[ CLOSED ] head down, hands up

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: April
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Aquila
What: Catch-all, including a road trip with the bestie
Warnings: Blanket for the usual where Witcher canon is concerned



(( starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued / Noa#1979 to plot stuff or if you want a starter. ))

Comments

julie.

[gynvael]

[ Even before Jaskier's charity event for the city, Geralt was roaming about looking for a job. He wants a particular one, perhaps, that will bring him towards another town instead of the desert. It takes more time than usual to find something that suits, ends up being more of a delivery than a hunt, but it gets him where he wants to go.

He'll let those who matter know he's leaving. Between the vanishings and his capture a few months back, he's learned not to disappear without a word. Jaskier's already tried to have his head for it once. There isn't much to prepare—by default, he's ready to leave at a moment's notice—but the routine nonetheless soothes some of the restless edges that's been plaguing for a week or two now. He's stopped trying to find more crooked hinges and rickety chairs to fix, at least.

He's sitting outside the backdoor, sword in hand. The distinct sound of metal on stone rings out. The sun's beginning to sink, sky darkening. The cooler evening air is not unwelcome. Weather's been growing fucking hot lately—enough that he's given up and tied all of his hair off fully at the back. He'll never get used to all this damn heat.

Could be the glimpse of familiar pink that catches his attention, or maybe she calls to him first—but he does notice her as he's preparing his gear.

He looks up from his work. ] Julie.

[princessvegas]

[ Julie has been -- well, alive. She can't really say she's doing any better or differently than she has over the past several weeks. Other than a small handful of outings that mostly haven't gone well, she has little desire to do anything but sit in her room, practicing magic. Conjuring anything besides pencils still eludes her, for reasons she does not understand, but on the plus side, she's gotten quite good at stacking pencils in little towers.

But while she has not yet mastered colored pencils (hers look like colored pencils, but all still invariably write with gray graphite), she has actually figured out a few other things. Ideas she mostly got from conversations with other people; without any real guidance, she's had to sort of formulate her own curriculum and see what she can do. So when Jesper had off-handedly mentioned people being able to bring dead flowers back to life, that seemed like something she could aim for. Elemental creation is only so useful, especially when you're most proficient in the destructive ones.

Other than Nadine, Geralt has been the single most supportive person when it comes to magic. She sometimes gets the impression that people don't expect very much from her, which is probably not helped by the fact that her style of magic is so widely disfavored in Abraxas. It's kind of a shitty feeling that she's endured for most of her life, so even one person not giving her that vibe is actually very encouraging.

She'd followed the sound of scraping around the building, not entirely sure who or what she might find, but she figures that anyone making that racket doesn't exactly care much about not being discovered. Geralt identifies her before she can say anything, and she holds up one hand in greeting. She's holding a single flower, wilted and decayed, the color nearly all gone. It could be something picked off a bush, if not for the state of it. ] Hi. Are you leaving?

[gynvael]

[ Julie being out and about in the real world is always a good sign. He knows she's spent her time mostly secluded in her room, and he's said nothing about it either way—just occasionally knocks to see if she wants company with her drinking or magic training. Takes the pencils she continues to offer. (They've been used for everything from writing to a makeshift vine trellis for Jaskier's plants.) At some point, he shows her the bed he made for Jaskier's pet gryphon. He has his own shit he's been drowning in a combination of excess productivity and liquor, so he's hardly one to talk. ]

Not yet. [ He sets his sword aside, next to his other blades: a dagger, a sheathed hunting knife. ] A few days.

[ An item or two he needs to take care of first, before he leaves. He shuffles over on the step in a silent invitation for her join him if she wants. His attention catches on the flower in her hand: wilted, crumbling.

He gestures at it with a question in his eyes: why the dead flower? ] If Jaskier sold you that, I can get your coin back.

[princessvegas]

[ When he comes, she's always responsive, keeps up with the conversation, takes interest in his presence. She's not despondent or apathetic. She just doesn't feel any drive to actively seek out interaction with others, which is not something she'd ever been through before she came to Abraxas. In her own world, she'd always wanted to be around people, wanted to bask in spotlights and soak up the attention of others. A few months ago, she'd spurned the desire out of anger and self-defense, but there was never a lack of it. When she wasn't speaking to anyone at all, she still craved the company; she was just too furious and afraid to allow it.

But losing Lloyd had thrown her into a place that she didn't recognize and is having trouble digging herself back out of. The people around her have been persistent enough in making sure she eats, has company for short periods. Her basic needs are satisfied. It's just that whatever compulsion it was that made her need constant companionship has been smothered. "Enough to get by" has become simply "enough", when it never was before.

She sits next to him when he moves, her arms folded atop her legs. With a laugh, she shakes her head, cradles the dead flower gently with the hand that isn't holding the stem. ] He would never, and I wouldn't need it back anyway. That's what I came to show you.

[ She takes a deep breath, blinks slowly, calmly. Her hand begins to glow a soft pink that extends to surround the wilted bloom. The beginning is gradual, almost imperceptible for a second or two, but the flower starts to revive itself, like a tiny bubble of time running in reverse. It takes a minute, maybe slightly less. Her shoulders are tense, shaking slightly. When her hand stops emitting light, the flower stands as if it bloomed this morning, vibrant and healthy.

Julie slumps slightly when it's done, lowers her hand and then holds the blossom out to him. ] I haven't tried anythin' else yet, since we have so many flowers everywhere. But it works every time now.

[gynvael]

[ He peers over at the flower. He's watched Jaskier coax plants from nothing at all, but this is different, bringing life to what's waning. The flower blooms again, the scent of it filling the air.

He takes it, turning it between his fingers. ] That's a rare spell.

[ Mages across the Continent, they don't cast spells of this nature. Perhaps it's something to do with how the Brotherhood trains their sorcerers and sorceresses—what worth does reviving wilted flowers have to a king's court?—and by and large, most magic he encounters has been destructive, manipulative, rather than not. Weaponized by humans for politics and war. The exception has been the few places occupied by mages of another kind: druids, healers, graduates of the temple. He thinks, as incongruous as the image might appear on the surface, Julie may have liked the temple in Ellander for what it had to offer.

He hands the bloom back to her. ] When I was a boy, there was— [ He hesitates. He's never referred to Visenna as his mother, out loud. Not for a long time. ] —a sorceress. A druid. We had a tree in the garden. She'd touch a branch and an apple would sprout. Reminds me of that.

[ It's one of the only real memories he has of her. He can't even say why. Maybe because it was the last time he can recall magic being little more than a quiet thing, woven into simple days. ]

[princessvegas]

Is it? [ She honestly wouldn't know. There are no real guides to Wild magic, no curriculum or instructions. Because the only place that openly practices it is a working-class town, they learn basic skills and that's it -- spells for house-keeping and healing and the like. Everything Julie has learned past those things is something she had to come up with the idea of trying on her own.

His pause does not escape her, but she takes the flower back without mentioning it. He's almost never spoken about his childhood to her, at least not more than to explain a thing or two, so she doesn't dare ask anything that could make it more delicate a subject. She watches him, files away that seed of an idea, creating new growth, for herself. ]

What does that mean, that she was a druid? [ Julie doesn't understand all the distinctions, the different words. Mage, sorceress, witch, wizard, druid. She's always thought of them as fairly interchangeable, which they are in her world, but they seem to have different connotations to people from places with magic. ]

dean.

[gynvael]

[ Trips to other domain are rare, for him. Even more so when it comes to those who reside within the same city. Geralt tends to venture into very few, unless he knows the person well or they've a reason to meet: an important matter to discuss, looking in on another. He's almost never come to anyone to simply...visit.

Dean's extended the invitation, though. With things finally settling some, he decides to take it—a combination of curiosity and because he frankly doesn't mind the man's company. Not that he'll ever find cause to acknowledge it out loud, but maybe it isn't too difficult to gauge considering he, mm. Keeps his company at all in the first place.

Besides, he needs a rest from the dry desert heat. Horizon's good a way as any to get it.

The description suffices for him to find the place: cars, tavern, clustered around Dean's claimed piece of land in the Horizon. He pushes open the door without knocking. His presumption is if its owner wants no one through, the door will be locked.

If it does open, he'll step inside—and while plenty alter their appearance in some manner through the Horizon, clothes or hair, Geralt distinctly does not. He looks as he always does in or out of it. ] Busy?

[righteously]

( Harvelle's, despite from being from another world and another century, feels surprisingly a lot like many a tavern you can find within the city. It's less about furnishing in these places and more about atmosphere. Comfortably lit, comfortably worn, wooden and casual and with that faint smell of alcohol from somewhere.

There are, of course, a few differences.

First and probably most obviously, the music playing over the speakers isn't exactly something you hear Jaskier strumming out. A pool table takes up a not insignificant section of space near a dart board. The man himself is even a little different, dressed in what he'd call "real people clothes", posted up at the bar with a rag spread out and a bunch of metal shapes lying on top that he appears to be cleaning.

Yes, he cleans imaginary guns. Sue him, it's soothing. This is how he meditates or whatever.

Takes him a second to realize the door's been opened, and there's an easy, noticeable transition from confused to surprised to pleased. )

Hey, look what the cat dragged in.

( Followed by the slow, old-man dismount from his stool to give the guy one of those manly greeting shoulder slaps before the customary Beer is fetched. )

[gynvael]

[ His eyes land on Dean before he looks over at the furniture, the lights. The music is—different, somewhat, than what he finds in that club down the Horizon road, but at least he's now familiar with hearing music coming out of nowhere in the first place. ]

Quaint. [ Which might apply to the tavern or it might apply to Dean's comment.

A vague tilt of the bottle functions as a thank you when the drink comes his way. He's found Amos cleaning his shotgun before, and Dean seems to be doing much the same. There's passing interest as he takes in all the pieces; that's where his attention lingers as he slides onto one of the old stools. No judgement. He's sat sharpening a sword that doesn't need sharpening more than a few times.

The atmosphere's familiar, true enough. Geralt makes himself at home without much effort—in part due to that, in part because he tends to occupy most places in the same manner: as though he belongs, in the sole fact that he knows he doesn't. When everywhere's liable to tell you to fuck off, you learn to make room for yourself. ]

This is where your people gather? Or just you?

[righteously]

( He picks up on his absent cleaning as they both settle in again, mainly because he likes having something to do with his hands. It's slower now, an afterthought rather than a directed focus.

He smiles gently down at the pieces at the question — just a hint of something bittersweet in an otherwise genuinely fond expression. )

Out there, back home? ( Since there's two ways to answer it, he'll go with both. ) Used to be, 'til someone burned it down.

( RIP Ash; he'd be more sad about it if dude wasn't living his best life in the afterlife. It was a long time ago, it doesn't particularly leave him feeling vulnerable when he mentions it anymore. )

Here? ( A little more strain in his smile. ) Cas is gone. Haven't seen Amos around in a while, think he might be gone, too. Party of one lately. Just me and the imaginary strippers.

[gynvael]

[ He has in mind other hunters—if they find each other in this one place or if Dean just has his own family he meets here—but he's distracted by the answer. That it burned down, for one (walls don't last forever; perhaps he's not surprised). That Castiel is gone, for another. Sam told him about Steve only two weeks ago and Amos, he knows. Amos never appeared one day for their usual lessons and when he went to look for the man's ship, it was empty. Already starting to be swallowed up by its surroundings.

He pauses before he confirms, ] Amos, too.

[ Hardly the first time he's lost someone close. It's still shit. It also just is. The number of losses pile on and the world doesn't slow for any of it. And he could say he's sorry, but empty sentiments never feel enough. Something tells him Dean doesn't want to hear it, anyhow.

Instead, he leans forward on the counter. He knows how to push past what isn't meant to be dwelled upon. There's a weight to his gaze, but nothing that he says out loud. ] You'll have to find me sufficient for now.

[righteously]

( It just is; that's the way he's been handling it, too, for the most part. Can't say he's particularly broken up about Amos, but he did like that guy's company. It's a shame. Cas... Cas is getting compartmentalized into that "repress don't stress" part of his brain he's been perfecting over the years. More or less successful, in the sense that it'll just accumulate slowly over time to eventually come out in one massive outburst — but that's a problem for Future Dean.

That look earns Geralt a half-hearted appreciative smile in return, his lips pulling up on one side. )

Long as you can hold your whiskey and learn how to play a half-decent game of darts, I guess I'll make do.

( Kidding, obviously. Geralt's good company. Might not exactly be on Benny levels — months fighting back to back in Purgatory will do that — but it'd hit harder than Amos did if he spontaneously bounced.

Not kidding about those darts, though. It's so freaking hard to find competition anymore. )

peter.

[gynvael]

[ The hour's in that strange spot where it's either late into the night or very early in the morning. The only light comes from the lanterns and torches about in the city. Within the stables, not far from where Geralt's found their new home and close enough to Mag's inn, it's almost entirely dark. Rustling comes from inside where he's preparing what little is left for his trip.

It isn't an especially tough job—he's taken something simple, so Jaskier can accompany him—but he readies his gear all the same. He prefers to leave at dawn and in Cadens, where the afternoon sun is sweltering, he especially doesn't like to travel late in the day.

He expects no one out here—so when footsteps catch his attention, or maybe it's merely a steady heartbeat, he pauses. Pats his horse on the neck before he steps out of the stable and peers around the corner. His sleeves are rolled up, a bedroll tucked under one arm. He was not sleeping in the stables, but it's possibly not the most absurd assumption to make given Geralt is...who he is. His hair certainly looks as though he just awoke.

Despite the darkness, Geralt seems to take no time at all to recognize who it is. ] Peter. Late stroll.

LATEST TAG EVER I AM SO SORRY

[piqure]

[ cities look entirely different at night than they do during the day. and coming from an unsleeping city and vigilante tendencies that lended themselves better to the deep hours of the night even on school nights, peter's wanderings weren't completely unusual.

it wasn't as though he'd made it terribly far from mag's inn. but it was just another little thing for him to occupy himself with, in a valiant effort of chasing away restlessness or recollection or both. bit by bit, he thinks, if he memorizes the city well enough, he'll be able to navigate it faster. so if anything starts happening, he'll be able to cover more ground. if he hears things happening, he'll know where they are. like listening to a nypd frequency. it was better than exploring the desert ill-prepared, although he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious enough to go back.

he's not exactly expecting anyone else to be out here either, fiddling around with the cuff wanda made him and glancing up between the buildings as if scoping out the best way up. passing by the stable doors and he catches the scuff of a footfall, that crawling thing along his arms and he pivots around to look at — ] Geralt!

[ a smile, a little awkward wave and a shuffle closer. ] — Hi!

I - guess, kind of? What time is it? [ no, the kid still cannot read the stars or sky the way you can, but it is blatantly late.

a longer, drawn out and lightly concerned pause as he takes geralt's appearance in for a second longer. ] Sorry, did I — wake you? [ he's pretty sure he wasn't being that loud. ]

<33

[gynvael]

[ Cheerful greeting, as ever. He glances at the cuff Peter is fussing with (is that new?) before looking back up at the boy's face. ]

Couple hours until dawn. [ Give or take. Geralt shakes his head, steps back inside the stables, moving as always with the assumption that if someone wants to speak with him, they will follow him to do so. ] I was tacking up Roach.

[ The horse, he means, a sturdy black mare with oddly decorative, tidy braiding in her thick mane and tail. It's clear this is not the handiwork of Geralt, but someone else who's been taking care of her. (Spoiling her, really.) His sword is inside a leather bag that leans against a wall, and there's a pack on the ground beside it. He tucks a sheathed hunting knife into one of her saddlebags—a sense that he's done this a thousand times, that he doesn't need to think about where his things are meant to go.

He does seem to have a habit of bumping into Peter at unexpected places and hours, though. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. He's gathered by now the boy has an infinite amount of curiosity. ] Exploring again?

jaskier. (apr. 4 - 16-ish; cadens → aquila)

[gynvael]

[ If Jaskier were to ask, Geralt would be unlikely to admit it: that he did, in fact, search for a contract that would take him someplace other than the open desert. And that he's done so to bring Jaskier with him.

It's nothing. Jaskier mentioned it, that he'd missed...this, them. Wandering. Truthfully, Geralt has, too. Desert's no place to travel, though. It's one thing to ride through mountains and forests from one town to the next; out here, the desert leads nowhere and monsters run abound. He won't risk it. Instead, he's picked up a job a bit outside his usual: a delivery on behalf of an apothecary, concerned the rare ingredients might be a target for bandits on the road.

Besides, Aquila is worthwhile for Jaskier to visit. After his performance in Cadens—only natural he should spend time in the neighbouring town spreading more of his name.

It's nightfall, a few days into their journey when they stop at a small clearing by the hills to rest. Geralt returns with rabbits for dinner. For the first time in awhile, he feels...at home. Not that Cadens isn't becoming home, either, but home for him has always existed on two fronts: a place where he knows he can return to and out here, on the path.

He's quietly skinning the rabbits by the lit fire, keeping one eye on Jaskier nearby. In case anything lurks in the dark. The trail to Aquila isn't as dangerous, but there's no shortage of beasts, either. Or men.

As promised, fresh hearts are put aside. Because they've a third mouth to feed now. Geralt sets the hearts into a small bowl. ] I don't see why he can't hunt his own meal.

[cointosser]

[How fortunate it is that Jaskier has a few more than two brain cells to rub together, sparking generous thoughts in his brain. For one: it is very not Geralt of him to pick up something like a delivery job. After Jaskier's recent success at the concert (oh, let's be honest, far before that,) they're hardly scraping about under the chairs for more coin.

Jaskier has suspicions. Rather soft ones, if he's being honest. Geralt, he thinks, misses him. Understandably. For who has greater wit and softer hands? And a great ass, by the way.

He could ask. He even thinks Geralt may answer. But he does not. He simply smiles when Geralt brings it up, and goes off to rent himself a horse. There's a saddlebag on the side that is perfect for a blanket-bundled Mog, who is already rather familiar with horses after Jaskier introduced him to Roach.

After several weeks with the gryphon, Jaskier feels he understands him rather well. Unsurprisingly, Mog curls up and goes to sleep, only a single bird leg dangling out of the bag.

At their camp, Jaskier unbuckles his lute case and brings the beauty out, sitting on a rock with his legs stretched out towards the fire. It's a heavy familiarity he feels in the air, but also so much exciting newness. Jaskier, waiting by the fire for Geralt to hunt something for supper. But now he does not wait alone. Mog curls up against his boot, gnawing idly on it (a habit that Jaskier is not sure is far from the suckling a cat may do) as Jaskier plays.

Jaskier hums his greeting when Geralt returns, already knowing full well Mog will be spoiled. And perhaps Mog knows too, because his head shoots up at the sound of Geralt's knife.]

Same reason I don't, I suspect. [He gives Geralt a smile across the fire.] Because you're perfectly willing to do it, even without being asked. I daresay my little Mog may have you wrapped around his finger, Geralt.

[gynvael]

[ The last time he invited Jaskier on an outing, he'd been met with reluctance and grumbling. This is...it's good. Jaskier with a brand new lute, too. He need not ask to know Ciri purchased it for him. The pleased look on her face every time Jaskier took it out to play tells him plenty.

He makes a noise, sliding the bowl towards the gryphon. It digs in, snapping the meat up in its small beak. ]

It hasn't got fingers. [ He skewers the meat and sets it over the fire. A rough shelter is propped against a cliffside. Winds are stronger tonight than usual. The fire crackles. Unlike in the woods back on the Continent, the fire's more for cooking and a bit of light than warmth.

After that, he simply settles in, turning the roasting skewers and listening to Jaskier strum. Plucks up a skittering spider the size of his palm and drops it into the fire before it can bite Mog in the arse. There are still things he's not spoken of, including the fact that he's spent more and more time in Jaskier's Horizon space than his own, where he'd never done so before. Kaer Morhen has been pieced back together. He's repaired the benches, the tables, hung the medallions. And now that he's finished, it leaves...that stairway he can't remove. He's tried, a handful of times. The longest it's ever lasted is a week, and deep down, he's aware it's because he's not actually gone into it. He's only ever tried to imagine it away from outside, from the main hall above. After everything, he's found its presence harder and harder to ignore. Perhaps because the act of rebuilding the keep has made it glaringly obvious there is one part of it he cannot bring himself to approach.

Jaskier's peaceful rooms inside the tree carry less weight. So that's where he often goes when he visits the Horizon. A few roughly hewn wooden horse carvings now occupy the workshop Jaskier created for him. Each one has gotten a bit more refined, though the shape remains blocky, plain.

He takes the crackling meat off the flames and passes a skewer to Jaskier. He's silent, as he tends to be, but it's comfortable. He leans back against a hefty boulder and picks at the meat, listening to the sound of rustling leaves and the patter of a distant lizard running. ]

[cointosser]

He's got toes! They're the same thing. [Which he's now using to scoop out meat from the bowl once his beak can't reach the little bits at the bottom, and in some ways he does it very much like it's a hand, which is a bit creepy if Jaskier watches it too closely. So he doesn't.

He made his first mistake attempting to pet Mog's head the first week when he was gobbling down a lizard. Now he firmly leaves the gryphon alone, especially because he enjoys the cuddling after meals.

His heart has been made gentle again for the company of the gryphon. Mog sleeps on his head or at his feet, biting his toes when he jerks awake at a nightmare. He does not appreciate the bitinng -- his beak is fucking sharp, by the way -- but that snap always brings him back to the current moment. To this home.

Jaskier takes his skewer, twisting it as it dribbles juice into the sand, steam curling up in gentle wafts. He blows on it, lute safely set aside from both gryphon and wind-swept meat droplets.

It's quiet out here. Much more than the forests they often traversed. Even more so than the mountains, always full of the whistle of wind between the peaks.]

Do you like it here? [He asks it out of the blue, tilting his head back to look up at the night sky. He was not a master of astronomy, but it feels like the stars are different. He cannot find familiar constellations.] I mean, when you think about it seriously. Will you enjoy your life here, on this sphere? Ever since the mountain -- I'm not bringing it up to be angry, don't worry -- I would think of what you were doing. I always imagined you went right back to hunting, like nothing had changed. [He pulls a piece from the skewer, quietly laughing once.] I suppose you have here, too. Hunting and the random delivery now.

[gynvael]

[ He's watching the stars, too, though for him, the constellations have grown familiar once more. One of the first things he learned in this sphere. Difficult to find his way otherwise.

His gaze shifts to Jaskier. Hm. ] It's what I know.

[ That's the honest truth. He went back to hunting because that's all he has. That's the life he'll always have. Killing monsters. ] But things did change. After you and Yennefer— [ He trails off for a second. ] I would not have returned for Ciri in Cintra if not for what transpired.

[ He'd have carried on as he was. Travelling. Telling himself he was content with a close companion and a—what Yennefer had been. That he didn't need more. Then he'd returned from the mountain alone, rode in solitude afterwards for a year, and it was then he felt it more acutely than ever. Something missing. Something he'd left behind.

He tosses a bone into the fire. ] I never belonged on the Continent, Jaskier. This world, it's where you and Ciri are. [ Yennefer, too. Despite it all. ] I need nothing more.

[ Jaskier has asked him before, Is this what pleases you?, and the answer is, his life has only ever been measured in hard-won bonds, in the path he walks. He's left some of those bonds behind. But he's forged new ones here, as well. Is that what enjoyment is? He doesn't know. He's never thought of his life in those terms. Enjoyment. Much of it has simply been about holding onto what he has. And if he can wake the next morning and know that those most important to him are safe, then that's enough. Beyond that—what is he meant to seek? What else is there for him? ]

ciri.

[gynvael]

[ When he returns to Cadens, one of the first things he does is look for Ciri. Not out of concern—more that he wants to see her, after some time away.

Besides, he has one or two things to give her: one bought from his trip, which he's set aside for a more special occasion at the tail end of the month, and the other that he's realized will serve better in Ciri's hands, though it was originally given to him.

He waits for her in their (slightly less new now) home, perched on the table in their dining space. A few supplies that need refilling have been laid out, weapons that need cleaning and oiling. It's the latter he's working on, wiping down his hunting knife. He doesn't plan on sitting idle quite as long as he did the last time. Now that they've all...found their place, he thinks in a week or so, he can leave for the desert.

The door opens, and Geralt does not look up. ] Over here.

[wiedzminka]

[ It's been kind of nice having the place mostly to herself. Her and Rinwell, a friend to visit on occasion. The timing worked out well enough, as she'd had enough running around for a little bit; she hadn't minded Geralt and Jaskier leaving together, and luckily it hadn't left Rinwell alone either as Ciri hadn't been planning to take any jobs outside the city.

She hadn't realized Geralt was back. Not until she opens the door and sees him, his unexpected presence nevertheless not startling.

Ciri smiles broadly in greeting. ]

Geralt. Welcome back.

[gynvael]

[ When he does glance up, Geralt seems better. It's subtle, as with most things with him, but there's a sense he isn't so weighted. The trip's done him some good.

He returns the smile, shifting over in case she wants to join him at the table. ]

Don't worry, I didn't lose Jaskier in Aquila. He's at the market. [ A joke, mostly. ] Nothing exciting in our absence?

[ He assumes not, from her demeanour. That's a fucking change, isn't it? Can't recall the last time he returned from anywhere without a crisis at hand. ]

[wiedzminka]

Ha! That's a relief. I half expected him to decide to stay there. Has he already managed to make a name for himself yet?

[ Ciri does join him at the implied invitation, drawing up the chair beside Geralt and angling it to see him comfortably as they catch up. ]

The most exciting thing here is that a bat got in through the open window a few nights ago. Mog would've gone mad over it.

[gynvael]

Jaskier? In at least a few taverns. [ He imagines word will spread soon enough. He's watched Jaskier grow his fame on the Continent from nothing. It only seems fitting Jaskier will do so again on an entirely new sphere.

As always, there's a drink already on the table. Geralt pours her a cup without needing to ask. ]

I finally saw him slay a small lizard. [ A fierce hunter indeed. He lets the silence pass, or listens to Ciri chatter some more—but eventually, in a pause in the conversation, he reaches into his bag to produce a small, plain silver bracelet. ]

I had Hector enchant this. It's untested but...it should afford some protection against mind spells. [ He offers it to her. ] A lot of magic in this world.

[ A lot of ways to glimpse secrets. He knows they can't guard against everything. But it'll help. ]