to amuse himself with imagining Free Cities itself, and Geralt's house. He can't say he's ever been described much about it, although that does not surprise him much either. Geralt is not one for frivolous details, and John had not thought to ask. He supposes he's going to find out now, one way or another. That is supposing that Geralt brings him back there, but -- he would, wouldn't he? And not just drop him off at an inn to find his own way.

Unease settles in his gut despite his best efforts otherwise. A noise sounds from a few feet away, a shifting of the sand and rocks, but when John turns to look there is nothing there. 

"Geralt?" John calls out uncertainly, but gets no reply, and the unease grows.

A few more moments -- minutes? -- pass by, and the sound comes again, much closer this time. John turns in his seat to look toward the noise and comes face-to-face with the strangest appendage he has ever seen sticking up out of the sand, blinking its multi-eyed gaze at him.

"Jesus Christ--!!" he exclaims, and barely manages to scramble out of the claw-eye-hand's reach as it takes a swipe at him.

Comments

[iustise]

"Did you really..." John replies, raising his eyebrows, more a statement than a question.

John had understood, of course, that Geralt's senses are stronger than the average man's. But to be able to track him across the desert by smell...? John would be lying if he did not say that he finds himself impressed. John cannot help but wonder what other things he still does not fully comprehend about the man before him, before deciding he will find out if and when it becomes necessary for him to do so and leaving it at that.

John has never shared a horse with another, that he can recall. Certainly not riding double such as this, where he is the passenger. Still, he is an experienced rider and so he manages to maintain some amount of dignity when Geralt offers him his hand. Settling himself at the other man's back, his hands come to rest around Geralt's waist, doing his best to anchor himself in place.

"I am trusting you not to drop me off the back of this horse, you know," he says, feeling very aware of the fact that Geralt's saddle was only made for one person.

[gynvael]

Unfortunately, Geralt's answer is a mere shrug. His tracking abilities are a combination of experience, training, and his heightened senses, and he truthfully cannot put it well into words. He's navigated the world as a Witcher for over a century. He doesn't actually know what it's like to be a human.

He takes Roach's reins and turns he around.

"I'll catch you," he replies.

John need not worry. It won't be as comfortable as having his own horse, but it'll do. They aren't too far from the city. Its gates loom in the distance as they draw near. It must be a stark contrast to Thorne. Geralt recalls the feeling. He'd grown up in thick forests and rushing streams and cold winters. Then this place. The desert. Not as barren as Korath—there are small oases, bushes and short trees, patches of blooming flowers when it rains in the spring or autumn—but nonetheless a marked change.

"You're fortunate we moved to a larger house."

The last one had a single room and Geralt slept on the floor.

[iustise]

John is tired, and the warmth of Geralt body as he sits pressed against his back and the movement of the horse beneath them are combining to remind him of exactly how tired he is. What energy he had mustered through the sheer terror of facing that creature is now fading away, leaving him feeling exhausted, uncertain, and melancholy. It is not unfamiliar territory for him, but he would rather not start on this footing, here with Geralt in this brand-new place.

He is quiet for a long moment after Geralt speaks, before he finally replies.

"I would consider myself fortunate for much more than that," he says, uncertain whether he is grateful or not that Geralt cannot see him just now. There might be a better place for this conversation than sitting atop Roach's back, but John feels it needs to be said, and sooner rather than later. "Geralt. I am so very grateful for everything you have done for me, these past few days. Months, in truth. With everything that has happened in Thorne, and now this. I never meant to be such a burden..."

[gynvael]

Somehow, Geralt can sense John's words before they come. The noise he makes is quiet, acknowledging. He does not need John's gratitude but nor will he dismiss it. He has come to understand that it's important to John to speak these sentiments out loud.

"You are not," he answers firmly. "And believe me, John, you will more than earn your keep by entertaining the bard in my stead."

His tone is playful, but he's sincere. John isn't a burden and Geralt does not go out of his way for those who are not worth his while. John is more than a friend and more than a man he's shared a bed with. He's family. He's somebody Geralt spent several centuries with, who stayed with him through his loss of memories, who helped Jaskier find himself again at the end.

It's that last act that Geralt, deep down, sees himself repaying now. He knows John would not consider this the same, and for that reason, Geralt has not said it to John. But he does owe him for that.

[iustise]

It's true. John strives to be an honest man, in all aspects of his life. He knows what it is like to hold back a secret, the way it eats a person up from the inside out, and he hates that feeling. Though it may be difficult at times, in John's estimation it is always better to voice his thoughts and feelings, when he can. For better or worse, then at least they will be aired to be addressed.

He knows Geralt will never judge him for it, even if Geralt is not one to do anything of the like himself. Geralt is honest in other ways -- John has a feeling that if he ever did something that really bothered the man, he would know about it. But now...

Geralt is quiet and reassuring. Gentle, in a way that makes John's heart ache with fondness for the other man. He is here. He is here at last.

John leans forward to rest his cheek against the back of Geralt's shoulder, quiet for a long moment before at long last he says, "Tell me about your home together." He realizes that they will be there soon regardless, but he'd like to know more. Hear it from Geralt himself, even if he knows he's not much of a talker, so that he might envision how he could fit himself in with the little family he knows that they have made for themselves.

[gynvael]

He hums. It takes him a moment to consider if only because he does not consider their home anything special. Perhaps he is not a man who carries the same attachment to a place as others, with the singular exception of Kaer Morhen. The people who live in it are important to him, but the house is merely a house.

Though he's more than glad to invite John into it.

"Decently sized. Finally built myself a bed." John may be left to wonder precisely how long Geralt has been without a bed. (He shared Jaskier's on occasion.) "You'll have to excuse the excessive greenery. Jaskier's made full use of his ability to grow plants. And...the pets. Damn things are always underfoot."

He's not as annoyed as he sounds. They're as much a part of the family, and John will discover upon arrival that Geralt has also built the small leosylph and Jaskier's toy gryphon each a bed of their own.

[iustise]

The finally does leave John questioning slightly, it is true, but the fact that he does have one is the good part. John imagines that Geralt would have left himself until last anyway, assuming he had constructed the furniture for the others first and they hadn't just gone out and purchased it for themselves. Knowing Geralt from what he does in the hundreds of years that never were, he has the feeling that Geralt probably did build many of the things in their home for himself.

(Speaking of, John shifts for a moment, pressing a hand to his chest, reassuring himself that the little acorn that Geralt had carved for him is still safe and sound in his jacket pocket. After rolling around in the sand to escape that creature, he could never be too certain.)

John lets out the huff of a laugh at the continued grumbling. Jaskier... He remembers the other man's affinity for plants, during their time as gods. He also remembers the way his magic had crumbled, corrupting as he had fought so hard to maintain it, during that last conversation of theirs. The thought that any such ability has returned to Jaskier fills John with a fondness for the bard. He will be grateful to see him again too, even despite the...

"Pets?" John asks, raising an eyebrow even despite the fact that Geralt cannot see him. "You do seem to have a talent for collecting strays." John himself now among that number, it would seem.

[gynvael]

Plants and birdsong have been Jaskier's domain since he arrived in this place. It's an odd thing to see his friend with magic powerful enough to rival a studied druid—Jaskier was never capable of wielding Chaos on the Continent—but the truth is, he thinks it suits Jaskier. And it does mean he worries less when Jaskier is out and about on his own.

Not that he worried much to begin with. Jaskier is a man who can more than take care of himself—primarily by ascending beyond the fear of being called a coward that gets most other men killed. If the bard must hide behind someone bigger than him, he will do so without shame.

It's a good way to stay alive. Bravery is a fool's downfall.

"Hardly." Geralt shifts the horse towards the south. He'll introduce John to the animals soon. Two horses and a chocobo, as well. "We're all strays of our world."

They find each other, is the more accurate way of putting it. Few of them had much of a home even back on their spheres. He supposes John is a bit different at first glance, but the more Geralt comes to know the man, the more he senses John has not felt at home as often as he would like.

[iustise]

John contemplates that thought for a long moment, as he lets the swaying movement of the horse beneath him and the warmth of Geralt's back lull him into a sense of peace and calm at last. After all the danger he had been in, these past few days, these past few months, finding himself here at Geralt's side he finally feels as though he can breathe at last.

It is odd to realize how implicitly he trusts the other man. How, unspoken, he knows that now he is here, he knows that he is safe. John is a grown man and he is quite used to being on his own and seeing to his own protection, and yet. Having Geralt at his back is a comfort he cannot put into words. Perhaps because he was never quite so alone as he found himself in Thorne. Made all the more apparent with the knowledge of those he did care for, spread across the other territories of the land.

It is true, John supposes. They are all strays here, in one way or another. Lost, or abandoned, far, far from home.

"I had a little dog, once," John says, apropos of nothing, in that way a person does when they grow tired and their minds begin to wander. "Roscoe. A gift from a friend." The only creature John supposes he could ever claim to have called a 'pet'. John smiles fondly, thinking back on the first appearance of the tiny, long-nosed black puppy and its stumpy little legs and quick, pink little tongue. "I do not suppose you have made the acquaintance of Gustav?"