[Truthfully, Jaskier isn't sure if knowing someone, anyone else has gone through this makes it any better. Any easier. Well, sure, he knows their options for explanation are rather limited now -- they're either both mad, or it happened, and they cannot explain it. To be fair, there has been plenty of shit in Abraxas that cannot be explained.
It --
Fuck. Did those bloody coffers do this? The surge of power in the Singularity? Could -- could others experience this, this rush of memories? Time stolen from them all? The more he tries to wrap his head around it, the more it pounds, the more he wishes for more drink.]
Fat lot of good it does any of us. [The words are bitter, and sharp, but mostly they are sad.] It doesn't take away any of this I'd rather not remember.
[His ignorance wouldn't have changed much, though, would it? Like him. He changed so little. The elves, Nilfgaard, the onset of the Deathless Mother, Yennefer, the betrayal, the destruction of Kaer Morhen for who knows what time. All of it, crumbling down upon them, and what to show of it?
Some little pink scars and the knives in Geralt's voice when he says Yennefer's name.
Jaskier stands, all of a sudden, and wobbles. The drink isn't helping, like he knew it wouldn't, yet he craves more of it to slip into somewhere else where he can escape from this knowledge. He looks at Geralt, considers leaving again (should he have come home at all?), but pauses. He moves in front of his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. The feel of it, heated and solid. It was only a short few days back they laid together in bed, and nothing... nothing was right, of course, but it wasn't terribly wrong, either.]
I'm sorry. [He says it quiet, unsteady. The most recent memories are the ones that hurt the most.] About Kaer Morhen. About your brothers. Ciri. I wanted... I wish I could have done more. I wanted to do more.
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It --
Fuck. Did those bloody coffers do this? The surge of power in the Singularity? Could -- could others experience this, this rush of memories? Time stolen from them all? The more he tries to wrap his head around it, the more it pounds, the more he wishes for more drink.]
Fat lot of good it does any of us. [The words are bitter, and sharp, but mostly they are sad.] It doesn't take away any of this I'd rather not remember.
[His ignorance wouldn't have changed much, though, would it? Like him. He changed so little. The elves, Nilfgaard, the onset of the Deathless Mother, Yennefer, the betrayal, the destruction of Kaer Morhen for who knows what time. All of it, crumbling down upon them, and what to show of it?
Some little pink scars and the knives in Geralt's voice when he says Yennefer's name.
Jaskier stands, all of a sudden, and wobbles. The drink isn't helping, like he knew it wouldn't, yet he craves more of it to slip into somewhere else where he can escape from this knowledge. He looks at Geralt, considers leaving again (should he have come home at all?), but pauses. He moves in front of his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. The feel of it, heated and solid. It was only a short few days back they laid together in bed, and nothing... nothing was right, of course, but it wasn't terribly wrong, either.]
I'm sorry. [He says it quiet, unsteady. The most recent memories are the ones that hurt the most.] About Kaer Morhen. About your brothers. Ciri. I wanted... I wish I could have done more. I wanted to do more.