[ we’re nearly done here does more to set yennefer off than anything else, a kind of finality to the queen’s voice that does not sit well with her. her eyes turn to geralt, a flash of a look - not even a moment’s worth, but something - before yennefer nods, once. it turns into a kind of bow, as she takes a step backward, hiding any movement that might have been seen (there isn’t anything, of course - she doesn’t need movements, doesn’t need words, for her magic to move). ]
Of course, your majesty.
[ she is open to what flows from geralt then, too - names, faces, people she herself had seen escape through those portals, and some she doesn’t recognize at all. she wonders if they’re new, or if they’re just faces she hadn’t seen during her own time in the dungeons.
and then there is the face of the girl - green eyes, the fierce protectiveness. yennefer doesn’t even have time to stand, fully, before her magic is reaching out - panicked, quick, a whip-snap of chaos reaching for the first thing she can find. there is nothing to be seen about it, no visual to be caught at all, nothing grigory or the queen should be able to notice (should - she hasn’t ever had anyone notice this before, doesn’t expect it to be noticed now). it lasts all of that brief not-even-a-moment, a whip lashing out for the closest memory, the closest memory that couch possible hold enough to drown out the information grigory is gathering. the pull is half-hazard, without any of the finesse that grigory had been working with, but it should be enough.
enough to cover whatever image of the girl grigory had started to see, enough to flood the connection.
she hopes it is enough. her eyes land on geralt, one last time, before they shift to grigory - swallowing back whatever coppery taste she has on the back of her tongue. it’s a risk - that they won’t notice what she’s done, that what she’d wrenched free will be enough to distract, that they will move on. no matter what it is she’s done, though, her attention is on the mage. the effort he’s putting forth. ]
yen and geralt switch back for this round!
Of course, your majesty.
[ she is open to what flows from geralt then, too - names, faces, people she herself had seen escape through those portals, and some she doesn’t recognize at all. she wonders if they’re new, or if they’re just faces she hadn’t seen during her own time in the dungeons.
and then there is the face of the girl - green eyes, the fierce protectiveness. yennefer doesn’t even have time to stand, fully, before her magic is reaching out - panicked, quick, a whip-snap of chaos reaching for the first thing she can find. there is nothing to be seen about it, no visual to be caught at all, nothing grigory or the queen should be able to notice (should - she hasn’t ever had anyone notice this before, doesn’t expect it to be noticed now). it lasts all of that brief not-even-a-moment, a whip lashing out for the closest memory, the closest memory that couch possible hold enough to drown out the information grigory is gathering. the pull is half-hazard, without any of the finesse that grigory had been working with, but it should be enough.
enough to cover whatever image of the girl grigory had started to see, enough to flood the connection.
she hopes it is enough. her eyes land on geralt, one last time, before they shift to grigory - swallowing back whatever coppery taste she has on the back of her tongue. it’s a risk - that they won’t notice what she’s done, that what she’d wrenched free will be enough to distract, that they will move on. no matter what it is she’s done, though, her attention is on the mage. the effort he’s putting forth. ]
A figure of what?