abraxaslogs | March Catchall

[It takes a few minutes for the sound to register. Nadine pauses, tensing, eyes flicking to the door. God, now is not a good time. She doesn't want to be pulled out of her state of busied numbness. She can't take anymore, she can't bear the weight of it all any longer. Blow after blow has come and she's held herself up, she's steeled herself, but she just isn't that strong.

But it's Jaskier. He won't go away. And he'll worry if she doesn't respond in some way. That will lead to other people worrying and she can't deal with that, either.

Rubbing her tired eyes, Nadine shoves herself off of her chair and sets aside her mortar and pestle. She's barefoot, still wearing the same shift she'd gone to bed in...whenever she'd last gone to bed. Her hair's unbrushed and sloppily pulled back. Even her horns look duller than usual when she opens the door a little bit. The heavy smell of herbs and boiled concoctions wafts out.]

It's...it's not a good time, Jaskier.

[Whoa. Whew. Someone's been working. The smell strikes him first, and then immediately after, perhaps with more force, is Nadine's state of... being. She's never been one to fancy up, but this is --

Is that meant to get him to fuck off?]

Something's happened. [Unfortunately, it's very much the opposite reaction she probably wants. He steps around her, inside, placing the bundle of herbs down on the table and turning to her.

It's not her fault. It's not that it's her, really, either. But he knows what he turned into when something happened to him. He cannot allow it to repeat. If Ciri hadn't come home in that moment --] I'm not going anywhere. You don't need to talk about it, but I'm staying. What would you like? How about tea? We can start with a bit of tea. Perhaps you can show me what you've been crafting.

[She should have realized. But Nadine's exhausted and not thinking clearly, and hadn't considered that of course Jaskier wouldn't just turn around and leave.

It's clear she has been hard at work. The counters are currently occupied by dozens upon dozens of bottles and jars, herbs and flower petals and other little things are spilled in small amounts. There's something in a pot is cooling on the stovetop.]

I'd like to be alone, but apparently that's not an option.

[She rubs the heels of her palms against her eyes, the struggle to keep herself under control returning now that her frenzy of potion making has been interrupted.

It's not the only thing that comes rushing back. A dizziness comes over her and she sits, very suddenly, hand on the edge of the counter.]

Look, I...I appreciate your concern. But, uh, I can't. I just can't. I...uh...I hit the wall, and I really just need to not feel anything right now. I just...

[Oh god, it's hard to try and put thoughts into words right now. She probably sounds like a crazy woman. Likely looks like one, too.]

Lloyd's gone.

[Her voice wavers as she says it for the second time since it's happened. He's gone. She'd promised him a new life, a new start, a real chance...but now he's gone and her stomach twists unpleasantly and she has to crush her fist against her mouth to stop the sob that threatens.]

Mmmm... no, it's not an option. Not right now.

[He's about to go poking around for the necessary tea-associated items (which he does, rightfully, assume everyone has), only to pause and catch her by the arm, having see her waver in the corner of his eye.

Right. She looks like she's doing wonderful on her own. And it isn't with judgement. He knows exactly how he was, too.]

You don't have to do anything. [His voice is soft, an attempt to sound reasonable. Because to him, no, she does not sound crazy. Not even half-crazed. She sounds like someone in mourning.

And then he knows why.]

Oh. Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry.

[He's only met him on the sidelines, and Jaskier only found him to be a funny little man, but he was their funny little man and with Estinien gone, he understands. Fully. That grip in the hollow of a stomach. How every muscle coils until it may snap. And, for him, how he felt it was somehow his fault, even though he knows much better.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her in.] You needn't hold it in. I've always thought it hurts worse that way.

No...I don't...

[It's automatic, said without thinking, and Nadine isn't even entirely sure what she's protesting. The physical contact or the urging to let go of her emotions. Both aren't things that she's used to, or entirely comfortable with. Pain has always been a personal thing, something kept to herself. There was so little comfort ever offered in her childhood and then...

Somewhere along the line, showing or trying to share grief or sorrow became equated to showing weakness. Vulnerability brought scorn, not comfort. There's a hardness in her, carefully cultivated and nurtured over a lonely life with only the magic man in her head to rely on. No one, as far as she can remember, has ever held her while she hurt. It's immediate, to try and reject it all.

But god help her, she's tired. And that hardness isn't so solid as not to crack. Lloyd was family. It had taken till now for Nadine to have that, found here in the form of a strange little triad stolen from a dying world. Lloyd and Julie both had been strangers but now they are...were...the people held closest to her heart.

A shudder goes through her and she sinks into Jaskier, too tired to fight against herself any longer.]

I promised him...

[The rest of her words are swallowed by a ragged sob.]

[He catches her weight, as she lends it to him, pressed to her. Holding. It's all he's sure to do, sure she may need it, some reason to allow this release. His arms squeeze around her.

His own chest hurts. He has to breathe deliberately, slowly, because he might give in, too. And he's had his time for Estinien. It was all he could do.

She doesn't need to finish the sentence.]

I know you've done absolutely everything you can. [After all, had she not helped travel here, all this way, with Julie and Lloyd? Together, only the three of them, across nearly the entirety of this land, with only money and willpower? His head tucks against her, her cry finally breaking through.] And I will remain here to remind you.

[It may not mean anything now, but he hopes... in the future, as she survives, that it will. That she will believe it, too. Because he cannot fathom if she could have saved him, that she would not have.]

[It feels vaguely wrong, to let herself cry on someone like this. Even Jaskier. Nadine knows how stupid that is - how many times has she been the shoulder cried on? She isn't so special. Her pain, her grief, aren't special. Loss isn't special. The opposite, really, loss and death are among the only things that are a universal experience.

But old habits die hard. Still. She only tries to quiet her weeping, not hold it in entirely. It's already begun, the damn can't be put back together so easily and quickly. ]

I just...

[What is she even trying to say? Words are scattered and difficult. Jaskier's being so kind, shouldering the weight of her distress. Offering comfort. Something in that feels wrong, too, but maybe not as wrong as it used to. Why does he care about her like this? Not that she's going to let go, as uncomfortable as she usually is with being vulnerable like this, she's desperate for the comfort.]

I really don't deserve you.

[There's no strength to the words, no bite. She's not trying to be self deprecative, she's not going to push him away, but she doesn't deserve him. He's good and earnest and true, and she is damned. She knows full well that out of the little band she'd come to Cadens with, her hands are the most stained. She's the most far gone, possibly too far. And Jaskier knows, she may have prettied up the framing but she's told him who she is.

And still he's here, holding her while she weeps, sharing her grief over a man he'd barely known. In the moment it only makes her sob harder, clutching at him and burying her face in his chest.]

[It really doesn't matter what she says, or if she manages to finish the thought at all. His hands rest at her back, not rubbing or patting, but simply pressed there. Warm. Comforting. He's nothing special, but he swears he can feel her heartbeat through her back, a rapid, stuttering beat.

He presses a kiss to her hair.]

Luckily, I'm only a man. I'm not luck, nor fate. Not meant to be deserved or undeserved.

[And he doesn't see why anyone should not receive comfort in their time of need. So he's here, and he's glad he is, even if he only meant to surprise her with a bundle of herbs for a gift.

Her cries grow louder as the wave crests, washing over them, so his hold grows tighter. Only providing support as she cries and shudders, even if the sound of it alone is heart-wrenching. It pierces his chest, sure as an arrow.

Only when there is a breath in between does he move to take her hands in his own.] Here, let's sit for a bit, shall we? Together. I can see you've been hard at work. You should rest for a spell.

[After a few minutes, Nadine does begin to quiet. It's a sudden flood, but not a long one. Her breathing becomes hitched and the sobs shorten and the shaking lessens. God, she somehow even feels more exhausted.

Under other circumstances, she might protest Jaskier's insistence about what is deserved and what isn't. In the faith she was raised, everything was either reward or punishment, and good things needed to be earned. But to hell with all of that right now. She's hurting, she's mourning, and she wants to be comforted. By him, specifically.

She doesn't think she's wanted that since Larry.]

Yeah. Uh...if I keep busy, I don't have to think about anything. I really haven't wanted to think.

[Oh god, she can tell she looks a fight now, red faced and swollen from tears. Why couldn't real crying be like TV crying? She sniffles, everything she's blocked out coming back to her now. How tired she is, how hungry, how sore.]

Um. Would...would you stay? With me? It's...it's okay if you can't, I know you have a lot of people you divide your attention between. I'm not...I'm trying to make myself a priority, I just...

[Selfishly, she just wants him to stay with her.]

[He nods, helping her to a seat. He understands. Working is easy. It's busy-work. And he would be a fool if he wasn't used to seeing someone cope through work. Even now, Geralt is building shelves and beds and fixing the walls of their new home simply because --

Because there are things he doesn't want to think of.

Jaskier gives her a smile, kissing a cheek. He takes out a handkerchief for her from his pocket, laced at the edges (another vanity purchase to avoid his own thinking, thank you.)]

Nadine. You are a priority to me. [He takes her hand, squeezing it.] Of course I'll stay. As long as you'd like.

[It's tempting to chide her for thinking in the first place -- or thinking she is asking a favor, for someone to stay with her during her sorrow. It can come later, should she need to hear it. Right now, all he wants to do is simply be.] How about a hot drink? I'll make some for both of us. I would love to know what you've been cooking up in here. It smells rather... well, herby, but not in a bad way.

Thank you.

[Nadine is too empty for anymore tears, thankfully. Kindness like this is just as likely to bring them out, in her current state. She dabs her eyes with the handkerchief, too polite to use it in any other fashion. He'll stay. She asked and he said yes and told her she's important to him. She'd known, since that time in his domain, that she was probably getting in dangerously deep.

Now she's sure of it.]

Uh...I'm just going to wash my face and change into something...not covered in weird stains. Tea's in the cabinet there, I...I think I could use some.

[She squeezes his hands in turn and then stands, a bit shakily.]

And the green stuff in those bottles there is a sleeping aide. I could probably use some of that, too.

[Not too much, but a little bit to help calm her mind and quiet it for rest. Tucking a stray bit of hair back behind her ear, she turns to Jaskier before she disappears into her room.]

Jaskier...I'm really grateful to have you in my life. I don't say that sort of thing often, but I should.

[Better the brief anxiety and mild embarrassment of being open than to miss the chance to ever say anything.]

[He waves a hand easily, giving her a soft pat on the leg.] Of course. Take your time.

[It gives him time to make the tea, and her to do whatever she feels she needs to in order to right herself. He doesn't mind, of course; there's always been something to appreciate in reddened cheeks and puffed eyes, when someone you love shows trust in vulnerability. But, being about appearances himself, he doesn't question the desire to wash up.

Or to aid her in sleep. If he'd known he could get his hands on something like this a month ago --

It's for the best. He's plucking up the bottle curiously when she speaks again, his head popping up in surprise.

The sincerity in the words catches him off guard. The -- well. The emotion in them. He smiles, twirling the small bottle between his fingers.] You don't need to say it, but I am glad to hear it. I feel very much the same.

March Catchall

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