[ CLOSED ] tell them that the villains on my list

[wiedzminka]

Who: Ciri, Jaskier, and others
What: Geralt has gone missing. Ciri and Jaskier are on the case.
Where: Around Cadens, the desert outside it, perhaps the other Free Cities; possibly Horizon and Network
When: Mid-November
Warnings: violence, gore, dismemberment

If you'd like to plot out a thread, please PM Ciri or Jaskier's journals, or catch us on Plurk at belleteyn and scathefire respectively!

Comments

mid-november.

[wiedzminka]

[ Roach came home alone.

Ciri found her by chance, wandering down the street near the small stable where she's been housed, adjacent to their apartment building. The sun was nearly set, and the mare's fur was dirty with dried froth from sweat, dusty from the desert. She was still partially tacked up, saddle loosened and crooked on her back, the lead rope around her muzzle of the sort meant for tying up, not riding.

She was baring her teeth and tossing her head at someone on the street when Ciri found her, but it was Ciri herself who scared the stranger away -- not with words, but with a look, the way her expression became instantly like a storm, the sharp, quick movements that brought her to the horse's side. The darker spots splashed across the mare's flank looked suspiciously like blood.

Ciri's heart had hammered in her throat; the rest of the world had gone quiet.

No Geralt. Only a tired, thirsty, blood-splashed horse.

Jaskier might be the only person in all the Free Cities now who could have stopped Ciri, convinced her to wait until morning. She didn't want to listen. But, eventually, she had. And, for his part, Jaskier had insisted he not be left behind.

We leave at first light.

With the gray dawn still carrying the chill of desert night in the air, the horizon only barely lit enough to see by, Ciri and Jaskier had fresh horses, supplies enough for several days, and -- in Ciri's case -- a healthy number of weapons. For several hours, while the sun is rising, they ride quickly toward the area Geralt had mentioned he'd be hunting in. It's not until the heat is too strong and the sun is too high that they have to rest; and so, they stop off at a small rock formation with some dry, brittle-looking shrubs clinging to the earth around it.

Ciri sits with her back to the stone, knees up, pressed into the meager shade to wait out the high sun and eat. She does so without relish, mechanically shoving bread and dried meat into her mouth, her only goal to keep her strength up so she can keep going. Keep searching.

She's barely said a word since last night. ]

[cointosser]

[When Jaskier describes the event as "the absolutely fucking last thing I needed," he believes, in retrospect, it was an understatement. He had no other words for it. Geralt being gone without a word was, honestly, not even a thing that merited his attention. It was what he did. He just. Fucked off sometimes. And why would anyone worry, when he was more than capable of killing anything that looked at him the wrong way?

But both he and Ciri knew Geralt would not abandon Roach. Not to the desert. Not to the wilds. His horses were replaceable, of course, but they were well taken care of. He'd only known Geralt to take a new one when the last had grown ill or been grievously injured during a hunt.

Wait, no. There as an addendum to that previous statement. The last fucking thing he needed was him putting everything into not allowing Ciri to storm off into the desert alone on a wild chase that she might not return from. And though it wasn't fair of him, he had to use it at the last second: You can't leave me alone here. What if something happens? More ghosts? I can't fight a bloody ghost!

It wasn't an idle threat, considering.

So she stayed. It was enough time for him to run over to Sam's in order to ask for the aid of Red, Sam's bird, and then he'd had to juggle all of... all of that. Everything Sam was holding back that he hadn't realized.

Safe to say, Jaskier was hanging on by a thread.

Unfortunately, with Ciri tied up tighter than a succubus in church, his only verbal companion of late is Red, who is about the only one keeping Jaskier relatively well away from something drastic, like shouting curses at the sun.]

Here you are, my little friend. [He feeds the bird on his arm little strips of meat, which is a must-have on any desperate bid into the unknown.] I think you're very fortunate you have all these lovely feathers. I bet it's much cooler for you.

[There was a question if the bird he'd crafted himself actually felt temperature, but. Well. He glances at Ciri, with her pale hair sticking to her forehead, looking about as miserable as he feels. Even having abandoned his doublet (stuffed into a saddleback) and his nearly sheer chemise, he's still coated in sweat.

Jaskier chews his lip. He isn't afraid using that power at home, growing pots of herbs for their meals, for selling, where they're small and easily controlled (even if it has always felt natural.) But here, out in the desert, where the sweat and heat is stinging his scar, it's impossible to forget what happened last time he was here.

How much free, open land there is. Even if it's all shitty, sticky sand.

Red hops onto his shoulder as he stands, talons gently holding around his shoulder.] Here, my dear. [And it's Ciri he's speaking to now, moving behind her. His hands pull at those bristle shrubs, drawing on -- well, whatever it is that swirls in him now. The bushes thicken with sharp-edged leaves, but they're leaves nonetheless, and with a bit of effort they pull up high enough to craft a good line of shade over the two of them.

It's nearly immediate relief to be out of the direct sun.]

You should drink, too. It'll upset your stomach if you don't.

[He's simply searching for something to say. For anything to do that might be helpful.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri looks up, watching him use his magic on the plants. They grow, despite everything. She doesn't comment, doesn't thank him, but also doesn't look nervous or uncomfortable with the magic, even out here. It was never Jaskier's plants defending him that had upset her then.

When he urges her to drink, Ciri reaches for her waterskin, wetting her mouth. ]

I know where there's a stream. We should hit it by nightfall.

Geralt probably made camp someplace around there.

[ Something must have happened when he had, Ciri surmises. Roach hadn't had her bit. And she looked like she might have been tied by her lead for the night (thankfully, not too tightly or not to anything too sturdy). Geralt would have camped near water, and there's not much water around that comes to mind in this direction. ]

[cointosser]

[It may be very obvious that he's looking for those signs -- that Ciri is bothered by him using it, this magic. Though, to be fair, she came out of its last use much better than he did himself.

She isn't. Which he tacks to her bravery over anything. Or her insanity. He thinks it's very fair to accept she is both insane and brave, if what she wanted to become was a Witcher.

He takes a seat again next to her, his own waterskin in his hand. With the whole wraith thing, at least he can rest in the fact that, as far as his hypothesis had been proven, those vines were there to protect him. Like an instinct. A lashing out that a body would do, its final thrashes, before unconnsciousness or death. This simply happens to be magic. That he. Didn't ask.

He sighs, drippling a bit of the water into a cupped leaf for Red. Does he need water? Better he have it. He is, after all, quite real.]

As he always does. Man loves his little creeks. [And it's the only thing that makes sense out here. Even Jaskier would be a madman to decide to camp in the dunes with all this sand. It may be cool at night, but once the sun rose, the chances of finding water were nothing.

He folds his legs underneath him. What is he supposed to say? Or is there really anything to say? It will change nothing. And if she's anything like Geralt (which she is), she's most likely to either snap at him or insist that words are fruitless.

Fruit. He could go for fruit.]

Do you know it precisely? I assume he took you out here. I'm sure Red will be happy to find us for it, should... should things have changed out here.

[Ah, see? He's learning. Keeping the topic to the task at hand.]

[wiedzminka]

Yes. I know it.

[ What Ciri doesn't say is that the area is near where she'd found Geralt when Jaskier had been hurt. When she'd accidentally almost blown his whole damn arm off. Water's scarce out here, so it makes sense to keep to it (but thankfully not impossible to find, and she is grateful for that, considering deserts are somewhat of a very unpleasant memory for her).

When Jaskier sits beside her, Ciri offers the bag of dried meat. ]

Can you grow edible plants?

[ She asks suddenly, ignoring the part about Red. They can send the bird out to scout when they're back on the road; right now, it's too hot for any of them, assuming the magic bird is susceptible to such things. Jaskier keeps feeding it and giving it water, so Ciri has assumed it must be. She's also... not entirely sure if the bird is Sam's or Jaskier's, at this point, and she feels wary of trusting it too much. Perhaps she still hasn't quite forgiven the creature for incessantly following her around when she'd wanted space, and Sam for finding her. ]

a few days later; for alucard.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri's been looking for him. She could have gone to his domain in the Horizon, but she wished to find him in person if she could, and by now she knows of a few places where she might encounter the not-quite-vampire in Cadens.

Jaskier has come along as well (Jaskier has been sticking to her side a lot lately, though Ciri can neither blame him nor mind too much), and this time, Ciri defers to him to do the tracking, since he seems better acquainted with Alucard and Hector (whom she only knows tangentially, and apparently used to live with Alucard, and it's... a whole mess she's not remotely interested in right now).

In any case. It seems Jaskier is at least aware that the dhampir can be found "sulking in the graveyard" these days, so that's where they go.

It's morning. The cemetery is quiet, and the air is still cool.

Where on earth could a sulking vampire be in a place like this? ]

local hot topic goth keen on burning bridges, news at 11

[cryptsleeper]

[In the mornings, Alucard keeps to the western end of the cemetery. There are a few statues there have survived the holiday madness, and he's taken to sleeping underneath one of them for as long as he can.

It is always as a wolf, of course. A stray animal sleeping among the dead garners no further attention or commentary, and lately, it is much easier to be wolf shaped. He doesn't have to talk, his senses are better, and it's as good as he can get for now.

He perks when the sound of two people approaching reach his ears. They twitch, and for a moment the white wolf str-e-e-tches out before he looks in the dire--

oh.

Ciri might've found her way to a graveyard at some point for whatever monster nonsense took her attention. Jaskier? Not a walks among dead people type to Alucard's mind. There's no doubt he's been seen, but he doesn't approach them either.

Please let this be an accidental run in.

please alucard at least get a pillow or a small dog mat

[cointosser]

[In a surprise to no one but himself, since their discovery of Geralt's camp, Jaskier has been both sullen and sleepless, which is particularly annoying because he has made it a note to not lose sleep over Geralt, ever. He's never needed to. Which is funny, considering even on the Continent they were often plying powers that were larger than themselves. They simply were not interested in fucking about with a Witcher and a bard quite so often.

This is the best option, he reminds himself, pulling himself out towards that cemetery with Ciri. This is the better option than perhaps seeking out Hector and asking, specifically, how many bodies he can raise, how long it may take, and, ah, would bandit bodies that laid in the desert for a few days be sufficient?

It's terribly morbid. And unrealistic. There is no where to order them to go. Geralt has confirmed he's alive, but beyond that, he's offered them no clues.

Extremely helpful, by the fucking way.

Jaskier looks far from the coiffed perfection he often appears in, even considering his last foray into visiting Alucard in his extremely depressing prison slash bedroom. It's cold and smells of dirt. He really doesn't get it.

Yet there the wolf is. It's not terribly hard to find him, considering the color of his coat.

Sorry, Alucard. It's not accidental.] Er. Hi. [It feels nearly an invasion, bringing Ciri along with him. It's not as if they're friends, and Alucard is... well, saying he's prickly isn't exactly accurate, and it's also too generous.] Hello, Alucard.

[There's always the feeling in the back of his brain he may one day accidentally talk to a real wolf, but he highly doubts even the canines of the forests would be inclined to sleep here.] As loathe as I'm sure you are to hear it, we've come to ask a favor. Though you needn't, ah, transform, if you wish. We --

[He rubs his fingers together. This is never fun to bring up, so he sort of gets right to the point.] Geralt's missing, and we'd like to borrow your nose. So to speak.

[wiedzminka]

[ Jaskier is probably better suited to this. To talking. Cajoling, even. But Ciri wonders if the bard's charms work on Alucard as well as they do on so many others.

She hangs back slightly, doing her best to keep her stance relaxed, her posture unassuming. It's not because Alucard is a wolf or even a vampire; it's because she feels wound tight enough to snap, and she needs to take a few breaths before she can speak without knives in her throat. ]

We think he was attacked in the desert. [ She supplies finally, stepping forward to stand beside Jaskier. There is no doubt the wolf is Alucard, not with that scar, and Ciri looks him in the eyes, holding his gaze. ] But the trail goes cold after a certain point. At least-- to human senses.

If you could lend us your assistance, just for a short time... It needn't be for free.

[ They're not friends, even if she has been friendly and he's been... tolerant. But she's not asking for a favor for nothing, if that's not the sort of man Alucard is. Ciri understands that. ]

Mid-November

[princessvegas]

[ Jaskier and Ciri are not the first people she contacts. That honor goes to Nadine and Lloyd, who have to be informed that there is an issue and that they have to share a bed for the foreseeable future, because Julie just flat-out doesn't have anywhere else to put a giant, bleeding, unconscious witcher.

But they are a very close second in her list.

Once she's got Geralt relatively cleaned up and sleeping, she sits in the armchair in the corner of her bedroom, sighing and blinking at the ceiling before she sends out a message. They have to have their messages on, right? They must know that he's missing.

God, she doesn't want to be the one to have to tell them that he's been missing, too. This is hard enough without that on top of it. ]

Hey. Y'all lose something?

[wiedzminka]

[ Luckily, Ciri's got nothing to look at in her cell except the wall, where Julie's script appears. Good thing she didn't mute her messages!

The response comes almost immediately. But she doesn't get the implication quite so fast, not phrased that way (and she doesn't understand what group texts are, or that Jaskier received the message too). The script is familiar, though, even without a signature. ]

Julie?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier has been filling in the empty spaces and the silence in his home with sending Ciri off-the-cuff poetry about her time in her cell, only after she's reassured him she will be released the following day.

He believes her, if only because he threatened to use the worst rhyming poems available to him if she didn't.

He is ignoring the fact she can simply shut him out.

So when the y'all catches across his gaze as he kneads a new loaf of stress-bread, he knows exactly who it is even as the script begins drawing through the flour. The word alone brings Julie's voice to his mind.]

What on earth -- Julie? Wait, Ciri too? What are you talking about?

[Neither of them, clearly, catch on.]

[princessvegas]

[ She watches both their handwriting scrawl through the woodgrain in the floor, exhaling heavily when neither of them get it. Julie may have never been a spy, but she's not stupid, and given Geralt's fear of Thorne tracking him, she considers that maybe it's not a good idea to send that information directly through a message. They don't know enough about this, don't know whether it can be hacked or picked up on by the natives.

But she does know where they can't go at all. ]

You two need to meet me in the Horizon. My place. Right now.

Trust me.

[ She watches Geralt sleep for a moment before she closes her eyes and leaves her body. ]

before leaving to look for geralt; for rinwell.

[wiedzminka]

[ Rinwell might have heard the commotion. Ciri shouting. Jaskier trying to calm her down. They don't try to keep it quiet; it's clear enough that something is very wrong. Geralt. Geralt is gone.

Despite the desperate urge to run back out and go after him right now, Ciri eventually listens to good sense, if only grudgingly. The sun has already gone down. Jaskier makes her promise, several times, that she will not leave (and especially that she won't leave without him), and it's only then that he steps out to seek out Sam.

Ciri sinks into a chair at the empty table, leaning on her elbows, pressing her knuckles hard against her brow. Alone. Her shoulders heave, jagged, heavy breaths that stick in her throat, hissing out between her clenched teeth in a snarl.

Her fist comes down on the table with a resonant thud. ]

Fuck!

[rinwell]

[ It's late. But in this household, that isn't an unusual factor - late nights at the taverns for Jaskier, early rises for the witchers (assuming they're home at all), it wasn't hard for Rinwell to catch on to the idea that everyone in the apartment lives their lives on their own time.

But this is different. There was none of the grumpy humour she's gotten used to picking up in Jaskier's voice when he's getting loud, and she can't ever remember Ciri getting angry. The performance with that rude bookseller the very first day they met had been exactly that.

This isn't that. The mageling steps carefully out of the room she's been sharing, eyes owlishly round, pulling the light blanket around her shoulders. She knows how to read people's body language, had to learn it to survive in Cyslodia. Something is very, very wrong. ]

..Ciri?

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri tenses, going very still for a moment. Her curse this time is muffled, just under her breath. Shit. She forgot about Rinwell.

Forcing a deep breath -- in, ribs expanding, out, counting slow -- Ciri tries to calm herself enough that her voice will not be so harsh when she's able to free it from the lump lodged in her throat.

She turns, looking over the back of her chair. ]

Did I wake you?

[rinwell]

No. I was reading.

[ Normally she'd be a bit sheepish about that admission. It wouldn't be the first time she'd fallen asleep with her nose in a book, either, but in this case, no. Rinwell had been awake, Rinwell had heard shouting, Rinwell had waited.

She pads slowly over to the table, mindful to give Ciri and her chair space, before slowly sinking into the second one. ]

But it sounded like something happened.. [a question, phrased as a statement] So, I got up. Are..are you okay?

post-jailtime; for jaskier.

[wiedzminka]

[ Despite everything, Ciri did manage to get some sleep. It wasn't comfortable, but that hardly mattered -- and, frankly, it'd been better accommodations than the cell she'd shared with several others for far longer back in Thorne. If the guards who'd locked her in there had expected Ciri to examine her actions and repent in any way, they'd be disappointed; the men who'd raided Geralt's camp had gotten exactly what they deserved, and Ciri considers a night in a cell a worthwhile tradeoff for the result. Most of all, it's the fact that Julie assured her Geralt is safe and being taken care of that had allowed her to actually rest for the first time in days, the hard and lumpy cot be damned.

In fact, Ciri is feeling significantly more composed than she has since Roach came home sans Geralt. She's still worried, of course, and won't be able to fully relax until he's back, but all that matters for now is that they know where Geralt is, that he is among allies, and that he means to return soon. It's good news.

So when Ciri is released, shortly before noon, she puts on a properly polite and obedient face, nods along with all the warnings she's given and promises to leave the doling out of justice to those employed by the Free Cities for that purpose. She doesn't bother arguing or explaining herself, seeking only to be free of the lecture as soon as possible. And when she finally makes her way to their shared apartment, it is with a more energetic step and growling stomach.

Luckily, as soon as she opens the door, Ciri is greeted by the welcome scent of fresh bread. And plenty of it. ]

Jaskier!

[ Whether or not he's in the middle of something, Ciri makes her way inside and straight for him. Time for a real-world, non-Horizon hug. ]

[cointosser]

[Though Jaskier was there with her when the guards came, there wasn't much sense in him going with her (though he thought of offering, for moral support.) To him, it was grim irony that the city's representatives should agree the men were a problem... and then to punish those who took care of said problem. Perhaps because the city had no hand in it to claim responsibility? Seemed likely for what he's seen of bureaucracy.

He'd sent his messages to Ciri, met her and Julie in the Horizon. Everything sort of had a bow tied on top of it, but they were still lopsided and torn on at the edges. Nothing would feel right until Geralt was... well, here, which was a bizarre thought. He had never needed Geralt somewhere, but here --

Well, they'd been pulled into this awful place together. He'd be a bit pissed if they should be separated now.

He is tired and alone, and even the thought of a few more bread loaves made under his hands piques no interest. It's as if doing things to occupy a stressed mind doesn't really help anything.

What a thought.

Ah, fuck it. He's doing it anyway. It's enough to fill any empty part of his mind, and it wastes time. Both are welcome at this point; and so is the hours past he doesn't even notice, lifting his head when the door opens.

Jaskier, in fact, is in the middle of something. He is lightly dusted with flour on his front and has sticky dough on his hands. And yet he meets Ciri easily with a grin, and a throw of his arms around her, squeezing her tight. He may be getting dough on her. Oops.] I am absolutely delighted to see that imprisonment has done you no good. [He can already guess she is unrepentant. They share the quality.] You're all right?

[wiedzminka]

[ She doesn't care if he gets all the dough on her shirt he wants. (It needs to be washed anyway.) Ciri stays there for a few seconds in the embrace, with the sense of shared relief of last night's encouraging news and the tentative hopefulness it brings along with the new day and her freedom. The time in the cell had been short, but unnecessary. And she's much happier out, even if it was only for a night.

She snorts, pulling back to give a dismissive wave of her hand. ]

The whole thing was monumentally stupid. But yes. I'm all right.

And you-- [ Her hands linger on either side of his shoulders, giving Jaskier's arms a squeeze in concern. ] You look like you're the one who slept in a cell. Were you making bread all night?

[cointosser]

I figured as much. You're much more likely to be on the winning side than a few paltry guards.

[You know, if she wanted to make more trouble. Which, even if she did, she had not. No guards coming to their door to storm the place and bother he and Rinwell. (He does agree, by the way, it was monumentally stupid. They should have gotten gold for it.)

At the very least, Geralt's sword is safe. The potions he'd left. His horse. His daughter. The things that matter.

Her comment makes him open his mouth in insult.] You could at least lie to me! And maybe. Look, a man has needs, Ciri, and mine... mine happen to be needing to keep my hands occupied, for I'm like to go mad if I don't. You can't blame me for that.

[He's exhausted and looks like shit, yes, but there is such obvious relief in him, too.]

And while you were having a comfy little snooze in the city's dirty cells, a letter came for you. I left it over there. [He gives a tip of his head to the one corner of the table not occupied by his mad bread making.] And considering I know all of your business and then some, I am guessing it is from some previously unnamed admirer.

end of november, after geralt is back; for sam.

[wiedzminka]

[ As soon as Jaskier reached out to her, Ciri had run out to Sam's, barely pausing to write a quick note to Rinwell and leave it on the table for her just in case she ends up staying at Sam's all night. Or longer. She'll have to thank the girl properly later, for all her help and keeping a cool head while the rest of them were losing their minds with worry over Geralt.

Now, Ciri walks as quickly as she can manage without breaking into a full-on sprint through the darkened city streets. She arrives at Sam's breathless anyway, stomach all tied up in knots. Not thinking, she tries the handle before even knocking, ready to simply barge right in. ]

[falcony]

[ the deja vu that sam feels is fairly intense - with geralt passed out on his couch, jaskier having gone to sleep in one of the bedrooms, and sam, awake and doing his best to finish washing up, the small of magic and blood and general exhaustion thick in the air.

( it makes him miss alina, suddenly - how he doesn't need to be worrying about what he'd tell her, how her room is still empty, still how she left it. )

sam stops, suddenly, where he's drying his hands after scrubbing as much of geralt's blood from them as he could. should he message ciri? she should know, shouldn't she? sam makes the decision to do it, too, just as she opens his door (because yes, it was unlocked) to find a breathless ciri, eyes wide. that...honestly feels about on par. ]

He's asleep. [ sam offers softly, just in case the vision of geralt face down on the couch with bloody bandages across his back might stress ciri out. he points to the couch for good measure, just in case she hadn't caught on yet. ] And Jaskier's passed out in the bedroom.

[ welcome...back...? ]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri sweeps inside, barely remembering to shut the door behind her (quietly, at least, her eyes having immediately settled on the unconscious Witcher sprawled over the couch). She barely acknowledges Sam except with a look for now, moving immediately to Geralt's side, where she drops to her knees as much to reach him as out of the knee-buckling weight of relief dropping down on her with shocking suddenness. For all that she'd been telling herself these last few days that Geralt is safe with Julie and Nadine and on his way back soon, it's another thing entirely to see him here. Solid and real. Breathing, even if battered and bandaged.

She does not wish to wake him, but she can't help herself; the need to touch him overwhelms any urge for caution, as though she can't be entirely satisfied he's real until her fingers can confirm the solidity of his skin. Ciri settles on the floor, one elbow on the edge of a cushion stained with dry blood, her other hand gently brushing Geralt's temple, thumbing away more blood and dirt clinging to him still. With a quiet sigh, she lets her cheek fall on her folded arm, the tension rolling out of her shoulders and back leaving her slumped against the edge of the couch as if it's the only thing propping her up. ]

I could kill you myself, [ she mumbles, voice thick, and Sam might hear but the words are clearly not for him. Her hand drops away. Something catches her eye.

Dangling over the edge of the cushion on a familiar chain, Ciri notices the dim light from the fireplace flickering over not one but two circles of metal hanging from Geralt's neck. Carefully, she lifts them in her palm, thumbing aside the pendant Jaskier made for Geralt to reveal the other beneath it. At a better angle, it's clear the wolf's head medallion is silver-- and the way it sits in her hand, the weight and feel of it, there's something that almost seems to hum with a quiet, dormant power. The only reason she knows is because she's felt nothing like that here.

Breath catching, Ciri stares at it a long moment. It feels... real. Not just a disc of silver carved to look the same. It feels the same.

Several minutes pass like this before Ciri finally remembers Sam is in the room. She gently tucks both medallions underneath Geralt's shoulder so the chain won't pull at his neck, and finally, with great effort, pushes herself up to stand. Geralt gets another fretful pat on the head before she manages to step away.

Looking around at the room again, Ciri looks a little dazed, still struggling to get her bearings past the rush of relief and fresh uncertainty about what had happened between Geralt and Yennefer in Thorne. ]

How long has he...?

[ She trails off. Tries again. ]

You were able to talk to him before he went to sleep? [ Passed out cold, apparently. ] He seemed all right?

I mean, besides... all the wounds.

[falcony]

[ sam lets ciri have the space and time she needs, here, keeping off to the side, back near the door, as he lets her look geralt over in all of his glory. a part of him feels a bit guilty - for not cleaning up more, for not presenting the space as more put together. geralt still looked awful, truly, but the truth of the matter is that there hadn't really been time. and he's glad ciri came over when she had, as quickly as she had. she deserved to be here, and while he knew geralt hadn't wanted to go home for these specific reasons, sam wasn't going to be the one who left ciri in the dark.

his mind wanders a bit while she looks geralt over - to what's left to do, what he should do. things to clean, windows to open, cloth that he's not sure if he wants to drop down with magpie to clean or if he should just toss the lot of it - when there's a distinct moment he realizes ciri is asking him. sam blinks, bringing himself back. ] Oh, uh. Not long. He passed out while Jaskier and I were still cleaning him up, so not even an hour? [ sam...wishes he had a watch. that worked. still, that doesn't seem to be what ciri is actually asking, and when the questions do come, sam rubs a hand along the back of his neck. ]

Yeah, a little. He didn't make it long, though- Jaskier and I got him inside and started treating some of...that, and he kind of passed right out. [ with a little help from sam's magic, maybe. but it should say something that a calming spell put geralt right to sleep. but then she asks he seemed all right? and sam...he doesn't sigh, necessarily, but there is a slow exhale. ]

Honestly? It was a little hard to tell. He was beat to shit when he got here, and that's after someone got their hands on him first and did most of the legwork. [ julie and nadine, jaskier had told him. geralt had made it to nott, and julie and nadine had done their work on him. sam's eyes drift to geralt's form again, watching him sleep for another moment. ] He was conscious, and responsive, and knew where he was and how he got here, but he's been through some kind of hell.

[ to put it lightly. sam shakes his head. ]

He's going to be out for a couple hours, at least. [ a beat, and then- ] You want a drink? [ he says, moving over to the little kitchen area he's got going - which is now, thanks to jaskier and sam's dual searching, in a huge mess. ] I think I'm gonna have a drink.