abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

Entry tags:

[ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

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

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It was certainly one of his specialties.

[Another flick of the queen's hand and this one is more elegant and performative. As though she's enjoying showing off this particular skill. The same pain hits Geralt again, another skin splitting strike on his back.

At least she isn't layering the lashes.]

And but one of the little tricks I've picked up. My family has long served in Thorne's military. Anything, Grigory?

[ It takes nearly all of his concentration to keep this wound open, stretched and peeled bearing what he can to Queen Ellya's ministrations. Or will be. He knows that she makes a show for the sake of their guests, but it is up to him to ready their subject to her liking.

So he searches, invisible hands picking apart at the pieces of Geralt's soul with a fine scalpel, searing off small edges that are in the way of his field of view. He could make the procedure more pleasant, less rushed, but he knows that isn't the point. He searches as if he would a curse buried deep within the recesses of a person's being, except all he searches for here are the stronghold's of Geralt's mind.

He finds one. After a time. ]

Yes, Your Majesty.

[ He shoves that scalpel through the base of his skill, upwards to where memories are locked. It's a journey from where he opened up Geralt at the torso, but there are usually less...defenses in those parts of the body.

But he meets resistance. A slight flinch in his brow. ]

It may take a moment.

[ The wound, he realizes, has not just split open. It's being wrenched apart further, hands digging into his spine. Blood drips, staining the glossy floors. He's waiting for when it all explodes into a single searing burn, consuming him, because that would be easier to take, would shatter less of his focus than every small lash, but it doesn't come. He can hear Yennefer speaking—a dull buzz in the background, and he wonders which one of them will come out of this with more regrets. If they come out of it at all.

The thought is nebulous, slips away when a jagged pinprick tears his attention elsewhere. Not a wound, not exactly. Deeper. His skin peeled from inside, underneath. It gnaws and shreds and he should be alarmed as to what it means, but his ability to think is increasingly splintered. He struggles to breath, to steel for what's next—but nothing can prepare him for his skull cracking like a melon. His vision turns blinding hot. He curves over himself, chest heaving, choking on a cry. There's so much pressure in his head, it feels ready to burst. He tastes copper where blood has started to trickle from his nose.

Fear surfaces again and this time he does not bother to push it down. He's not even thinking anymore, just reacting, and it's breaking apart so fucking fast he can't keep up. When he turns to Yennefer, staring up at her, it is not for some unspoken message or with a thought out purpose. He just hasn't got anything more inside to draw on; she's all he has left, and despite what's come between them, they have nearly a decade of history. He trusts her, knows she will do what she has to. He thinks. He hopes.

Because he doesn't give a fuck about what happens to him. That's not why he's afraid. It's the girl whose secrets he holds. And in that moment, if the mage is prodding in the right place, he will see that girl: younger, unscarred, with bright green eyes and enveloped in an inexplicably fierce desire to protect her. ]

[ at the queen's response to her, yennefer gives something of a huff of a laugh. one of his specialties, she can appreciate these things when they come. can appreciate strong women, in control of this type of power, and she can appreciate it outwardly, and audibly, when in the presence of a woman she is trying to prove something to.

( what, exactly, she's still not certain - her loyalty? her connection or lack thereof with geralt? yennefer doesn't yet let her mind spin with the possibilities, but later she might. when she's left alone with her thoughts, time, and the echoes leftover of the stress she's not quite letting herself process. )

the strikes of the queen's magic arc through the air, elegant and beautiful, as they slice down the skin of geralt's back. yennefer does not wince at the sound, barely seems to react except to watch, curious at the queen's work but more of her attention given to grigory and what it is he's doing. what magic it is he's using beyond simply holding geralt prone.

there's a vague sensation in the air - of chaos, being handled. of magic, being used. yennefer still doesn't know the details of what grigory is attempting, but can feel the work he's putting in, the focus and precise nature of his fine-tuning, heavy in the air. she can also put together enough of the clues, context and otherwise, even if she's not entirely certain of the specifics. grigory is trying for geralt's mind, yes, that much is obvious. it's also why, up until this point, yennefer hadn't really been all that worried - geralt had his own defenses to that sort of magic, defenses she knew first hand and did not, in many ways, believe grigory to be entirely capable of.

that is why when geralt does look at her, the expression she finds there, it gives her pause - and only pause, at least outwardly. and even if grigory or the queen had tried to see anything else, internally, they would find walls upon walls and little else. because yennefer can defend herself, better than anyone, against those eyes. and because she knows that, there is a part of her that feels the desperation that geralt turns to her with. that, just barely, tastes the panic. the fear. whatever it is grigory is doing, it is working, he is getting in, blood trickles from geralt’s nose, and it has geralt turning to yennefer for help.

( she's done this to him, hasn't she? her plans and her decisions, her opening herself up to the queen, the kiss they'd shared. that she'd let them share. yennefer hates herself, a little for it. for allowing this to happen. for giving anything, at all, that brought geralt into this mix.

because this is about ciri, yes. protecting ciri. doing anything they can do to keep her safe and out of the eyes of thorne, of the queen. but for yennefer, too, it is geralt. geralt, who turns to her. geralt, who looks at her, afraid. geralt, who trusts her, even now, and twists at things inside her chest. it is the wish, yes, of course it's the wish, but knowing that does not change the way her heart feels like it's stopped in her chest. )

it may take a moment grigory says, and yennefer blinks. turns (forces) her attention away from geralt (does he know what she means to do?) and to grigory instead (he's struggling, if he's struggling, maybe...). an idea is there, barely formed, barely whole, but enough (it has to be enough) that it has her looking interested. ]

Would you like some assistance? [ she is already reaching for her chaos, already pulling it around her, though there is nothing visually to see other than an almost casual lift of her hand from where it had been at her side. a spark of potential, mixing with the queen's own magic in the air.

before yennefer does anything - and in a way that makes her seem calm, curious but not emotionally affected (her heart will not speed up, she will not let it, will not let the anxiety come to pass where she could be found out) - she turns to the queen instead. ] Only if you permit it, your majesty. [ asking for permission, though her wrist begins to rotate - not in anything specific, but as an offering, even as she continues to pull her concentration. continues to build whatever it is she may need.

( and if the queen says no, if she will have to adjust, have to change tactics, but she can't sit back and wait any more. )

she smiles, gently. politely. ] But I could help make this move more quickly.

I appreciate your eagerness, but we're nearly done here.

[It seems there's no need to put on any greater show. Ellya is getting what she wants from this, and perhaps even a bonus. It depends what Grigory manages to pull out but this venture has been very satisfying so far. There are so many other things they could do to the prisoner but there's something disparaging to be said about excess.]

I'm sure you'll be able to show off your full scale of talents eventually.

[The queen brings her hand down once more and releases the spell.]

Pull whatever you can, Grigory, then have the prisoner returned to his cell. I have other obligations for today. We can always try again.

[ There it is- that snap, that break he has been waiting for. Geralt's defenses are strong but not impenetrable, the sign of someone familiar enough with magics and stubborn enough to fight against them, but not indefinitely. Everyone eventually breaks with enough pain.

He registers Yennefer's movements and words, but he only acts on the bidding of his Queen. The floodgates have opened and Grigory must grasp at what flows through them in shattered bits and pieces. ]

Yes, Your Majesty.

[ The finer details of these visions he catches flying by will be shared in private, but he still narrates as he should, a short list of what he was able to gather for all those present. ]

...I see those who fled to the Free Cities when all had been frozen. Their arrival in Cadens.

[ Faces, bits of names that they can likely compare to their records in order to categorize most of the time. ]

And...

[ A pause. This one seems out of place, strangely out of place. The form of a child shrouded in darkness as though Geralt's broken psyche still tries to keep the image close. But through those wisps Grigory catches a glimpse. ]

...A shadowed form. It's difficult to tell...

Edited 2021-12-12 02:25 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

A figure of what?

[ His ears ring louder. Desperately, he tries to hold onto what he can, for all the fucking good it'll do. He clutches his head, every breath sharp and shallow. If he remembers where he is, or with whom, it's distant at best. Flashes of images tumble together, new and old and forgotten. A shadowed form someone says. His eyes flick upwards towards Grigory before he can stop himself.

He's only dimly aware of Yennefer's presence for an instant. Subtle. He remembers the first time she slipped into his head, when he'd barely caught on. Not that it would take much effort to get in, split wide open as he is. The memory she finds is already at the surface, never buried as deep as he wants it to be, even after all these decades. Especially now, magic suffocating the air and blood slick beneath him—it's there, waiting. But where the others come and go as Grigory rifles through, this one snaps loose altogether.

Afterwards, he will understand what she did. Here, in this moment, he has no time to react before he drowns under the sudden torrent. What's happening now or then or someplace else, he can't tell the difference. Every thought washes away. There's just blood, the heavy taste and smell of it, the sickly sweet stench of herbs, filling his senses until he's choking on it, until his eyes water. A fire sweeps through his veins, burns his lungs. He can't see, he can't fucking breathe. He doesn't know what they're doing to him (except he does, of course he knows what it is to be unmade and remade. They—mages, all of them, does it matter who?) He hears screaming, echoing, discordant, a dozen voices layered—or maybe it's just him.

His fingers dig into the marble (stone), clawing, red streaks left behind. The sound that comes is not pained; it runs deeper, an animal noise that tears from his throat. ]

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[ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

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apologies for the delay my queen and loyal experiments

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sorry for the length, mods…..;-;

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yen and geralt switch back for this round!

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