[ 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

[cointosser]

On the other hand, [He continues, as if in answer to her question,] I’m not so sure everyone isn’t bloody sick of bread. I think Rinwell and Hector are becoming desperate in their attempt to find a sustainable soup-to-bread ratio.

[And no one has had the gall to bring up the stressed bread making to his face, which is why he loves both and will die for them.

And for Ciri, of course. He has quiet songs too, that he keeps to himself, that perhaps only Geralt has ever heard him hum, of this girl that came from nowhere, from a woman’s womb he met decades ago and only once, and how improbably and easily she fell into his heart.

Not like it was Destiny. Nothing so convoluted. Only as if she fit perfectly in this shape it had been missing. Wistful songs of love’s power to choke even Destiny. Sorry songs of burden and freedom.

Some people keep journals. He keeps his songs. Though at this rate, he should be far more careful with them.

He claps his hands together, as if the drop in their conversation never happened.] Cake! That’s it! I can manage cake. Apple cake. And some sort of… you know, like a glaze? Oh, gods, I’m starting to sound like Alucard. [Now that he has reignited that mood, the reminder he was here to help Ciri forget her wounds, if only for a moment, it is much simpler to cling onto it.]

Yes, cut a few thinner, if you don’t mind. I know you mentioned cards, but how about you help me a spell? Then you can lose terribly to my strategic card-playing because I am, of course, a genius.

[And not deflecting. Like, at all.]

[wiedzminka]

[ With an exhale that might almost pass for a laugh, Ciri decides to let it be.

There is too much to think about. Purpose and practicality. Family and fear. Heroes, villains, destiny and dough.

It is easier to pretend she believes Jaskier, and simply help him make a cake. Ciri hasn't baked anything in-- a very long time, she can't even recall. There is something to be said about the fact that she is the one wielding the knife, destroying a thing in its current form so Jaskier can create it, more than a sum of the parts she takes apart. Whatever that something is, though, Ciri has not the words nor the energy to release it yet.

But she can do as Jaskier requests. And she can help make something new, even if this is all she knows: the knife in her hands, precisely peeling and separating.

She smiles up at him. ]

I love cake. Just tell me how many you need.

...and I'll take that as a challenge. You know I'm not backing down now.

wrap it up here? :>

[cointosser]

Do you? [Of course, he has seen the level of enthusiasm in which she approaches sweet buns, which is only equal to his own, so perhaps that makes perfect sense in the end. It's simply nice to have someone around who appreciates the finer things. Jaskier can live off of rabbit stew the rest of his life, but he would suffer heavily without the inclusion of the most frivolous of foods. And drinks.] Then cake we shall have, my dear.

[He will hold onto that. That almost-laugh, the smile she gives him. It is not unburdened, by any means, but it is better than her anger, her detachment, and worst of all, the sadness. His heart breaks for her -- perhaps it breaks for himself, even, as it struggles to hold both of them up together.

He scoops her cut apples into a bowl, pushing it towards her with a bag of sugar. If she is to help, she will have hands as messy as his own. For once, sticky with something that isn't ichor or blood.] There is not a chance you'll ever beat me, princess.

perfect <3

[wiedzminka]

[ It is easy to see why Jaskier has taken up this baking as a point to focus on when everything else feels like the walls closing in. It is a methodical thing, and it takes precision and focus just enough to let the mind rest, without being a burden in itself. For her, it is simply a matter of letting him teach her, following his instructions.

The gentle teasing leads again, eventually, to a joke or two. A lighter smile. Hands covered in sugar and spices. He shows her how to arrange and mix what is needed, how it all fits into what it will be, how to shape and bake it. How to accept that, for now, this is what either of them can do, and there's a comfort in the simplicity of understanding that too.

They bake a cake together. It is enough. ]