[ CATCH-ALL ] i'm allied to the winter

[wiedzminka]

Who: Ciri, Geralt, Rinwell, Jaskier, and others
What: Catch-all for February plans
Where: Cadens, the desert on the road to Aquila, Horizon
When: throughout February
Warnings: will add as needed. probably violence. spoilers for season 2 of the witcher!

Closed headers below, but open for plotting! Hit me up if you'd like a starter. Feel free to PM Ciri's journal or catch me on Plurk at belleteyn

Comments

for rinwell; mid january.

[wiedzminka]

[ It's luck, mostly. But Ciri can't say she wasn't looking for a reason to leave too, to go somewhere far enough that it might help her clear her head, that maybe sleeping under the stars will chase away at least some of the nightmares. When one of her regular customers asks to hire her as muscle for his wagon on the way to Aquila, Ciri readily -- eagerly -- accepts.

After some thought, the night before she leaves, she decides to invite Rinwell along.

The girl has been antsy since the festival, and for good reason; with anti-mage sentiment simmering hotter since Eifstide and the ill-advised rallies around the prime minister's office pushing tensions higher, the city must feel stifling for someone as connected to magic as Rinwell. They could both use an escape. Besides, Ciri knows that Rinwell has been trying her hardest to earn her keep, and she respects that. She knows how to handle herself on a horse now too, more or less. The trip is on a main road, and Ciri is being hired more as an extra precaution to scare away bandits than because there is a great expectation for danger along the path.

I know you can handle it, Ciri had told Rinwell as they'd strapped their saddlebags onto the horses in the pre-dawn morning. She'd smiled encouragingly, placing a hand on Rinwell's shoulder. And then, she'd given Rinwell a dagger-- her own, the first one she'd bought in this city after escaping from Thorne, before Geralt had gifted her with the silver wolf's head blade that she never parts with now.

The trip out toward Aquila is uneventful the first couple of nights. The days are warm, but not blistering; the nights are cold, nearly freezing, but they huddle near the fire and sleep under warm blankets, and it's not so bad in Ciri's experience. Besides the merchant and his apprentice, it is just the two of them, along with a large wagon pulled by four mules, with two more tied behind hitched to an extra cart for additional merchandise. They are a slow and burdensome procession, but the merchant is an amicable fellow, rail-thin and wiry with a curled moustache so well-kept it's clearly his pride and joy. He's chatty enough to be pleasant, but not so much as to be a bother. The apprentice, a lanky teenager, keeps to himself. Plenty of food (and drink) is provided. All in all, it's a cushy way to earn some decent coin.

Ciri is settled by the fire one night with a bowl of stew and a mug of wine, about halfway to the city. A few more days until they get there, and then they'll likely stay about as long until the merchant's done with his business before heading back. She sips from her bowl, staring into the fire, aware of the familiar footsteps crunching behind her. ]

Do we have enough firewood?

[ She asks without looking back. The term firewood is a bit of a misnomer; there are some skinny trees out here, but most of their fodder comes from the myriad of dry, brittle bushes and shrubs that litter the landscape, making easy kindling for the thicker logs the merchant had brought along for that purpose. ]

[rinwell]

[ She'd been mulling over what Geralt had told her, light finally shed on the strange shift within the household that had taken her in and made her one of their own in short order. But the moment Ciri had extended an offer to join her, to leave the city, Rinwell hadn't had to think twice about it.

Last minute or not, evidently experience with time on the road hadn't been forgotten, as she's already packed and ready for inspection by the time the older girl is ready to herd her out the door. Away from the rising city tensions, and away from the ringleader. Hard to miss, even harder to resist dropping a lightning bolt on his head. (But that would only prove his point, wouldn't it?)

But it is a chance to show what she can do, beyond simply keeping house and keeping horse - though the latter is incredibly useful here, too. Ciri shows her how to tether horses in the open, allowing for grazing without risk of escape, staying in reach; tricks for handling tacking up quickly and securing saddlebags. In some respects, Rinwell is her apprentice, and the younger mage is pretty proud of her progress by the time night comes half way into the trip.

Her legs are beginning to feel the saddle soreness, though. No one warned her about that.

There's a soft warble before Hootle flaps slowly and takes up a perch on the log next to Ciri, resettling his feathers once on his seat. Behind them, there's a soft snort - human, not equine. ]

I think most of what's left of the grassland and scrub around here could be classified as that. I'd heard desert things were more inclined to grow in winter, but you'd never know it here.

[ A deeper fire pit is essential, for sure; the risk of flames leaping from the burning pile that trigger a more dangerous blaze is the last thing any of them need. But they are at least prepared if they need to restart the fire: Rinwell very carefully places her burden on the diminished pile the apprentice had started after they'd first stopped for the night.

She runs her thumb over the leather wrapped hilt of the dagger she's inherited, before moving to join Ciri at the fire. ]

All clear, otherwise. The only other tracks I could find around the camp are several days old. If there are any zeugles nearby, they're quite a distance away.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri gives Rinwell a bit of an askance look. Zeugles, to her knowledge, live in filthy water and among garbage, as long as there's moisture. Not exactly the kind of creature she expects to encounter in the desert. ]

More worried about basilisks than zeugles. But I think we're safe in that regard as well, unless some wander far from their nests.

[ She'd kept an eye out earlier and done a thorough sweep before they made camp. Basilisks don't usually nest so close to the road, in any case.

She nods to the pot on the fire, already moving to grab Rinwell a bowl even as she asks. ]

Hungry? I'll ladle you some.

[rinwell]

[ The askance look gets one in return. A zeugle is a zeugle is a zeugle - she'll have to remember the catch-all term for the man-made monstrosities isn't one shared off of Dahna. ]

It's been pretty quiet on this trip so far. I think we can count our blessings on that one for sure. And yes please!

[ Are teenagers ever not hungry? Well, perhaps she's not as voraciously hungry as some boys she could think of, but Rinwell knows better than to turn down a meal. She's had an empty stomach more often in life than she cares to count, and once she's happy that her firewood is secured and unlikely to be lit up by a stray spark from the main fire pit, she parks herself next to Ciri eagerly. ]

So how many more days travel, do you think?

[wiedzminka]

Hey, don't invite trouble with talk like that.

[ Ciri chides, though it's mostly in jest. She doesn't actually follow any superstition like that-- it's just that trouble tends to find her regardless. By the time Rinwell settles down beside her, Ciri's got a full bowl for her. She hands it over, along with a crust of bread. ]

Hm. Four, by my most optimistic estimate. If we keep moving at this clip. Longer if they want to stop anywhere on the way.

[ There are a few supply outposts and tiny villages (if they can be called that) set up along this main road, since the distance between the actual cities is great and people often travel between them. Someone has to run the inns and taverns, provide lodgings and food for the horses and oxen. ]

Though I think he plans to sell more stock on the way back, after picking up whatever it is he wants from Aquila.

[ Having finished her stew, Ciri sets the bowl aside and leans back, propped against the bags piled behind her. She drinks, then hands the mug to Rinwell in a wordless offer. ]

So. Enjoying the trip so far?

[rinwell]

Not even a little trouble?

[ There's a happy sigh as Rinwell sinks down and accepts the food with an eagerness only born from travel on the road. The bread is immediately torn in half, one part dipped in to enjoy the drippings, while the other half is saved for mopping up when she's done. ]

That's not too bad. The last time I looked at the map, it looked like it might take longer. And it makes sense he'd want to sell on the return journey. I bet a lot of people out this way don't get to see a lot of town goods.

[ It's not long before she's digging into the stew proper, and there's a hasty slurp and nod in response to that latter question.

She's missed this, if she's honest. Something Rinwell never thought she'd feel, and while it's not the family from home who she'd begun to bond with, both Ciri and their escort npcs charges have treated her like an adult who knows what she's doing - and she's needed that. Rinwell hadn't realised how much the knowing smirks of 'adults who knew better' had gotten her feeling down, never mind the shift in attitudes lately towards magic. ]

Yeah. [she swallows her mouthful, then nods enthusiastically.] I'd gotten so used to Cadens, I'd almost forgotten this place is known as the Free Cities for a reason.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri laughs, watching her with unmistakable fondness. She settles back, tugging a blanket over her lap and lifting a corner, a wordless invitation if Rinwell wants to scoot closer and get under it too. The temperatures drop quickly in the desert at night. ]

Cadens by itself is so big, it's easy to forget.

I still haven't even been to Libertas. Maybe we should go sometime. If you're not sick of me by then.

[ She teases, nudging Rinwell with her leg. Ciri's never had a sister, but maybe it would feel a little bit like this. ]

for geralt; early february.

[wiedzminka]

[gynvael]

[ More than anything, Geralt knows better than to expect speaking to Yennefer will make the situation less complicated. Their conversation leaves him with a dozen more questions. A dozen more problems.

He does not tell Ciri immediately. He waits until nightfall, finishes the day's journey past the edges of Cadens towards the next town over. Spends the entire trip going over what he's learned, everything Yennefer has said. One thing he's certain: he can't trust her as things stand. Yennefer is vulnerable in Thorne without her magic in a multitude of ways. All of it is liable to put Ciri in danger. This, here, it's no longer about him. It's no longer about them, about what he may or may not feel for Yennefer. (He still feels it. What he always has with her. Maybe that's the hardest part: when even the deepest hurt does not erase what he feels. It only makes it so that he understands he can't let it mean anything more.)

Just off the path sits a rundown unnamed inn. It's owned by an elderly woman and an even more elderly hound. The place is full of cobwebs and dust, like she can no longer keep up with the sweeping. He pays her an extra few coins to stable Roach—and if there's an extra few more than he truly needs to, that's neither here nor there.

A rat scuttles between his feet as he opens the door to his room. He locks the door behind him. Only then does he send notice to Ciri. ]

I spoke to Yennefer.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri knows his hand, recognizing the letters instantly even as they begin to uncurl before her eyes, glittering and nearly fading right into the bright flame she's sitting next to. They've made camp along the side of the road, not unusually; the merchant has his wagon to sleep inside in moderate comfort, and has already retreated within after supper, a little drunk and starting to snore early. Ciri, as she had agreed to do, keeps watch over the wagon and the cart, the horses and the goods (and Rinwell). It isn't late enough for either of them to be asleep.

Geralt's message lingers for a few moments atop the fire. Then, it fades into the flames. When she closes her eyes, the brightness of both lingers behind her eyelids. Her stomach twists, anxiety tight behind her ribs. It's foolish to wait for more; she knows what Geralt will expect. When the message repeats, an unanswered reminder (the magic somehow knows she hasn't responded, and she's long since stopped bothering to figure out how), Ciri finally sends her reply. ]

The training yard. When?

[ Already, she is asking Rinwell to keep an eye on things for her, with a promise that she'll pull Ciri out of the Horizon if anything happens. Or if she stays in too late, past the first watch they'd agreed upon. ]

[gynvael]

[ While he waits for her answer, he unpacks what little he's brought with him. Lays out his dagger to clean it. She's mentioned taking Rinwell on a simple escort job; beyond that, Geralt isn't certain where Ciri might be. Letting her go still leaves an uneasiness in him—he remembers keeping her close, needing to keep her close and safe, but he knows it isn't the same here. That no one's chasing her here. (Not if he can help it.)

The letters shine in the candlelight, curling across the grimy floor. He sits on the bed that's really more of a lumpy straw mattress thrown on a rickety wood frame. Feels like it barely holds his weight. ]

I'll wait there.

[ As soon as possible, in other words.

The broken railings atop the keep remain. He hasn't fixed them yet. Has Ciri seen the inside? She must've. He's noticed she hasn't come in and out lately. Didn't ask to meet inside. He can't blame her. He's slowly pieced it together, but much of it will never be the same. Not unless he shifts it deliberately and he doesn't want to. He's not certain it'll hold, either, if he tries.

He finds the lone stump by the training yard. Funny, how different it feels being here now. It used to be a quiet longing—a knowledge that he might never set foot in Kaer Morhen proper again. Now he remembers coming home, only to find everything changed. ]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri doesn't respond; there is no need to. Geralt knows she was paying attention and saw his message. For a few minutes, Ciri busies herself making sure Rinwell knows what to do if something comes up to their camp, if the merchant wakes and wants to bother her for something, and whatever else might come up. The preparations are mostly unnecessary; Rinwell is not an idiot, and if Ciri didn't trust her, she wouldn't have brought her in the first place. It's just a stalling tactic that she's being dishonest with herself about.

Eventually, Ciri runs out of things to use as excuses, and the knowledge that Geralt is waiting makes her anxious enough that she has to give in. She needs to know; there's no avoiding it.

She decides to lie down near the fire, letting her body rest even if it isn't quite sleep, and slips into the Horizon.

As usual, she appears in the courtyard of Kaer Morhen. The wolf is already beside her. ]

...Geralt.

[gynvael]

[ It isn't long before Ciri arrives. He senses her more than he sees her; that the wolf is with her instead of roaming the keep is no surprise. He pets it absently when it comes up to him, as though it recognizes that no threat looms for the moment.

He rises to meet her. The tension is taut around her. Geralt doesn't waste time avoiding the topic. She will want to hear what he has to say. ]

I found her at last, in the Horizon. She doesn't...recall as much as Jaskier and I. She knows she struck a deal. But not afterwards.

[ Not that she lied to them. To nearly the very end, she had lied to him, to Ciri. She'd known, and she'd lied, anyway. Taken Ciri, anyway. He understands Yennefer wants to believe she isn't capable. But the truth is, Yennefer here or Yennefer in those memories—they are not different people, just as he isn't different, either. Nor Jaskier. They remain themselves. ]

There's more. [ He pauses. ] She hasn't got her magic here.

[ He worries. That's what it comes down to. She's without her magic, again. And it troubles him what she will do to get it back, even if she were to insist she never would. ]

for jaskier, early february (before talking to geralt).

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri has kept in touch, as promised. Nothing much, but that's not unusual; she's never been particularly chatty over this tenuous connection the Singularity allows them, and has been even more careful since Geralt's impromptu trip to Thorne.

But she had promised Jaskier she would check in every once in a while, and she keeps her word. Nearly every day, Ciri has sent him some sort of message, a short exchange about the weather or her trip, something she has seen, something Rinwell has done. When they reached Aquila, she told Jaskier about how big and colorful the markets are, how he would love the fashions, how there are so many hats.

On the second day spent in the city, Ciri reaches out again. ]

You busy? I want to meet. If not now, then soon?

[cointosser]

[It's rather unnecessary of her, all this checking in -- he's very much able to take care of himself, thank you -- but it's Ciri and he's loathe to say much about it to her. Besides, he's glad to hear from someone. With everyone out of the house, the quiet has grown deafening.

He always responds, even if he's nursing a hangover. At least it doesn't translate in the writing. Much. Probably.

At least this time, Jaskier is staring at his open songbook, sucking ink out of a quill (it tastes hideous, by the way) when the words appear.]

Only if it's good news. [He's jesting. (Mostly.) But it's not the tone of bad news, either.] You've caught me at a good time. My place, or yours?

[wiedzminka]

[ Honestly, Ciri understands why he asks, and that it's not entirely in jest. Thankfully, she has an answer that is easy for them both. ]

Good news. I promise. And either. It's a matter of musical instruments, so whichever you think will suit.

[cointosser]

Musical instruments, you say? Well, then mine, I should think. I have a few on display there.

[She certainly has found the easiest way to catch his attentions. Musical instruments? Is she thinking of picking one up? Oh, that would be wonderful! Perhaps a flute? No, no, he thinks she needs something a bit bolder. A horn? He's not as proficient in horns, of course, but he could practice with her --

Ah, fuck. He needs go now if he expects enough time to clean the place up.

He manages. He's well-practiced in slipping into the Horizon, especially after his weeks of nearly existing exclusively there. The tavern is brightened as he steps through it, the floors and tables cleaned and tidied with Moglad's help. He even manages to go into the basement and find one of the old bottles of wine from the vineyard.

And the instruments he has on display glow brighter, freshly polished, all arranged on a shelf near the back of the tavern. And, only to cover all his bases, he adds a curled horn alongside a few lutes and a tambourine.

There. She should have plenty of choice.]

[wiedzminka]

[ The wolf knows where to go. Ciri, safely tucked in her inn room pretending to nap, slips into the Horizon and follows him from Kaer Morhen to Jaskier's tavern in a run-down corner of a replica Oxenfurt, unfamiliar to her by sight and yet familiar enough by feel. Kelpie is left, as always, to wander where she will; Ciri never worries about her here, considering the horse is a memory more than anything else, even if she still loves that mare as if she were as real as anything. The Horizon is funny like that.

She lets herself into the tavern, calling out for Jaskier. And greeting Moglad politely, of course. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier pops out from behind the counter, neatly ducking his head before he hits it on the beam of the liquor shelf above. Moglad gives an emphatic wave, bowing to their guest.]

Ah, hello Ciri! I trust your trip must be going well? How is Rinwell?

[He can only assume she fairs just as well, since there's been no bad news headed his way. Yet. But he can't imagine Ciri should lie to him about it only to meet him here.

Which brings to mind whether she's ever been to Oxenfurt. He can only imagine she has, in her, er, travels. After that whole... everything.

He sets the wine bottle he'd been messing about with on the counter, turning the label towards her. It is one he'd never had a chance to give her, really, considering they live together. It's rare they should ever need to meet here.

The label boasts a golden swallow, neck and wings curved elegantly backwards, with cursive script labeling it Swallow's Bolt underneath. Just like the others, he once fancied a vintage for Ciri as well.] So, which would you like? The lute? The horn? I thought you may go for a horn.

for gideon; the summit.

[wiedzminka]

[ All in all, the whole political dance behind the summit is a load of horseshit, if you ask Ciri. But she has to admit that spending some time learning about the other factions and being able to observe them and their traditions up close has been interesting. Most importantly, she's gotten to see some people in the flesh whom she's either never met before in person or hasn't seen in months. It's not all bad. In fact, it's mostly good, on the surface, if she sets aside the anxiety over the Singularity itself and those in power trying to find their pawns among the Summoned over these few days.

Ciri has kept her head down, stayed as far away from any of the natives of Thorne as she can given the setup of the area, and tried not to fantasize too openly about eviscerating their queen. No issues so far. She's even befriended a baby goat or two on Solvunn's side.

As the sun slides behind the horizon on the second afternoon, Ciri relaxes in the baths, watching the steam rise off the water. She doesn't look occupied with anything, just leaning back against the heated tiles and enjoying how it feels to be still.

Her hair is definitely weird though. It didn't used to be mint green. ]

[frontlinetitties]

[All the political pomp and posturing kinda flies over her head-- it's all the same to her here as it had been back in her own little corner of the universe. Those in power will grasp and grab for more of it, they'll scheme and they'll plot and try to push you around the war board until you slide into the groove they've designed for you. She knows this down to the bones of herself, and can't say she particularly cares for it. Would rather keep the hell out of it. Her larger concern is whether Harrow will start pushing them to defect to Solvunn now that the opportunity has been placed in her bony little hands-- she'd rather stick with the devil they (kinda) know. Let things play out as they are a while longer. That, and she's done with reclusive types who keep to themselves and do fuck only knows what behind the scenes. It's something both she and Harrow know a thing or two about, after all.

Right now she's just here to relax and unwind, to try and wash some of the day's grime from her skin-- even if she still doubts just how clean one can really be after soaking in water, but this place is unfortunately devoid of sonics. Dusk is settling comfortably around her as she pads toward the bathing pool, towel slung over her shoulders, stripped down to her bandeau and leggings. The Ninth didn't exactly encourage public acts of nudity, and she's more grit and gravedust than she's comfortable admitting to.

She hesitates for only a moment on spotting someone else in the pool - recognition deserting her at first, at the sight of the green shock of hair, but then she moves to the pool's lip anyway. Discards her towel, and slides into the soothing heat of the water just a few feet away from Ciri. It's only when she slides another subtle glance the other woman's way that she realises who it is.]

Hah! What the fuck happened to you?

[wiedzminka]

[ People come in and out of the bathing area regularly, and Ciri doesn't pay them much mind, sitting in almost meditative silence with her eyes closed. There are footsteps nearby, the rustle of cloth. The water shifts around her as another body joins her proximity, but it is only when the other person actually speaks up in a familiar voice that Ciri looks over.

She blinks, momentarily baffled by Gideon's state of dress rather than undress in the baths. But then she seems to register the question and her mouth twists in a resigned little scowl. Ciri sighs. ]

The slippery little runaway from earlier. I almost had him, too!

[ Gideon may have seen several other people sporting weird hair or excessive amounts of glitter. It seems Ciri is just one of the many casualties. At least the green kind of matches her eyes. ]

...more importantly. [ Ciri sits up, looking Gideon pointedly up and down. ]

What are you wearing?

[frontlinetitties]

[It strikes a chord with her, and she clicks her fingers and utters an ahhhh of recognition, before settling back against the heated stones of the bath. She has seen people wandering about covered in glitter, is aware of the shenanigans, and is in the midst of coming up with a (possibly) witty remark when Ciri's demeanour shifts. The graze of the other woman's eyes across her body does something hot and funny to her insides, and she glances down at herself quickly. Half anticipating a nip slip or something, or perhaps there are specific garments one is expected to wear in a public bath that being brought up Ninth has left her unaware of and she's gone ahead and disgraced herself.]

Undergarments? What am I...?

[Her eyes move to Ciri's face, then drop lower. There's the slender curve of her clavicle, the decent musculature of her shoulders. And there's also--]

Oh.

[It comes out just a touch thickly, eyes snapping up sharp to Ciri's face before she becomes embarrassingly distracted. Look. It's not like she's a prude or anything. Quite the opposite, really. But having spent almost the entirety of her life around pious and ancient anchorites, the majority of the nudity she's ever really been exposed to happened entirely in dirty magazines or the confines of her imagination.]

[wiedzminka]

...oh?

[ Ciri echoes, eyebrows rising. She can't help but laugh. And oh, she definitely catches the way Gideon's eyes snap right up to her face with flustered suddenness as soon as they'd reached the swell of Ciri's breasts just barely peeking out over the water.

She is flattered, honestly. ]

Bit difficult to bathe with clothes on, don't you think? [ She teases, but not unkindly. ]

Didn't take you for the shy type, Gideon.

[frontlinetitties]

[They're nice breasts, okay? Very unnecromantic, which is to say, Ciri does not possess the figure of a particularly scrawny pre-pubescent teenage boy (praise be to the king undying!). It's so very tempting to allow her eyes to wander again. But there's also the soft warmth of Ciri's laugh, and it seeps beneath her skin until it feels reciprocally heated. She feels uncharacteristically flustered, which sucks, because this is not how she pictured her first ever naked bathing party would go.]

Oh, I'm not shy. Hiding this body away from the world ought to be some sort of crime. I just...you know. Thought there might be rules.

[It sounds dumb almost as soon as she says it, and she kinda wants to just sink beneath the water and let it swallow her up.]

I was brought up by a bunch of nuns.

[She adds, because surely this will explain everything.]