abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

[ Somehow, it's only now that it strikes him the magic she'd used in the Horizon, with her hands, is one she also carries outside of it. The realization flickers in and then out; most of his attention goes into placing his feet where they won't send him flat on his fucking face. The cold doesn't bother him—if anything, it's the only thing that's let him go for this long; he'd have never made it this far through the dry heat of a desert—but the cloak keeps him from feeling so exposed, and he tugs it around himself.

He leans more of his weight on her than he means to, probably stumbles at some point, but she keeps him from hitting the ground and that's all that matters. If he's got any thoughts on what the hell happened—he doesn't. He hasn't had the chance to process it, or maybe he doesn't want to have that chance. Maybe it's for the best his focus has, for the past week, narrowed down to not. Dying. An important task.

The trek to the tavern takes both too damn long and no time at all. He's not counting the minutes or looking ahead, just walking, until she eventually stops and he catches on that they're here. He braces a hand against the doorframe. Some part of him is just waiting for permission to let himself drop, whether that's Julie shutting the door behind them or reaching a chair or perhaps a nice bit of floor where no one will trip over his body for the next few hours. ]

[ Honestly, she hardly thinks about how heavy he is, and he is heavy, because she's got so running through her mind. She has to get him in a bed and clean him up some. Make sure there's nothing actively dangerous that she can spot. See if she can get any information out of him before he passes out entirely, though that's really the least of her worries. If it has to wait until he wakes up, then so be it. But it would be nice to know that he's not severely concussed.

She pushes the door open with her hip, forces him to walk to the table nearest the stairs before she lets him sit. They're going to have to go upstairs, because she can't leave him downstairs to be found, but she needs to move the horse from the entrance and lock the door. She wobbles very slightly as she deposits him in a chair. ]

You rest for a minute while I put your horse in the stable. I will be right back, Geralt. Don't pass out. You can pass out the second I get you in bed, I swear, but not before.

[ Her voice is low but firm, and she makes him look her in the eye before she goes back outside. She's moving too fast, startles Baron in his stable, doesn't take the tack off of Geralt's horse. She's got to talk to people -- Lloyd and Nadine, Jaskier and Ciri, maybe Sam. This feels far worse, more ominous, than it felt when she accidentally discovered new Summoned at the same time she apparently spontaneously distributed a new magical ability. It's so specific, this must mean something.

When she comes back inside, she latches the door closed behind herself, walks over toward him and puts her hands on his shoulders. She feels fucking terrible for making him move, but he has to. At least she can try to enlist the others to carry him, if she needs to. ]

We have to go upstairs, honey. I'm so sorry, but you can sleep as long as you want once we're there.

Edited (don't hate me i just keep finding typos) 2021-11-20 04:59 (UTC)

[ Those are certainly stairs waiting. Geralt chooses not to linger on the concept of climbing up a set of stairs. That's a problem for five minutes from now. In the meantime, he's got more pressing matters like keeping his eyes open. When he looks up, they at least focus on her with some steadiness. He nods. Half of him is vaguely numb; the other half just fucking hurts. He counts his breaths until he hears the door creak open again. His fingers curl reflexively around a blade he does not actually have before he relaxes a hint.

She needn't to tell him twice; he's already got his palms planted on the table. He grits his teeth and forces to his feet and does not quite swallow the noise he makes. He isn't steady, but he is up. What help she offers, he'll take it.

(Later, he will consider exactly how much of himself he's put into Julie's hands. It's not something he makes a habit. But he does trust her, here and now.)

Every step up feels like it might be last. Somehow, it's not. He blinks hard, his vision swimming. He's bleeding from somewhere (several places, probably), but he can't tell if it's started to drip on the floors or not. His fingers find purchase on the nearest piece of furniture—a dresser, a table—and he takes a moment to try not to tip over. ]

[ It is, luckily, not a particularly steep or long staircase, even if it currently feels like the longest one in existence. She braces him from the side and the back, bearing as much of his weight as she can handle, and keeping her magic hand planted between his shoulder blades. She doesn't actually know how much that will help if he passes out, but she figures that at least it should make him fall forward rather than backward. Even more fortunate is that Julie does not live at the end of the hall upstairs, but rather only two doors down; her hand leaves his back and opens the room for them. By the time she half-dumps him on the closer side of the bed, she's close to collapse herself, her back and shoulders shaking from supporting him.

Julie takes a second, closes her eyes and catches her breath, then starts moving again. She has a whole to-do list in her head now, and the more of it she can do while he's still conscious, the better.

With a soft grunt, she falls to her knees and begins to remove his boots. She's not particularly delicate -- she just doesn't want them in her bed, and also he's covered in blood, so everything has to be washed. ]

What happened?

[ Where she puts him, that's where he all but collapses. There's a second where he blinks and then she's on the floor tugging on one of his boots, and he doesn't remember seeing her move towards him. He reaches down with a wince to loosen the buckles on the other boot, if only because he's certain he'll pass out if he sits still. Hard to know how well his fingers work, though.

He should tell her he's fine, that she can just leave him here. He'll wake up eventually, put himself together one way or another. Probably. But he feels like shit and even for him, the word fine is too blatantly untrue to put out there. ]

Thorne. [ He lifts his shirt gingerly. It's not the first time he's tried to take stock of his wounds; a couple look recently cauterized—not ideal, but he had zero supplies and only his Signs to get by. Seemed the simplest option to keep from bleeding.

Fuck, he needs a nap. And were his head on straight, he'd have realized it ten minutes ago—but it takes him until now to put it all together, between the empty downstairs, that he does not recall her paying anyone, the scent in the air. This room is not just a room in a nearby tavern. It's hers. Hers and someone else's. ]

I don't need long. [ It's impossible to say if Thorne will care to come for him. He doesn't feel like risking it when it involves someone else in their own damn home. ] Just a few hours.

[ She sets his boots to the side (she won't even leave them on the rug) and rises to help with his shirt; she would really rather he not lift his arms very far at the moment. She's nearly positive he has at least a rib fracture, and if it's worse, she would really prefer he not pop a lung in her bedroom.

But she is honestly very concerned about him. Which is probably why she sounds so dry when she scoffs and tosses his shirt on top of his boots. ] Are you fuckin' crazy? You'll be lucky to be on your feet by next week, Geralt. Look at you.

[ Rubbing at her temple, she grabs a bowl from the sideboard -- the same bowl, actually, that she'd filled with water to help Susan -- and disappears into the bathroom for just a moment. When she comes back, she has a white cloth in one hand and the bowl of water in the other, which she sets on the bedside table. She dampens the cloth and begins gently wiping blood off his face. ]

Right, so Thorne, but why did you cross the border in the first place?

[ It comes off, with effort and a sharp pain that lights up the left half of his body. Last time she took off his shirt was far more pleasant. He only looks at her like he's got an argument for that except he's not exactly functioning well enough to present it. Which is perhaps several points docked in his favour in and of itself.

He relents without much convincing required. She's right. He knows that. He doesn't need a week, but he does need at least a night or so. It's just. More than he expects out of someone, a fact that's got nothing to do with Julie and everything to do with him. He can count on one hand the number of people he can show up at their door who will grant him aid without question. And for each of those people, it takes him a long time to quietly accept.

His answer comes with a delay that's not his usual silence, but a clear effort to bring his focus back to her. ] I didn't. They looked for me. Outside Cadens.

[ He isn't hard to find if someone's seeking him: he stands out, there's no changing that. Maybe he should've expected to be a target sooner or later. (Maybe Yennefer should've fucking warned him what the hell she was doing with the Queen over in Thorne.) ]

[ He looks at her like he wants to fight, and there is nothing in her eyes but a dare to even try, so she's pleased when he gives up without another word. Lightly turning his face toward her, she cleans his other cheek too, then reaches over to rinse the cloth, wringing out a trickle of dark, dirty water before she starts cleaning the wounds she can find. ]

But why you? You didn't do anything that the rest of us didn't do too, and they only wanted you?

[ She looks up from her hand to his eyes, corners of her mouth turned down. She can feel his walls up, which ordinarily would not bother her, but she feels like it's unfair to not even give her blueprint as to what's happening. ] Did you do something to make them come after you?

No. [ He grips the edge of the bed. He's not exactly trying to avoid answering; it's that he hasn't stopped to absorb it, never mind thought of how he's to explain.

He doesn't care about what they did to him. Or he does, because it's not been the most fun he's ever had, but it's nothing new. It's who they did it with. The longer he sits with this knowledge, the more raw he feels, and he wants nothing of it. But he owes Julie something, more, for dragging his shit to her doorstep in the first place. ]

They believed someone in their court was protecting me. [ It's not what they said, but what else? Yennefer's presence was not a coincidence. No one should have any reason to suspect he knows a damn thing. He's been in Cadens for barely a season; he's never even set foot in the prime minister's office. ] Perhaps they've been convinced otherwise now.

[ An unfiltered bitterness edges that statement, one he hadn't meant to let through. He can't summon the effort to want to take it back. He's not angry with Yennefer, except he is, but he isn't. He draws a breath between his teeth and sinks into the burning sting where the cloth brushes his skin. It's distracting, familiar. He tries not to keel over while Julie's helping him, which he manages, but he keeps losing track of where she is and what she's doing. If she's got anything to say, she's likely to have to repeat it more than once. ]

[ This is enough to satisfy her; she only didn't want to feel entirely in the dark. Nodding, she lets it go, and she's truly trying to avoid hurting him, but in this state, that's not really possible. Instead, she settles for quick and efficient, because she's going to have to get Nadine to look at some of these anyway, but none of them seem severe enough on their own to require immediate attention. It's not like last time, where she could see Susan's organs through the hole in her skin. Cleanliness matters more at the moment.

Sighing, she lets the cloth sit in the bowl once she's done, where it practically streams blood and dirt on its own, then stands and swipes some of her hair behind her ear. She begins looking in one of the bureaus, pawing through several drawers before she finds a roll of bandage cloth. ]

How'd you get out? [ She says it lightly, as if it's in a totally different conversation, comes back and begins dressing the wounds. God, she'd kill for some Neosporin. ] Thought that place was inescapable.

[ Efficient is fine; preferable. He doesn't complain, just does what he can to help her along. His body's been struggling on and off to heal, and it shows in the haphazard knitting of his skin and broken scabbing from wounds that have reopened and closed several times. Where he's sealed the worst of it shut with a heated flame, it's red and angry, but it holds. The rest—he doesn't know. It'd been enough that he could ride and walk. He'll count himself lucky. He isn't saying that with any irony, either.

When she leaves him, he leans back. His eyes fall shut but they open again when he realizes she's speaking to him. He furrows his brows, taking a moment to process her question. ]

A mage. [ Youthful-looking. Had she given a name? If she had, it's either currently knocked out of his head or he'd not been in any shape to remember it in the first place. ] Set me on that horse.

[ He'll need to find a way back to Cadens, but he's not ready to sort that out right now. He hasn't even thought of contacting Jaskier. His time frame has narrowed to making it through from hour to hour. But he's peering at Julie with a concern that's not for himself but her. ]

I don't know if they'll look for me here.

[ So one of the mages had helped him. That's interesting information, even if she doesn't really have anything to do with it. She's never been someone with interest in politics, but she knows that some of the other Summoned certainly are. Ones who would be happy to know that someone in the castle isn't willing to tolerate this kind of bullshit.

She finishes wrapping one of his arms, tries to figure out what to tackle next, then looks up and meets his gaze. She tilts her head, and it's like she's trying to figure him out. ]

Let 'em come, then. I ain't scared of Thorne, Geralt. [ She drops her eyes back down and begins to loop the cloth around his torso. He's gonna look like a goddamn mummy when she's done. ] Nothin' they can do to me that's worse than what I already been through. Anyway, I'll get Nadine to look at some of these in the morning. She's learnin' healing magic. But I think you'll make it through the night okay, you just gotta rest.

[ No. She wouldn't be. He'd have expected no other response from her. What he wants to tell her is that he is. He's lived through a lot he shouldn't have, will probably live through more until he doesn't, and it seems destined to be those who cross his path who fall first. And if he's ever been afraid of anything, it's that. He'd never wanted it. Here, with people he gives too much of a shit about.

He looks away when she does. Simpler, wasn't it? When he was just dragging his body through the mountains? There are thoughts, memories, beginning to surface now, jagged shards stained red, and he's not ready to face any of them.

She gets no argument about any of it, not even her insistence that Nadine will look him over. Maybe that says more than anything else about exactly how exhausted he is. But he does offer a quiet, ] Thank you. For... [ He hesitates. ] All this.

[ She can't help but smile, shaking her head a little as she ties off his ribs. She's picked up on his nature, the intense, closed-off facade. It's not the most unfamiliar thing in the world to her -- emotionally constipated men are a dime a dozen, really. Let her guess, huge immature blow-ups when he's frustrated or angry? Yeah. No man is ever truly as special as he thinks.

It doesn't mean she doesn't think it's funny. She thinks it's very funny, for it to be so hard to accept the idea of... friendship? What kind of fucked up world would make him think that you can't count on people who have, without permission usually, planted themselves in your life? She would hope that if she stumbled onto his front door, bleeding, he wouldn't just tell her to fuck off. Christ. ]

What's there to thank me for? Basic human decency? You needed help, I can help. Where I'm from, you help your friends. That's all. [ She looks back up at his face and pats his upper arm. ] You gonna be able to sleep? I got somethin' if you want it all to just go away until the morning.

[ It sounds so simple, how she says it. Maybe it is. He huffs, making a vague effort to rearrange himself so he won't pass out only to wake up with a crick in half his body.

Of course she's got something. (Is there anything she hasn't got something for?) There's a second where he almost considers her offer. Tempting, not because everything hurts or because he thinks he can't sleep—if anything he's halfway gone as it is—but because there's...a lot. On his mind. Things he once long buried and should never have been unearthed, except they were. And if he sleeps, he's not entirely certain some of it won't break free.

Still. He never likes being put out unless he has to.

In the end, he shakes his head, eyes already closing. ] This is fine.

[ Her offer really traced back to that bitterness before, that sour edge that she didn't want keeping him up when he so desperately needed to sleep. But it's his choice, and her only answer to his huff is a small noise of amusement. She stands and pulls the blanket back over him -- even with a lit fireplace, the nights are cold in Nott -- then gathers his shirt to soak it in cold water, see if she can get at least some of the blood out.

She's gone from the room before he wakes the next morning, and doesn't come back until Nadine has finished and left as well. When she does return, it's with towels in one hand and a plate in the other. From what Julie can tell, the people of Abraxas don't have coffee and don't eat real breakfast, but by God, she can and will still put eggs on toast. She ate enough porridge in the dungeon to last her the rest of her life. The food is left next to him on the table, and she disappears into the bathroom, where she calls out. ]

Good mornin', sugar. No rush to leave, but you have got to take a bath, there is still dried blood all over you. A coon dog could peg you for a dead body right now.

[ One of the few saving graces of this world is that they have figured out indoor plumbing, and the roar of the large wooden tub filling with hot water soon drowns her out until she comes back through the door. She's examining his still-damp shirt, which she drapes over a stand in front of the fireplace. ] You feelin' any better?

[ It's a new thing, to have someone in and out of the room. Geralt's been left to his own devices for so long, he can't recall the last time he had someone bring him a meal. Maybe Jaskier, a few times. He's mostly accepted he's just. Apparently being looked after by a few people, only one of whom he's only spoken to more than once or twice. And yet, they're here all the same.

He's not so out of it that his appetite's dwindled. The plate's in his lap by the time Julie returns, half of it already vanished. A brief pause before he answers. ]

Mm. Nadine worked her magic. [ So to speak. His head's still fuzzy, splintered, but he can move better than last night. That's all he's after. That's really all he can afford to focus on right now, because it feels like if he addresses anything other than the cuts and bruises and fractures, he will unravel. He sets the plate aside. He does need a damn bath and he wants to test how he is on his feet, on his own.

It takes bracing on the headboard, but he gets up. The ground does not spin and he's steady enough, even if his side flares hot. At least he can always rely on his body stubbornly stitching itself back together. He glances at Julie, carefully stepping through the room. ] Could use something nicer than a freezing river.

Edited 2021-11-24 14:45 (UTC)

Right? She's pretty good for only havin' a couple weeks under her belt. She knew a lot before she started, too. Said she had to learn it to save this kid, back home.

[ The fussing will take a while to end. There is something highly unnerving about seeing someone so much more physically powerful than yourself be so hurt, and the only things Julie knows how to do with that feeling are either walk away or fix it. She's not about to walk away from her own bedroom, so fix it she must.

She does try to hide it, but there is concern in the way she watches him get to his feet, her hands half-outstretched as if to catch him from where she stands; she only lets them relax when he doesn't stumble or sway. Last night had just been... a lot. A lot is the best way to describe it. But he stays stable and she is content to just follow him, turn off the tap so that he doesn't have to bother bending over.

There's a soft snort of laughter, humor in her voice, when she moves over to the mirror, leans close and begins picking at her own reflection. She used to spend literal hours staring into her phone camera, and now she feels like she has to make a special trip just to make sure her face is clean. ] To think I was gonna ask if you wanted to skinny-dip in the lake. It's only barely freezin' out there. Ice on top is still thin enough to crack in the sun.

You sound fond. [ It isn't quite a question—an observation she can ignore or not—but last time Nadine had come up between them, Julie's reaction had been less than favourable. Perhaps it was more to do with her husband, a man whose presence Geralt hasn't yet spotted. May not mean anything. Nott's sizable, and there are plenty of places to be for work—but there've been more and more disappearances as of late.

He doesn't bring it up. He's got too much on his mind already.

He's limping, but he's walking, and he gets himself into the the next room without tripping over his own feet. He suspects most of it is to do with the medicine Nadine had him knock back, which has turned everything into a dull ache. He'll take it while it lasts. Unlike Julie, Geralt gives the mirror not even a passing glance. He already knows he looks like shit. He eases onto a stool. ]

That so? [ There's the faintest lift to his lips, maybe the first since he's stumbled into town. He gives his trousers a tug, inching them off with as little bending as possible. The chill is nice. He misses it, that bite of the oncoming frost, and if it weren't for all the bullshit around Thorne, he'd have been content to remain up north here. ] Next time I visit, I'll be sure to keep in one piece. You can show me about.

Me and her got to a good place. [ Sure, it took months, the absence of Flagg, and an almost-murder to actually bring them together, but they have realized that they work better together than against each other. Seriously, saving lives together really helps forge a bond. Have beef with someone? Stab a mutual acquaintance and then work together to save them. Friendship solidified.

Though she's ostensibly examining herself, twisting her hair up in her fingers before pinning it up off her neck, her eyes flick up to his reflection instead, sharp and prepared to intervene if he seems to be in pain again, but he doesn't appear to be struggling. Pleased, she hoists herself onto the edge of the sink, watching him, feet dangling several inches off the floor. ]

It's not so bad a town. Just in a shitty kingdom, but like I said before, they leave us alone. Haven't even seen a guard once, just the local guys. And we've got magic. That's why we ain't left for the Free Cities yet. Nadine and me are workin' on gettin' better at it.

[ The noise he makes in response is intrigued, but he says nothing more of it. It's not his business. He likes Nadine and Julie both; simpler all around, if there's no longer any contention between them.

He's too busy undressing himself without undoing all of Nadine's handiwork to notice the shift of Julie's gaze. Slow-going as it is, he works it out on his own with the sort of practiced effectiveness of someone who's long learned how to manage when he's only partially functioning—though he gives a soft curse somewhere midway through before his trousers drop to the ground. ]

She said. You should come when you can. [ It isn't a bad idea. The Free Cities are not especially safer, but Nott is isolated. And regardless of what happens, it can't hold the strength of a nation. Or the advantage of being near...friends, he supposes Julie would say. Between Sam and Ciri and himself—there are more in the Cities who would lend a hand.

Speaking of. He needs to get there, as well. Cadens. He's yet to realize Julie's already spoken to Ciri and Jaskier, distracted by far too much and only barely feeling like he's started to get a grip on his mind again. Finally thinking ahead for what he needs to do. ]

What do you know of the mages here? [ Mm. Shit. He frowns at the tub, as if trying to decide how best to get in it without anything to hold onto. ] Are they willing to portal?

Thorne keeps pullin' this shit, it'll be sooner rather than later, but for now, we're gonna take Nott for what they have. [ And Nadine is convinced that Julie could be particularly powerful if she learns wild magic here and takes it elsewhere with them. Learning it somewhere that doesn't give a shit what they do certainly makes it much easier.

She makes a soft hm, leans her head to the side and rests her third hand on his elbow for support. And this fool thought he only needed a few hours to recover last night. Conquer the bathtub before trying to conquer a portal, Geralt. ]

Oh sure. They'll do just about anything for the right number of king's pieces. I mean, it's super shady, but they'll getcha there.

The three of you? [ Geralt can't recall too many who fled to Nott, who might have linked with Julie and Nadine, with the same interests. Bucky? Perhaps. That'd be the other person he'd have reached for, if Julie had not responded. Even if Sam's not been...no matter.

He grunts, sinking into the water with her invisible help. His fingers curl around the edge of the tub to steady himself the rest of the way. The water stings, though not as sharply as it might have earlier. He draws up one knee gingerly, scrubbing off the dried streaks of red. Unfortunate circumstances. He'd rather have a bath with company than one turned murky with his own blood. For awhile, he's quiet, distracted in a way he rarely is—but eventually, he glances up at Julie. ]

I need one back. If you can. [ He hates portals that aren't explicitly "shady." He's not looking forward to how this could turn out. ] I know you've done a lot already.

[ He thinks perhaps she will tell him again that it is just what she does. Because they're—friends. Which he gets, in a sense; he came to her for a reason and it isn't because he expected her to turn him away or toss him out the instant he awoke. But it's a lot to him, maybe, that he's found someone he can trust with that much in the first place. It's not something he has often. ]

Four, actually. We got one who ain't from our world, but she came here with us, and we just kinda adopted her, I guess. Her name's Susan Delgado, she's just down the hall.

[ And, much like Geralt was not asked if he wanted Julie and Nadine ~~(or really anyone else he's ever met)~~ involved in his life, they did not ask Susan if she wanted to be part of their group. She just is, by virtue of having been saved by them.

He acknowledges her help again and she sighs quietly before hopping back down from the sink and crossing the room. She hooks the leg of the stool with one foot and brings it to the side of the tub, sits down and gently starts to wash off the back of his shoulders. ]

Yeah. Might take me a day or two to find someone, but it shouldn't be too hard. We'll get you home.

Edited 2021-11-25 16:53 (UTC)

[ Four, but not counting Flagg. So he is gone. ] We've twice the people than our beds now in Cadens.

[ He can relate. Bringing people in without it ever being acknowledged. The mage girl never left; last time he came home, there was Alucard's necromancer (or is it Jaskier's necromancer by this point?) shucking desert scorpions with Ciri on the dining table, and Geralt had fallen into bed and didn't ask. He supposes they're all strays in this place, one way or another.

There's the faintest tension when she reaches for him, but it fades quickly enough. Returning brings its own set of problems. Maybe it's contrary, to hold no desire to get back to those closest to him, but the truth is he doesn't. He wants to retreat where no questions will come, where he can quietly work to bury it, alone, until it is no longer so sharp and bright. If it'd only been Thorne, if Yennefer had thrown him to the wolves, he'd know what to think. She hadn't. Not like that. It's a complicated thing, to feel betrayed by what she did when he'd have not wanted it any other way. When he knows he'd find it altogether unforgivable if she hadn't, if she'd risked Ciri's life in favour of him.

When Julie says a day or two, it almost seems to put him at ease. He'll take a day or two to breathe. Although, do they—? The realization comes incredibly late, but he's not been fully present. He rubs his temple. No amount of herbs in the world will rid him of this fucking headache. ] Do they know I'm here?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject