abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] through open passageways

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[ CLOSED ] through open passageways

Who: Geralt + Various
When: March
Where: Cadens; Horizon
What: Catch-all for things
Warnings: Adding as we go

(( placing starters in the comments below. find me at

discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

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[ The number on the stone grey wall reads 18.

This is not entirely Jaskier's fault. It rests in good part upon Geralt's shoulders. He's the one who wanted to walk the Horizon, after the summit, to see what faces and domains may be here, given the newly Summoned that have appeared. He asked Jaskier to come because Jaskier lacks the threatening aura Geralt apparently carries by default and he'd prefer no one use the Horizon's creation magic to skewer him for inadvertently trespassing. But Jaskier was the one who, when they reached this construct, said, What's the worst that could happen?

So here they are. Committed. It's only the Horizon. They can leave any time by absconding the plane altogether. They haven't got to climb these steps. This is an inordinate fucking waste of time and he knows it. There is a stubbornness inside him, though, that wants to know who the fuck put these here and what in the hell lies atop. He's scaled sheer cliffs and climbed mountains. He enjoys it. This is...something else. There isn't a view. There is no fresh air. He does not know where he is climbing to or what he is meant to reach. And he's accompanied by two men who are, in fact, in possession of human endurance. Or what passes as such in the Horizon. Hard to tell what's resulting in those limits: either the sheer monotony of the trek is preventing them from transcending it or the domain itself is doing so.

(How or why Thancred came to join them, he can't say. A similar sort of curiosity, he supposes. Perhaps he was drawn by the presence of a certain moogle.)

Speaking of their third companion: fuzzy; small wings; carrying a wooden sword still. Jaskier insisted before they set out that Moglad required fresh air and Geralt only sighed. He sighs again now, over whatever it is the moogle looks ready to do—something insufferable, no doubt—and grabs the creature out of the air with both hands. ]

Do not even think about it.

[ The sun going dark for inexplicable reasons does not bode well. Bodes poorly. There also isn't a hell of a lot to do about it. It's there; it's happening. Seems not to be raining fire and frost upon the world, which is all they can ask for.

He ventures with some caution closer to the city borders. May as well be near, in case anyone in Cadens actually needs him. On his way back, he takes a merchant's wagon with him in exchange for a bag of silver marks. He does not tell the man he was heading that direction as it was. They may or may not encounter any danger; he barters for the coin, anyway, for the potential threat and for the barking hound that draws attention. Look, he isn't exactly taking advantage, but folk will always pay upfront, with fewer attempts to negotiate, in a time of need. The merchant is hardly wanting for money, judging by his wares and dress.

He delivers them safely at the gates with only a few sand scorpions in the way. It's for this reason he's middle of the darkened streets, lit only with a few torches and candles, with a couple of dead scorpions tied by their tails and slung over his shoulder. They're intact. He can sell the parts.

Despite the cover of night, Cadens bustles as always. In the midst of the crowd, he catches sight of a familiar figure—in part from the ring that shines like a beacon, something only the Summoned possess. Normally, he wouldn't bother stopping, but something about Dean's demeanour or where he's found, perhaps a strange noise even—whichever it is, Geralt peers with some curiosity around the corner. ]

Edited 2022-03-06 00:23 (UTC)

[ Some time after the Black Sun—or the Eye, as they call it—they find their place. It's within Cadens proper, of course; he's little desire to isolate them, given how important the people they've found here are to Jaskier and Ciri and Rinwell. (Him, too.) But there's a stable attached not too far, closer than the walk across the city before. A small upper room with a bed and a triangular window that overlooks the streets below.

It feels strange. Settling in, as some might say. Geralt considers it rebuilding. Reforming. He started anew once, long ago. As a child, abandoned to a world and a life he didn't ask for nor understand. He can start anew here, too. At least this time, he has those he cares for alongside him. Not all of them—he knows what he's left behind—but he isn't alone. That's what matters.

He wants to make sure Rinwell is not alone, either. It's stuck with him since that night, when she had told him she was alone. She has her feathery friend now, Jaskier's new pet on top of that. For the times when he and Ciri are not home, he hopes that will be company enough.

Upstairs is where he makes his way now. They've agreed Rinwell can take the space up here. Roomy enough for one girl. Geralt once again does not technically have a bed in this new home, but it doesn't matter. He can either share Jaskier's or take the floor, as he always has.

He's carrying a crate containing something or other that belongs to her—books or supplies—and he peers into her room with it under his arm. ] Rinwell?

Edited 2022-03-07 05:25 (UTC)

[ A flower stall is not what he expected from the bard, and yet it suits him perfectly. Geralt's listened to Jaskier speak of it since the Summit; it's the first time in awhile Jaskier has sounded so animated about his plans, and frankly that's more than enough for Geralt to go along.

He shows up carrying boxes, a variety of flowers and herbs. Whatever else Jaskier has asked of him. Is it possible he's seeking a distraction? Entirely. (He does not want to think about her walking away or what it means or what he will say to her when he finds her again.) It doesn't matter. He's assisting all the same, when he isn't out hunting. Jaskier could ask him to go gather water from a stream on the moon and at this point, he'd do it without question. He just. Needs something to occupy himself. Flowers are simple. Sorting them is a mindless task; he's good at stripping thorns off of roses.

This time, when he arrives, there's—a new face. Furry, impossibly round, making soft little noises as it buries its beak in a bowl. He pauses. Sets down the wooden crate he's hauled from across the city. ]

New friend?

[Jaskier would have to be blind, without ears, and possiblyt without a brain in his skull to go without realizing exactly what Geralt is attempting to do. The Witcher is a white knight, of course, but while one could never call him exactly eager to help with menial tasks (Jaskier ignores his complaining), Jaskier always manages to cajole him into helping in the end.

This time came with very minimal complaint. Actually, he can't recall hearing a real complaint as he turns into a ship captain and throws Geralt order after order, intent on his stand being nothing less than perfect.

It's getting there. Progressively. He's perfected the curl of ivy wrapped around the stand's tiny bit of awning (a good salesman knows to attract eyes by giving the people a bit of time out of the sun), only to find that Mog has eaten leaves off of it when he wasn't looking.

He doesn't have the heart in him to discipline him. Yet. But Jaskier does glare at the beast. Instead of leaves, Jaskier gives him a bowl of chicken cutlets to distract from any further destruction, and it's while Jaskier is fixing those torn leaves that Geralt's voice returns, one of the final batches of sprouts in a crate with him.] Friend? You might call him a disturbance at this point! [Except when Jaskier turns and lifts the gryphon into his arms -- who wiggles his back legs and gives a very impolite chirp -- there's a great smile across the bard's face.]

His name is Mog. Isn't he perfect?

[Jaskier does not add that Mog is also the reason the new living spaces may be pushed back a month.]

[ A gryphon. A small one, but it's nonetheless a gryphon. Geralt tilts his head. He's been assured, last time he spotted several being hauled across the desert in a merchant's cart, that they do not grow any larger and are essentially domesticated. As far as he can tell, this is true. No one's yet to be attacked by any stray miniature gryphons; it's also much rounder and with a blunter beak than its full-sized brethren.

Its large eyes lay on him and it coos. He looks between it and Jaskier. ]

We haven't room for him, is what he is. [ He huffs, but his protests are perfunctory at most. He pries open the top of the crate. Mog. Of course. How are they to fit Mog when they're already wanting for space?

Which. He's eyeing the middle of the month, to get them some place less cramped. He's asked Sam to work his charm. Geralt is not beyond using the man where saving a few silvers is concerned.

Despite himself, Geralt reaches out to pat the gryphon on the head. It looks like trouble. He will be fighting this thing out of his fucking hair, he knows it. ] If you chew my leathers, you're going on the street.

What! [Jaskier gasps.] Are you joking? Look at how small he is! Just because you have a habit of bringing stray children home, [They're ignoring how Rinwell was, technically, brought home by Jaskier] and, all right, I brought a necromancer home -- that does not mean we're setting this one out. I just bought him! And he was --

[Expensive. He clears his throat, setting Mog down. After his coo at Geralt, he goes straight back to eating. Jaskier had been very intent on procuring the calmest gryphon he could, if only so Geralt wouldn't get a mind about slaying it.

But who could? Mog had the cutest face he'd ever seen on half a bird. Black as a crow in both his front half and his back, which had a fluff of a tail that slithered through the air like a snake.

He knows Geralt won't release Mog just because of a few stupid leathers.] If you and Ciri are meant to be hunting for weeks on end, and with Rinwell going out with Ciri, I... I did not wish to be alone all the time.

[ He watches, amused and a bit curious all at once. It's not as though he's surprised Jaskier procured an exotic pet. Seems exactly the thing Jaskier would do, in fact.

His expression softens. He sighs. It's a fair point. Geralt stays in Cadens as much as possible, given everything that keeps. Happening. But the nature of his work only allows for so much. They need the coin. And he's one of the few hunters who can travel as far out into the desert as he does—benefits of not needing as much rest and restoration as a human. Contracts are more lucrative in turn, but it means he's not often in the city. ]

Just don't complain when he chews all your herbs.

[ He starts to unpack the sprouts that he brought, lays them out on the table. He's grown used to it—people around him when he's back. Sam's place is full, his place is full, Julie and Nadine are only a walk away. If he's being honest, it feels like home. And there is grief and heartache, but what home is free of those things?

He looks up at Jaskier. ] He'll need bedding.

[Of course it's fair. Jaskier is not complaining, exactly; he needn't be waited on by Witchers and Witcheresses as if he can't look after himself. But he is a traveling man who suddenly can't travel, which means he feels... stuck. Sometimes. And being stuck means he cannot just go out and charm a new audience, no matter what his heart longs for.

(And if he's honest to himself, he does not fully trust being alone. Not now. Not yet.]

He will do no such thing. I haven't purchased him only to let him lay about! I'm training him. He's gotten very good at eating the lizards that have been going after my buds, even.

[Mog makes a croak as he stretches after his meal, hopping on top of the table where Geralt works to stretch out, wings folded.

Geralt could not pry the toy gryphon from his cold, dead hands if he tried. Jaskier is completely enamored with him, and it's likely Mog knows it.]

I thought you were fine with sleeping on the floor. [He smiles at Geralt across the table, plucking up the singularly potted plants to arrange them in a gradient of colored buds.] You're right. Er. Should I build a nest? Perhaps under the table?

[He's a gryphon, after all. Yes, Jaskier asked the questions he could think of, but -- well. One of them is the monster expert.]

( Man is he glad he got this freakin' ring. He could take or leave the tote bag, but the magic flashlight is exactly what he'd been mentally begging for throughout that entire last spelunking trip with Geralt. Might've actually saved his life today, as it turns out — easy enough to guess, probably, once Geralt gets close enough to give him a once-over.

He's fine now, but there's evidence of a less than smooth hunt lingering behind. Torn shirt, nice big freshly bandaged gash underneath it he's patched up himself. The fabric hangs open just enough to show off most of his tattoo, and then the white patch beneath it carrying just the faintest sliver of bleed-through. Barely noticeable, but Geralt can probably smell it. A few scraped knuckles, a bruised cheek. Pretty basic stuff, pleasantly illuminated by the ring on his finger that he's using to "accidentally" blind the guy at the market stall counting coins at him. )

Yep. Yeah. That's right. Keep 'em coming. There we go. Throw in the bottle, too.

( The merchant looks less than enthusiastic about the order, but does eventually fork over a pricey-looking bottle of something alcoholic. Dean raises it in a little salute, says something along the lines of it's been a business doing pleasure with you, and yoinks the cork out of the thing with a squeaky pop. He ambles all of about two steps away before he lifts the bottle up, chugging down a few hearty swallows like the thirstiest bitch in the desert. Following that, a nice long exhale, eyes closed, exhausted.

Today sucked balls, thanks for asking. )

[ Has he now. He can admit the creature is not as rowdy as he's been led to expect. It curls up after its feast and lays in a spot of sunlight. Utterly unbothered.

Must be nice.

He leans against the pole that holds up the awning, arms folded as Jaskier bundles the flowers. The warmer climate has led him to purchase lighter linens, but he's otherwise dressed as always, sleeves rolled up and dirt permanently under his nails. ]

They nest on high cliffs. [ He considers. The material is unlikely to be important, so long as it's soft. The location, though. He thinks that may be worth choosing with some care.

Not that he's—look, they're to keep it, then it'll be taken care of. ] Perhaps by a window.

[High cliffs. Ah, right. The merchant mentioned they were mountainous, usually. These domesticated sorts were a bit more used to flatter ground, luckily.

Between organizing his goods, Jaskier gives Mog delicate scratches under his rounded, cat-like ears, feathered at the tips. The end of his tail taps the table, but otherwise the gryphon is perfectly content.

Jaskier grins, tying a ribbon around a bouquet of roses and queen's lace, placed carefully in a jar of water.]

A window, you say? Already planning on where you'll be putting his bed? [He knew it. Geralt has always been a sucker for cute creatures. (Like himself.)] Very well. I can work on procuring a little platform for the window, where the plants usually are. I'm sure he'll enjoy the sun.

[Yes, Jaskier could have asked his housemates how they felt about the new creature. But he's not the sort, honestly. He had been pulled in by a good merchant's sales pitch when his heart had already decided it no longer wanted to be alone.] I do hope Ciri has nothing against gryphons.

[ A grunt comes in reply. If it's unhappy, it'll make a ruckus. That's all. Where he plans to place the bed is a preventative measure. (How is it, that this animal is getting a bed when he hasn't even got one?)

Geralt narrows his eyes at the gryphon. Fuck. Creatures bred from monsters that've torn chunks out of him have no right being so...docile.

He takes a pair of clippers and begins to trim the stems of the pile of peonies with an almost instinctive precision. Solvunn has probably had the most even bouquet stems while he was visiting their display. Geralt is nothing if not exacting in his work, no matter the task he applies himself to. ]

Ciri? You may have to wrestle her for the right to hold it. [ Ciri will be delighted. He knows her. ] And that is a battle you will lose.

[Looking between them, he's quite sure he will never need to be worried for Mog. Surely his Destiny is to be as spoiled as Roach. (He hopes Rinwell won't be afraid of him, but he doesn't think so. The girl is terribly brave.)

Together, the flower stand is coming together rather well. Whether or not it's an instance success, Jaskier's heart is all the lighter being out here, working in the sun, taking careful hand of his own grown plants. his friend by his side. It's something to do, something to give his whole heart to.

He understands why Geralt, too, needs the same. Distraction. Purpose.]

Hah! I hope so. Rinwell, too. [He won't fight her. In fact, he hopes to tell her the good news (well, good to him) when he introduces her to the gryphon.

A sign, in a way, that he means to stay. Jaskier may be crass often, and flamboyant, and taken to fluttering about like a bird, but he will not abandon his responsibilities. Of which Mog is now one.] And, if it's not too much trouble, I mean to ask you to bring him some goodies from your next hunt. A heart or liver or such.

[Mog lifts his head at heart, indicating that Jaskier may have already spoiled him with one. Or three.]

[ The blood certainly catches his attention above all else, if only because he smells it before he sees it. Since their brief encounter at the summit (a mutual shimmering as it were) Geralt hasn't spoken to Dean. Roaming the open desert lends poorly to frequent run-ins, between the two of them. But it doesn't mean he isn't glad to see Dean...not alive and well, but alive.

He rather thought he'd be the one who looked like shit—blood staining his hands, dust and grime settled in his hair—but Dean has him outdone. Those look like claw marks. Maybe talons. The desert offers no shortage of things to kill, and things to tear you open at a moment's notice.

There's no announcement as Geralt falls into step beside the other man. He simply appears out of the dark, not deliberately sneaking but quiet as he tends to be. ]

Enjoying your walk in the sun?

( You know what Dean's favorite thing in the world is? Sneaky ass cat-like sons of bitches popping up out of nowhere when he's not expecting it. It's just. It's the best. It's great.

He startles like a 'Nam vet bulldozing a bubble wrap factory on the fourth of July. Good thing he'd only just brought the bottle back up to his lips — it turns a potential drowning into more of a mild spew-ing, and he shoots a baleful look Geralt's direction over the sleeve of the shirt he scrubs across his mouth. )

Would you wear a bell or something, man? One of these days you're gonna get yourself Swayze'd into another freakin' dimension.

( All things considered, it's relatively mild bitching — all ire undercut by the way he holds the bottle out in offering. Take that as a testament to their relatively good standing, look at that, friendship is offering to share your booze in the same breath as the one you're using to complain about the person you're offering it to. Whether Gerealt takes it or not, Dean gets distracted for just a fleeting second by shooting an appraising look at the scorpions hanging over Geralt's shoulders, lips tugging down in displeasure. Glad those weren't what he had to deal with today, those are a couple of long tailed nopes he'd rather not tangle with by ring light, thank you very much. )

[ Geralt has the good grace to look mildly apologetic for about half a second. He hadn't meant to startle; he's just. By nature, difficult to notice in the dark when he's one of the few carrying no light source and has yet to shed his hunter's movements after a week or so in the desert wilds.

He takes the offering. He sniffs it before tipping it back. Hm. Not bad. It's an equal testament to their standing that Geralt has joined Dean at all. Actually, that he's even acknowledged Dean in the first place. Most others, he'd have been liable to go by without a word.

The bottle's passed over again. ] Seems you had a pleasant trip.

[ It's a question without a question. The kind where he isn't expecting a particular answer in return, but there's an opening in it for Dean to gripe about what happened or what may be on his mind. A I noticed you're having a shit night, but we both know your answer if I ask how you are sort of expression. He was raised surrounded by a variety of Dean Winchesters. He carries several shades of it himself. He knows the language. ]

[ Purpose. Yeah. It's all he knows how to do. He told Ciri they can only move forward. That's what he's doing. Moving forward. And if Yennefer allows herself to swept behind because she can't see past what she's lost, past her pain, so be it. He's tired of waiting for her, dragging her by the hand, of looking for what isn't there. He's given her more than enough chances to fucking do something different and she's chosen not to.

He is here, with a damn pet and Jaskier's flower stall and people who need him. It's enough. (It hurts.)

He lays the flowers down. ] Now I'm feeding him, too?

[ He's only teasing. Mm-hmm. Fine. He will save it some rabbit hearts. He will find it a space by the window. ]

I imagine Rinwell could use a friend for Hootle. [ She's become his responsibility, as well. Not exactly his intention, but here they are. She feels safe with them. That's all that matters. ]

Yes, you're helping feed him! Unless you're saving a few hearts for yourself, what do you need them for?

[It's only an argument made for fun, really. He knows exactly well how Geralt will help him. The man's planning on bedding. For his gryphon. A creature Jaskier is very sure Geralt has killed before. (Though he doesn't blame him going after the vicious wild ones. Eating horses and -- and people.)

Jaskier gives Geralt a pat on the arm in thanks. Mog looks between them, then puts his head face-down onto the table to curl up for a nap, legs politely folded underneath.]

Oh, you're right! Though... I wonder if Hootle will recognize him as a bird, or a cat. Er. I'll make sure Mog knows that no one in our household is for eating.

Edited 2022-03-06 23:50 (UTC)

( Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, stealth cat. He knows your type. It's a good thing he's gotten used to rolling with it by now thanks to the douchebag angel keeping the inn warm for them right now. )

Oh yeah, it was a real vacation.

( He answers dryly, taking another swig before corking the bottle and shoving it in the bag at his side. )

Always thought lungs were overrated anyway. ( Probably the most casual delivery anyone's ever given about almost having theirs ripped out, and then we're moving right along here. Just another Tuesday in the village, or whatever day it is wherever they are. He nods at the corpses Geralt's got strung up by the tail. ) What about you? Did a little fishing in the dark?

( That last bit delivered ever so faintly to the tune of. )

[ He does, in fact, eat them, too. They make for a nice filling or stew. He will also put them aside for the gryphon because he's. Because Jaskier is asking.

He sighs. He has killed gryphons before. The big ones, that are eating cattle and villagers. This one is sleepy and small and looks liable to be bullied by crows. Is it even capable of trying to eat anyone in the household? He isn't even sure he believes Jaskier when he says it's been killing lizards. Look at it. Not an ounce of viciousness.

When he thinks Jaskier is not looking, Geralt slips a finger between the gryphon's paws and lets it hold onto it. It's got soft dark brown pads. Oh. ]

He'll recognize him as a nuisance, I'm sure. [ Hootle is too damn smart for his own good. Geralt is fairly certain that owl has a form of sentience. ]

Edited 2022-03-07 01:22 (UTC)

[He knows that sigh. It's fond. It's definitely fond! (It's fond, isn't it? No matter his crisis, he doesn't want to bring trouble to their household. Really. But he was reassured the gryphon was quite domesticated, and came from a respectable enough line even if he was a bit of a mutt, and had no tendency to chew or bite, which was important.)

Jaskier ducks behind the table to push back a few pots of extra soil -- incase there are any plant accidents, especially with Mog around -- and pops back up just in time to see.

There is not a chance he would miss it. A gryphon paw curled around a Witcher's finger.

Geralt would not let anything happen to this creature. He already knows.]

As much as he recognizes you as one. [He flicks the Witcher's arm.] That was the last of the crates, wasn't it? I think... gods. I might be close to really opening.

[His first shop. He's worked on his own since he was quite young, but this -- hah. What would his parents think of him becoming a merchant?]

Edited 2022-03-07 04:07 (UTC)

[ (It's fond.)

He withdraws his hand before Jaskier can see. He's too late, but Geralt does not know this and need not know. He rests his arm atop the empty crate once all the flowers are trimmed and put aside for Jaskier to do as he will with them. Geralt hasn't any idea. He knows fuck all about making flower crowns or. Bundles. ]

Mmh. [ Yeah. The last of them. For now. He imagines there will be more to carry to and fro as Jaskier continues to sell his wares, but he's already informed Jaskier that there's a batch of orphans who may be willing to lend a hand for a bit of coin or a free meal. ] I'll send Gideon your way. Last time I gave her a flower, she looked like I showed her a unicorn.

[ An extraordinarily fragile unicorn. It's something, speaking to someone who finds flowers the strangest thing in the world. He isn't even sure what to think about it; the concept of having never seen one in your entire life feels...hard to imagine. ]

[ That 18 almost seems to be mocking them, and Thancred has no sense of how many more floors they'll need to ascend to reach the top. Or to reach anything of interest, at this point he would even take that.

He finds himself gripping the bannister so helpfully lining the stairwell before remembering himself and pulling his hand back. While he would say that he is not the person in this group who's struggling the most (that dubious honor belongs to Geralt's best friend), this is a lot of stairs even for him. It's worse even than Eulmore. Yet, much like Geralt, he does have some odd sense of pride that prevents him from giving up halfway through to go back down the way they came. ]

Surely this is some manner of cruel prank on behalf of whoever built this place.

[ The words are mumbled to himself, half under his breath as he tries not to huff and puff. He watches Geralt seize the Moogle to prevent it from enacting any mischief it may have in mind. Surely even its tiny wings are beginning to tire...

Then again, it is a construct of this place as far as he can tell, so perhaps not. ]

Do you expect someone will be waiting to laugh at us when we reach the top?

[ His own domain has some deterrents in place to keep others out if he doesn't want them there, which had been half-constructed before he even had his memories. He needs to spruce the place up a bit more before it will be decent enough for company, but instead he's been distracted by all this. ]

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Page 1 of 7

[ CLOSED ] through open passageways

thancred + jaskier (feat. moglad)

dean.

peter.

rinwell.

jaskier.

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