abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] tell them that the villains on my list

[ Ciri doesn't respond. But, for his answers, she is merciful; the bandit's death is swift, putting him out of his misery with a single swipe of her blade, a quick change of angle and pressure that drives the point upward, beneath the soft of his jaw and into his brain. He crumples when she kicks him off her sword.

Behind her, Jaskier chokes, and Ciri whirls around to crouch beside him instantly. The bloody sword is held aside, her other hand on the back of his shoulder, steadying. Down the hill, the other bandits are fleeing, and while she might have chased them on her own, the realization settles suddenly that Jaskier needs her. She'd run ahead once, left him behind. Nearly lost him. ]

It's okay. You're all right. Where does it hurt?

[ She soothes, scanning his body for injuries. ]

[He only barely notices the sound of one more body hitting the ground. Instead, Jaskier's fingers are smearing through the blood, touching the words. They linger, now printed over his hand, over the blood on them.

He's not imagining them. (How convenient would it be if he did?)]

Ciri. [He grabs her immediately, holding onto her as his arms wrap around her. Fuck. She's fine. She's fine, isn't she? Not hurt.]

Not that. It's -- [He chokes. All the empty threads they'd found already. Roach coming back.] Geralt. It's Geralt. He's alive. He sent me a message.

[Though he has no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do with it. Already he's sending a million of his own, clinging to Ciri but trying to concentrate. Geralt! Where are you? Where the fuck have you been? What's going on? Go after you where?]

[ Ciri rocks back on her heels, shifting her weight in surprise as Jaskier grabs onto her, clings like he's afraid she too might vanish. She hugs him back, bloody and a little bruised and sand-scraped, but fine. It seems he's in one piece too. Somehow.

(She'll have to think about that later, about what she'd done, how she'd done it. How it had worked, and if it's safe to try it again.)

For a moment, Jaskier struggles to get out the words, and Ciri holds him and waits for him to remember how to breathe. She thought he was just scared. She doesn't expect-- ]

What?!

[ Shocked, relieved, confused and worried all at once. She sits down in the dirt, without letting go of Jaskier, though she does pull back enough to see his face. ]

What did he say? Where is he? Are you talking to him right now?

[Jaskier is at the point where he very solidly wishes everything could stop happening so much.

He leans his head on her shoulder, the world spinning. The smell of blood is thick, and the more sour note of death. They've made an absolute fucking mess of Geralt's camp. At least, with his sword, there's no further proof needed it was his.

They sit there for a moment, and unfortunately Ciri has to wait for him to catch his breath, to re-catch his thoughts. He's firing off messages and waiting, waiting. Waiting for nothing.

He covers his eyes with his hands. Can he not see them? But no. There's nothing there. The words being to disintegrate until he can't even be sure he saw them at all.

But he did. He fucking did. That was Geralt. It had to be -- no one had figured out a way to fake that. Right?

Maybe he should lie, but he can't. He won't. Not to Ciri.]

Do not let her come after me. [He drops his hands, staring at her face. There's blood on her cheek.] I sent more. I sent more, and he won't fucking answer them.

[ It's difficult not to bombard Jaskier with more questions, but Ciri catches on that he needs a minute, and that he's probably talking to Geralt. She can't see the writing. Why didn't Geralt reach out to her, she has to wonder, a little angry and a little hurt, but still mostly just relieved he reached out at all.

Ciri sits with Jaskier, letting him lean on her as much as he needs to, doing her best to be patient when the adrenaline is still just fading from her veins and her mind is racing as fast as her heart. Searching Jaskier's face for clues, Ciri only breathes for a few minutes, slow and deliberate, trying to calm herself down.

Her heart rate spikes the instant Jaskier speaks again. ]

What?! That's it? Where is he?

[ But he probably hadn't said. Not if that was the message Geralt sent. And why he sent it to Jaskier and not her.

Ciri grimaces, teeth clenching in the effort it takes not to keep shouting. Instead of yelling at Jaskier, who definitely doesn't deserve it right now, Ciri turns her attention on the connection that allows them to speak across distances and bombard Geralt with text-based yelling of her own. ]

I know it was him. I can't be imagining it, right? That'd be right fucking pathetic.

[Ugh. Even saying it aloud makes him feel sick. Or perhaps he's just sick. This is. A lot. Fuck. He's only a bard.

And this is not the stuff ballads are made of.]

I don't know where he is. He didn't say. He didn't say anything else. [Jaskier does it for her. He covers his face with his hands and screams into them, bursting with relief and even more fear and the very real fact he's going to fucking kill him. Just. Choke him. Why? Why is he like this?

He knows why. Jaskier doesn't have to guess that Geralt fears someone eavesdropping on this spell. To be fair, do any of them know if that's even possible? It could be. All he's used it so far is an explicit invitation to a party. And arguing with some fool with lofty ideals.

He lowers his hands, wiping sand off his face.] Let's... let's gather his things. We can take them back. I don't think it's safe to stay here. With... all of this.

If it's your imagination responding to the stress, I'd like to think it would at least come up with something more encouraging.

[ Ciri listens to Jaskier yelling beside her, eyes closed, letting him just get it out without comment while she continues trying to reach Geralt without any acknowledgement whatsoever. Even knowing and having expected that in the first place, she is furious with him for it.

They both know there's only one person Geralt could mean, if he'd sent that message to Jaskier. Well. He's too fucking late. They're already here, and Ciri has no intention of giving up.

Even if Jaskier is right and they'll probably need to... shift tactics a bit. Ciri sighs and opens her eyes, surveying the scene with a detached sort of coldness. It's going to be dark very soon. Her eyes skim over the bodies, the mess of sand and dirt and supplies in the middle of the camp, landing on the pale glint of the sword lying abandoned further down the hill.

Do not let her come after me.

He's alive. For now. But he's somewhere else, somewhere unsafe, without his sword or any of his gear. Blocking them both out either from fear of being discovered and traced, or because he is unconscious or otherwise can't respond. The possibilities chip away at the sides of Ciri's resolve, sharp little knives whittling her down to a wisp of nothing but exhaustion and hollow resignation.

There is nothing else they can do tonight.

Slowly, Ciri pushes herself up to her feet, then reaches out to offer Jaskier a hand up. ]

We'll gather what we can and make camp on the way back. Put a couple miles between us and... "all of this." Moon should be out soon. We'll ride slow.

[ Speaking of... where the fuck are the horses? ]

Edited (so many typos wtf, sry) 2021-11-26 00:20 (UTC)

[She has a point. If it was his imagination, Geralt would have been very specific about where he was, what he was doing, and complimenting Jaskier's very talented hands and dick.

Jaskier takes her hand, letting most of her strength pull him up. He feels as if his legs have turned into worms, his stomach still quite unsure whether it wants to empty itself or not. (He'll never get the image of those words spilled across blood out of his mind.)

At least she doesn't disagree, and for that he's thankful, but he can feel this sort of wall come up around Ciri... as if she's trying to hold all the parts of herself up.] I know you know this already, but don't take it personally. What he said.

[They both know why. To protect her. And because Geralt was realistic: if either of them were to go after him, Ciri would have the most success. If they knew where to go.

He picks up Geralt's sword, wiping sand and blood from it onto his trousers. (Might as well. They're already ruined.) He peers around for its scabbard, letting his eyes neatly scan across the bodies as if they aren't there. It's easier that way.

Ah. Next to the. Arm. Not thinking it. He slides the sword into its scabbard, offering it to Ciri.] Here.

[If he doesn't take a break from this, he might actually get a little sick. An opportunity for blood-free air is. A good idea right now.] I'm going to go find the bloody horses. Lucky us. Still have the berries.

[Which will definitely be used to bait them into coming back. For once, he misses Roach's unflappable personality when it comes to violence.]

I know.

[ She says it too quickly, too flatly, a tightness at the corners of her mouth.

Geralt is protecting her. She wants to strangle him for it, but -- if only logically -- she understands.

Besides, it's not as though she could go after him anyway. She has no idea where he is. Even if she'd had full access to her abilities and wasn't too cautious to use them, she couldn't do anything to help if she doesn't know where to find him in the first place. In that way, Geralt has guaranteed that she'll listen to him. For now.

She takes the sword from Jaskier, slinging the strap over her shoulder alongside her own sword, which by now has been wiped off and put back in its scabbard at her back. ]

All right. I'll have a look around and join you shortly.

[ It's quiet now. With the sun gone behind the far mountains on the horizon, the chill begins to settle in the air, temperatures plunging quickly for how warm it had been earlier. The sharpness of it cuts through the cloying smell of blood and corpses as Ciri makes her way to the embers of the fire, poking it a bit to get a small flame going and make a torch. By its wan light, until the moon gets high enough, she picks her way through the camp for any traces not completely erased by the bandits (and her and Jaskier). There isn't much. Geralt's camping supplies, the saddlebags that had been missing from Roach when she wandered back. A blanket, with silvery white hair clinging to its coarse fibers.

She packs everything up, stamps out the fire, and heads back to Jaskier. The vultures and outrices can have the rest. ]

[Hm. He doesn't argue. He's not likely to make this situation... any less than the situation it is, honestly.

He gives Ciri a wave as he walks off, finally allowing his face to make whatever expression it needs to. To. Process this. The bodies, their further clues, or lack thereof. Geralt had been here. This was clearly his camp. There had been blood here before he left. No. Not left. Someone had to have dragged him off. Unconscious? But he was conscious now... or he had been when he sent that message.

Fuck. Fuck. He'd already gotten his scream out, but another might do him good. Twenty fucking years and he's never had to worry after Geralt (all right, the once, maybe, when he was in a house that collapsed.) This was. Different. After everything they'd been through -- all of the impossible things.

And now he worries about Ciri. Is she going to go? Oh, fuck. Should he have left her alone? No, no. It's fine. She can't go far without the horses.

Which... ah! There they are. Jaskier clicks his tongue gently at them, calling their names as he holds out a handful of the berries (neither squished nor rotted by their riding or over time.) They're skittish and Ciri's gelding is certainly spooked, but responds both to the free offerings of food and soothing pets down his mane.

By the time Jaskier returns with both horses' reins in his hand, he looks somehow even more exhausted. He'd spent the whole time with his mind shooting from one thought to the next, taking in everything. Replaying it in his head.

And he'd stopped on the fact that there had been a moment where Jaskier was so entirely sure he would not make it. Ciri had been too far. And then... she suddenly wasn't.]

Hey. I found them. As you can see. [He licks his lips. This is not really a topic he wants to broach, but it feels rather. Important.

When they're on the move. That's when.] Did you find anything else?

[ Ciri looks tired too. Drained and pale and weighed down in a way that has nothing to do with the bags and weapons she's carrying.

She nods to Jaskier, coming closer slowly to make sure the horse doesn't spook again, making soft noises at him and stroking his neck while she gets the extra saddlebags on and ties Geralt's sword and her own down as well. ]

Old blood. Not the bandits'. Geralt's gear and blankets.

Whatever happened, he was settled down for the night. Something ambushed him.

[ Or someone. But getting the jump on a Witcher isn't easy. Neither is separating him from his sword.

Ciri feels numb. It should have been a relief to know that Geralt is alive, that he'd reached out to Jaskier, but the message itself -- combined with the meager clues they can start putting together -- paints a dire picture. Wherever he is, he didn't get there intentionally. Not without his gear and sword. And the fact he's worried she'll try to find him only makes Ciri think she needs to. ]

Scene's a mess, though. No discernible tracks. Not after...

[ She trails off, jaw set at a harsh angle, knuckles white on the reins.

Even if she'd been able to gut every single man who'd fucked with Geralt's camp before they got there, it still wouldn't have helped. She'd done as much to mess things up as they had. ]

Come on. Let's get out of here. There's nothing else to find tonight.

[Great. A lot of great information to have when they're attempting to not worry about Geralt, and not go after him. Ambushed. Who could ambush a Witcher? This wasn't like Geralt in the cells, when his senses were muted -- according to him.

He feels like his brain might burst soon. It's enough to focus on the horses, soothing them. He keeps a hand on his mare to keep himself standing.

Should they... do something? About them? It's the bloody desert. It wouldn't be a gesture of good will, for sure. And what could he do? Pull them under the sand with -- no. He'd rather not. (The crack of those bones still lingered in his head.)

He gives a nod and gets on his horse, waiting for Ciri to lead the way back. At the very least, they retrieved Geralt's things. Gods know they can't afford another fucking sword.

Jaskier clears his throat, sticking close to her as night approaches.] I have. An inquiry.

[It says enough that he stops there.]

[ So many things Ciri wants to do right now-- none of which are turn around and go back. But in truth, she knows there's nothing that they can actually follow. Not like this. Perhaps, if there were some magical means of tracing--

She looks over at Jaskier. Blinks. ]

...well? Go on, then. Have you forgotten how to speak?

[Ouch. Normally he'd rise to the prickling response just to do it, but right now he lets her have it without a pause.

The question comes to his tongue and forces him to acknowledge how close he was to certain death. And after all this time, he liked to think he was very good at avoiding certain death. He did not head into the thick of things. Like a good, smart bard, he stayed on the sidelines and let the Witchers do all the work.

He doesn't want to acknowledge it. Dying is terribly inconvenient.

He's nearly famous again, after all.]

We both know I was about to die. [And there it is. Look. He got it out! Without crying! This is character development.] Without question. You were not close enough to -- to do that. What you did. With the sword. [The word escapes him, his hands gripping his reins tighter. Ah. Remember your stupid lessons with Geralt.] Parry. That's it. Before you parried him.

[Okay, so he failed to put it in question form.]

Edited (I added a stupid joke) 2021-11-30 07:50 (UTC)

[ She hadn't meant to snap. Ciri swallows, looking ahead again while she listens, avoiding his gaze. She doesn't want to know what she'll find there, to see his fear again. The tremor in his voice is enough.

It's a good question (or rather, the implication of a question, but that doesn't matter). How had she done that?

Unlike Jaskier, Ciri knows what happened. She just doesn't know how. Or how to... explain it to him. ]

You're right.

[ She wasn't close enough. He'd been about to die. All of it, what he'd said -- all true. Terrifyingly true. Too close a call. By far. ]

I knew I would not get to you in time. No matter how fast I ran.

But I knew, also, that I- I could not lose you too, Jaskier... I just couldn't.

[ It's her voice that trembles now, tight and thin, edged with desperation even at the ghost of the memory. ]

And when I thought that, with all my heart, I simply--

Did it.

[Oh. Fuck. Somehow he hadn't thought him bringing it up would... would upset her. For Melitele's sake, he was barely processing his own trauma with the realization.

Immediately he reaches across the space between them to touch her arm.]

Oh, my dear. I'm sorry. I didn't think. [Possibly he should not be surprised she cares about him so, but sometimes it... it can be a lot. And he is fairly used to his friends' concerns for him being, how do you say, nonexistent.

Gods. His eyes prickle, but he swallows it down. Not now. She doesn't need that on top of everything else.] That's all I need to know. You saved my life, Ciri. And for that, I cannot thank you enough.

[He can accept it. She can... do that. He's not even sure what it was. It wasn't inhuman speed, he thinks; he's seen that in Geralt plenty. It was like... like a blink. Between one blink and the next, she had crossed the entire camp. Like a portal. Had she made a portal? One so fast that none of them had seen it?

It was only one more display of her power. And she'd done it to save him. That was enough.] I'm not going anywhere, I promise. We'll keep going, all right? Together.

[To find him. It didn't need to be spoken.]

[ When his fingers brush her arm, Ciri finally turns to look at Jaskier. He'd been the one to almost die (again) and here he is comforting her instead (again).

What a foolish, ridiculous man.

Ciri smiles, very faint and tired, but not forced this time. ]

Together. [ She promises. Jaskier had been so worried she might run off without him before, had made her promise to wait until they could gather supplies and set off together, but the truth is, Ciri prefers it this way. It might be selfish, putting him in danger. (Too much danger, he'd nearly died--) But his company is a balm, soothing loneliness and anger, providing some much-needed levity. He doesn't even have to be his usual cheerful self; it's enough.

Ciri takes a breath. Jaskier isn't going to ask any more, and yet she offers it. ]

I promised not to keep such things from you anymore. This isn't the first time I have achieved such a feat.

But I thought the Singularity had blocked me from my abilities. I cannot open portals even within this realm, let alone to others. I tried, you see. When we first arrived in Cadens, I spent days attempting to summon any of the powers granted by this accursed Elder Blood in the hopes that it could be of use, but nothing came of it.

...until now.

I call it Blink. It's an ability I've been developing, a sort of immediate portalling from one place to another, but instead of thinking of somewhere far away, I focus on something I can see.

It was hardly perfect, even when I had better control of my abilities outside this sphere. Here, with the Singularity's influence--

I am glad it worked. And nearly as astounded as you are.

Edited 2021-11-30 09:27 (UTC)

I mean, this wasn't exactly hiding --

[Considering he'd been there to witness it. Yet he quiets down and lets her explain, her voice the only thing really out here among the dunes. Not even the calls of far-off birds.

His brows raise. Wait. She could always do this?

His head hurts. It's not necessarily her fault; there is far too much happening still. And now they go home empty-handed, and his new charge (since apparently that's what he has become, according to Geralt, in his absence) can seemingly break the impossible barriers between planes and move between them. Or move through one with impossible speed.

He rubs his temples. And then, the smallest smile.]

Blink. [As he'd thought, too.] It suits. [He drops his hand again.] It was brilliant. I'll be happy to paint him a picture of how well you fought, once he's returned. In any other circumstances... it would have been quite a sight.

[ Ciri tries to offer a smile, or something close to it. The attempt is genuine, but the result half-hearted at best. ]

I'm just glad you're all right.

[ She keeps putting him in danger. This time, it had been those desert rogues, but if she hadn't dashed off ahead, if she'd at least stopped enough to tell him to stay back, if she hadn't lost her temper and gone after the men holding Geralt's sword without even properly looking around at anything else--

A lot of ifs, and all of them pointless.

This is just what she does. She puts the people she loves in harm's way, one way or another. ]

I will not lose anyone else. [ It's a quiet resolution, a mantra she's clung to before, with questionable efficacy. Geralt's absence is felt keenly, like a gut wound, impossible to ignore. ]

We're going to find him.

You know I refuse to give up just because he tells me to.

[Jaskier doesn't mind. It's enough to settle some of his nerves.]

Worry not. I'm quite adept at getting into trouble myself. I always come out all right.

[Perhaps it could have gone better... but even after having witnessed what could only be called a slaughter, he did not blame her. Seeing Geralt's things gathered about without regard, like... like trash, almost. As if the items held no meaning to anyone.

They had them now. (Dimly, he thinks, that if they were not to find him, they would not even have a medallion to bury.)

No. He shoves the thought away immediately.]

We will lose no one. [He agrees, repeating it only to emphasize it. The horses wicker gently in the night, and despite the violence before, the blood on his hand sticky and cold, the desert night becomes almost peaceful now.]

I know. [He turns his head to watch ahead of them, though there's a dwindling amount to take in.] Though I don't think he means for us to give up. Only to not throw ourselves on the proverbial pike for a chance to find him. We'll keep looking. There's not a chance I will allow you to do it alone.

[ CLOSED ] tell them that the villains on my list

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