[ OPEN/SOME CLOSED ] if I had to do it over, I'd do it all again

[cointosser]

Who: Jaskier, Ciri, Geralt, Yennefer, Alucard, and some open prompts
When: Mid-to-Late January
Where: Cadens and the Horizon
What: Jaskier wakes from a vivid, nasty dream to physical evidence that it was unfortunately very real. He spirals, but like, only a little bit. It mostly involves getting drunk and buying hats to cope.
Warnings: Mentions of bodily injury/torture, maybe PTSD, heavy drinking



[Will be throwing starters (including open ones) down below! You can hit me up at scathefire or #scathefire6612 if you'd like to plot anything or want an additional starter. Also, let me know if you'd like me to avoid S2 spoilers, because there will be a lot.]

Comments

[wiedzminka]

[ She can feel him relaxing by degrees, and is relieved as well. He doesn't push her away. He doesn't try to run from her. If he wanted to leave, she understands -- but the initial, fear, that bone-deep knowledge of what she is that haunts her every day, that has subsided. If she lets him go and he has to remove himself to process, she isn't afraid anymore that he might not come back. (Not much, at least. But there's no helping that.)

With a slow exhale, Ciri loosens her grip around him to a light embrace rather than a desperate, grounding clinging. ]

They are not mutually exclusive things.

[ She almost laughs. It isn't funny. ]

One can come to terms with something and still feel horrible about it. Happens all the time.

[cointosser]

[The answer is sharp. Not because of how she says it, but the truth of it. He squeezes her, his arms slowly letting her go. He cannot keep her trapped forever.]

No. No, they're not.

[His hands slide down her arms as he pulls back. He is a mess: eyes puffy, his cheeks flushed, eyes just as red. He's cried over lesser things before, feeling better after. This. This feels like a well's opened within him. He feels empty. Scooped out. A fillingless pie.

Gods. Ciri. She doesn't deserve this. Not from him, nor anyone else.]

I'm sorry. That I stirred those memories. It's still... raw to me. Still new.

[wiedzminka]

You needn't be. You've done nothing to hurt me, Jaskier.

[ Not now. Not then.

She releases him, takes a breath, and slowly moves to stand. On the way up, she offers her hand. ]

I do not know how what happened to you... happened. I do not know why. But I believe you. That it really did happen, not a vision, but a memory. And for that...

I'm sorry, too.

[ He might tell her the same, brush her off, but Ciri knows it's not a parallel comparison. She is dangerous. Now, he will understand more than he ever had before. Something shifts inside her, somewhere a wall built higher, a window sliding shut. Before this, Jaskier had known her only as she is now, and though Ciri holds no illusions that she is easy to be around at any point, there is a surprising amount of bitterness that comes with the new realization that now, he has seen her be that. It hadn't been her, but it had been her hands. Her magic. Blood on her conscience.

It had happened, and it makes no difference that Jaskier knows (remembers?) now. Not logically, not really. But it still feels like something has... changed. ]

Do you want me to leave?

[ She offers quietly, without fear or judgement, only a steady understanding. ]

If you wish to be alone to think.

[cointosser]

[Be that as it may, he also seems to be around whenever these spikes of emotion happen in her. And how can he not imagine he's the cause? He says the wrong thing, stirs the worst memories. It's a miracle at all to him she was so quick to embrace him when they first met. Not -- originally, but here in Abraxas. When he'd not remembered who she was.

He takes her hand, gripping it in his tightly. Her long, scarred fingers next to his own. Jaskier gets to his feet with her help, his legs, his whole body pulsing like a bruise.

Ah. Well. He supposes he bears them now, doesn't he? Still.]

What? [He looks at her, incredulous. His hand hasn't let hers go yet.] No. Gods, no, Ciri. I don't want to be alone right now.

[He'd been about to do it simply to -- to save them from what he couldn't hide behind a smile now. As long as he could, at least. But if she knows now, if she realizes what he's remembered -- or lived through -- what does it matter? His thoughts scramble for something, anything.

And he recalls one of the last memories he has of Abraxas. The calm. The warmth.] Downstairs. You still have some of that chocolate, don't you? Let's make a few mugs. I need to taste something that isn't wine or blood.

[wiedzminka]

[ That reaction could not have been more clearly the last one she expected. Ciri's eyes widen, unable to conceal the surprise that crosses her fact when he insists on her staying. The relief that crashes down a moment later is just as embarrassing, the depth of it so much that it leaves her shoulders slumping, not having realized the tension they'd been bearing all this time.

Ciri squeezes his hand once, reassuringly -- for them both -- and nods to his question. ]

Yes. There's plenty. I'll make us some.

[ She is gentle when she pulls away, turning toward the door. If Jaskier wants a little longer in the room by himself but not alone, he'll have whatever he needs. ]

I won't go anywhere today. Promise.