[ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + the Queen, Yennefer, Various
When: After Nov. 12
Where: Castle Thorne, Nott, Cadens
What: Geralt goes on an Adventure and has a great time
Warnings: Blood, violence, trauma



(( placing starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

THORNE: the queen + yennefer | kylo | mal | jolene
NOTT: julie | nadine | lloyd
CADENS: jaskier + sam | sam | ciri | jaskier

Comments

[gynvael]

[ He snorts softly to himself. Yeah. He'd wager anything that's what Ciri said. Tired. He'll take tired. He hates that she's worn herself out in a worry, that it's because of him she hasn't got any rest this entire time. But at least she's safe. Feels like that's all he can ask for. For everyone to be safe.

His gaze flicks back to Sam. He doesn't roll his eyes, but there's a sense that he has the urge to. Not that Sam isn't right, it's just. Shit. He knows. He does. He'll stay put and get to bed and not fuck anything else up about his body. As durable as he is, he's nowhere near invincible, and he reached his limits awhile back. He's lucky, frankly, that these are the only injuries he's racked up. Wounds that can be stitched back together, wrapped and bandaged and healed with a bit of magic, some herbs and medicine. It could've easily been so much worse.

(There are other, wounded parts of him that are not so clearly seen, but he's not dwelling. He can't.)

He looks at Sam's hand. Thinks briefly of the last time Sam had not taken his, out there in the desert. Flecks of blood still stain Sam's fingers from when Sam had bandaged him, or sewn him up.

He takes it. One eyebrow lifts, and he pushes to his feet with a sharp inhale. ] You aren't going to carry me there?

[falcony]

[ sam does pick up on the not-eye-roll, does feel the acceptance of the situation in the other man. there is something else, too, that he thinks he might notice going on behind those gold eyes, but he's not one hundred percent sure it isn't just a mixture of pain and potions and whatever else is going on, physically. he files that away for something to keep an eye on, something to check if it's still an issue in twenty-four hours.

( because yes, it could have been much worse. but there can also still be other wounds, other things are not as easily seen. sam knows how this goes, knows how this could get worse if it's not kept in check. )

he does hold out his hand, though, and he does wait for geralt to take it. though it's only when geralt's eyes flick to his hand and there feels to be an almost imperceptible pause that sam gets it - that it hits him like a punch to the gut. the way geralt had offered his own hand, how sam had looked at it, and then away. sam actually flinches at that memory, at his reaction, his part in it, and if geralt notices sam's expression shifts suddenly - guilty, upset, like he's going to apologize again-

but geralt takes his hand. takes it, and let's sam help him to his feet, lifts a brow, makes a joke - and while the feeling isn't gone, necessarily, it's suddenly easier to push down. easier to move through. sam barks out a kind of laugh, his own brow lifting. ] You think I can carry you? That's cute- that's real cute. Yeah, no, but if you make me I will drag your ass to bed. [ except that sam says all of this while he is immediately stepping into geralt's side - a hand out to steady him, if he needs it. tries to kind of guide geralt's arm over his shoulders, for support, because yes - while sam won't carry him, he's definitely there to help. ] If you want to be princess carried you have to give me at least a few months' notice. I have not been weight training enough for you.

[ and because geralt did not answer which means sam gets to make the decision. ] Now let's go, big guy- bed.

[gynvael]

[ He leans some of his weight on Sam, though he's steadier on his feet than he was before. If he notices the guilt that keeps flaring up in the other man, he makes no comment. It's not that he wants to ignore how Sam's feeling. He just isn't sure what else to say. He's never made it a secret, who he is, what he is; people can take him or leave him as they will, and if Sam has changed his mind, has decided he wants to be here even with what he now knows, then Geralt will not go out of his way to drive him off. He tried that once with Jaskier already, and he still feels like a bastard for it.

Perhaps he's learning. A little.

His lips twitch. ] I'd like to see it.

[ Geralt doesn't realize he never actually answered Sam's question. He's not entirely awake. When Sam tells him they're going for the bed, he decides not to argue. Bed sounds fine. Great. The couch has been shit for his back, his ribs, his everything. The room's not large, which is for the best. It takes a few steps to reach the bed. He half-drags himself, half-sinks onto the mattress. He's not certain how easy sleep will come now that he isn't pulled under by his body giving out. Doesn't matter. He'll try to get some. He needs it.

Sam does, as well. He wants to tell Sam to go get some damn rest already, that those shadows under his eyes are nearly bruising. Geralt doesn't need to be watched over, anyhow; he's battered, sore, but he isn't dying. He'll recover, given a week or two. But fuck, he's too tired to prod at anyone else to take care of themselves. Probably doesn't have much room to talk, either. He lays gingerly on his side, letting his eyes fall shut instead. He imagines Jaskier will harass Sam when he wakes up later. ]