abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] head down, hands up

[ 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. ]

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. ]

Mm-hmm. On the Continent, at least. [ He isn't sure about this world. His time in Thorne was limited, in several ways, and the Free Cities does not make use of magic as others might elsewhere. For all that he finds this world familiar, much of it remains unknown to him.

He glances over. ] Druids commune more closely with nature. Healers, often. They don't train at the academies as mages do. I had a good friend, once, who was a druid.

[ Once. Dead now, like too many in his life.

It's complicated. He is not mistrustful, exactly, of every mage, but he's all too aware of their role in the world of courts and kingdoms. And the things they do outside of it, that even the Brotherhood won't sanction. Mutating children, for example. Officially won't sanction, at any rate. Who the fuck knows what they agree upon inside their own walls. ]

[ She can't say, either. She doesn't recall ever seeing anyone in Nott revive flowers or plants, but then again, who pays attention to other people's flowers? It's entirely possible that housewives and florists all over Thorne are perking up their bouquets and rosebushes for weeks on end before replacing them. But Julie doesn't remember ever seeing it.

Her expression is thoughtful as she listens to the explanation. She's torn when she tries to apply it to herself -- her interactions with nature, animals, they stem from growing up in the middle of nowhere. She's never been particularly outdoorsy, never drawn to that side of life. The hunting, camping, hiking, learning about plants. It was all backdrop to her, things she absorbed and did because that's what surrounded her, not because she enjoyed or connected strongly to it. But still, it resonates much more clearly for her than the studying and the books, the pure academia of what Nadine is teaching herself.

It's not that Julie thinks she has to fit any singular definition from any one world. It's simply that her experience feels so disparate from what everyone else says, describes. Human nature looks for a label, but none quite seem to fit. ]

How do they decide who goes to the academies and who doesn't? Is it about money? [ It would be in her own world, she knows that. Elite education reserved only for the rich, with everyone else fighting over scraps. It's not much different in Thorne, from what she's gleaned; average people learn enough magic to move through everyday life, while the mages in the castle and at the university in Hayle use their wealth to support extensive, lifelong study.

Despite her lifelong desire to be one of them, Julie distrusts the wealthy, the powerful. When you come from nothing, it's difficult to have faith in those who have everything. But maybe she's just trying to find reasons to not feel kinship with the Thornean mages. Maybe she's not really like any of them, when it comes down to it. ]

Sometimes. What one lacks in talent, money makes up for it. [ That can be said for nearly anything. ] Most at least display a conduit moment of some kind. An expression of magic they didn't explicitly intend.

[ Not all of them grow to be powerful mages. He's not even certain magic is much used in the courts in the first place. From what he's seen, not a hell of a lot.

Beyond that, his knowledge is limited. These schools are not where Witchers venture, and not unlike Kaer Morhen, things have changed over the decades. He's never had much cause to dig deep into how mages operate amongst their own. Nepotism undoubtedly runs rampant, though. When doesn't it?

He sits back on his hands. He knows Yennefer felt her Chaos strongly in this world, but she's always been that way. (Had been.) Ciri is...complicated. Truthfully, he thinks Jaskier has the most balanced connection to magic. Hard to say if it's because of Jaskier's disposition or something else.

Either way— ]

Mages who attend are trained to...advise in a royal court. Magic's only half of what they learn. The temples and druid circles can teach equally as well. Just differently.

[ Not unlike how things are here. Magic is magic. The difference lies in how it's learned and used. ]

A conduit moment. [ It's not exactly a foreign concept. She knows she's seen movies and shows, read books, with the same basic idea -- the hero gets trapped in a bad situation, feels overwhelmed or angry, then some kind of magical deus ex machina happens and starts them on their journey. It's nothing more than an overused trope for hacks to fall back on, or at least she thought it was. But everyone in Abraxas seems to have access to magic. Maybe some people have more or less talent, sensitivity, for it, but it seems to be akin to singing or acting. Not everyone is good enough to attend Julliard, but everyone can have fun with it in their room at home.

Her brow knits when she thinks about it. Remembers the first night she ever tried to do magic. Nadine was concentrating so hard, focusing so much to make her spell work, and all Julie could think about was how she could never do that, it was too complicated and difficult. That Nadine would just be disappointed in her when she failed. She remembers how upset she was, that someone finally had faith in her and she knew she was just going to let them down; it hurt so much that she thought her chest might explode. Then she'd put her head down to hide her face, and the flames in the fireplace burst out into the room. Julie hadn't even seen it. ]

Can you be a mage if you don't have one?

[ He shakes his head. No. Or—in rare cases, but Ciri is an outlier in everything. Even now, he remains uncertain how her visions manifest. What exactly causes them, beyond her connection to some ancient stones. ]

If you've access to Chaos, you'd know sooner or later. Left unchecked, it can burst. [ Drive people to madness. Topple, you know. Nearly indestructible monoliths. That is the purpose for the academies, the schools, as they claim it. To help those with power to control it before it consumed them or grew too dangerous. As with all things, it grew to be much more than an altruistic gesture. ]

Magic in this world, it's...more potent. Back home, Jaskier couldn't dream of casting even a simple Witcher sign.

[ Now Jaskier is crafting birds out of magic, growing plants from the ground in a near-instant. Feels his magic waning when he experiences a block. Something that bothered him enough to go to Yennefer for help.

Shouldn't be possible, and yet here they are. ]

[ It makes sense. There's a reason that she sets things on fire without meaning to when she feels strong anger, began spawning pouring thunder clouds out of pain. Going somewhere to learn how to control it, master it, it's logical. What she doesn't understand is how Jaskier could feel no magic in their world, but have natural ability here, doesn't seem to need to study it like others who were just becoming accustomed to it.

But that's just another piece of the puzzle that doesn't really fit, isn't it? It feels like putting together Ikea furniture. There's always a few parts missing.

She turns it over in her head. If Jaskier couldn't do magic at all before, then Geralt should be more powerful now, right? ]

Do your signs feel stronger here? Is it any different for you?

[ Geralt isn't certain either. All he knows is Jaskier has only two spells he's been refining again and again: his birds and his plants, the latter of which simply burst out of him one day. Other than a small healing spell once or twice, he's never seen Jaskier cast anything else. But Jaskier's always been especially talented with his hands and mind. It reminds Geralt of watching him pluck at a single composition, at his lute, for weeks on end, long after the song sounded decent to untrained ears. In some ways, it feels fitting to Geralt for his friend to finally have a spell or two at his fingertips. Entirely benign ones at that—spells that seem to have grown out of a desire to share what he can create with others.

It's not unlike how Wild Magic seems to suit Julie well, or Nadine's carefully crafted elixirs her. There's something to it, often, how Chaos manifests in a person.

As for him—he tilts his head in something of a shrug. ] Somewhat. More durable, lasts longer. Witchers, our aptitude was born of our mutations. We were forged in magic. I feel it, but I'm also made of it. [ He hesitates. ] I don't know. I've always been a little...different. Than the others.

[ It's difficult for him to say. Most people go through their lives knowing where they came from, intimately. He does not. He has vague memories of his mother, rumours of his father, and no one to fully explain what the additional Trials did to him other than cause his hair to turn white. Perhaps make him faster, stronger, by some amount. Survive more.

Frankly, Julie's the first to even ask him. Back home, it was never—he just was what he was. Could do what he could, and if he made it out in one piece, then that was enough. Almost no one alive knows a damn thing about Witchers anymore. ]

[ The first question that pops into her mind is, what happens if they give the mutagens to a boy with his own natural Chaos? Does one win out over the other? Are they just creating a Witcher that overpowered? She's aware he doesn't know, and she tries not to ask too much that he doesn't know.

But she does have another thought. ] Did you ever consider learnin' other spells while you're here? Defensive ones? If your signs are stronger, maybe that means you have more power at your fingertips now.

[ She already knows that he would have no interest in magic overall, but she can't imagine it would hurt to know a few extra ways to kill stuff. If anything, it could be an interesting way to pass time between jobs.

With a hum, she wraps her arm around his, bumps him with her shoulder. Her voice is light. ] What, you're the ugly one'a the bunch?

Like you? [ Julie actually is the only one he knows who's learning defensive spells how she describes, between her balls of fire and lightning. Nearly everyone else he knows has had magic in their hands from the start, toyed with only a practical spell or two, or like him, they haven't bothered to put their time into studying it. ] Possible. I've yet to try.

[ The principle would be the same, he suspects. Casting Signs. He's just not found a cause to put that theory into practice. But more and more, he's turned the idea over in his head, that perhaps he could at least enhance what he already knows more deliberately.

He huffs, looking over at her. He nudges her back in turn. ] No, I lost finally that title last winter. [ He turns contemplative, studying the flower still in her hands. He's told few, in large part because it isn't relevant. But he knows why Julie's so intrigued about magic from other worlds. He doesn't mind sharing, really. It's different than those who hound him out of a morbid curiosity for what he is, like a live specimen. ]

My mother was a sorceress. The mages believe that's why I took to the initial Trial so well. They tried more on me. [ He doesn't realize that this is precisely what Julie was wondering about—though the answer isn't especially enlightening. He wasn't old enough for it to be said one way or another, if Visenna's magic had truly passed to him. But something about it seems to have made him different than the others. He wriggles his fingers, a wry note taking over. ] I didn't gain any unique abilities. I'm sure they were disappointed.

Edited 2022-04-12 09:15 (UTC)

[ Her head tilts a little, because she actually never set out to learn defensive spells. Fire came because it was what Nadine introduced first; the lightning was borne from gut-wrenching pain that lasted weeks. She kept refining them because she didn't know what else to try. Though she has absolutely used fire as a threat before -- turns out that not much shuts down a creep quicker than "I can literally light you on fire with my mind". ] I guess. I didn't actually mean to learn stuff that could be a weapon, but then again, I guess anything can be if you try hard enough. [ She briefly mimes a stabbing. ] Pencil through an eye'll stop most things in their tracks.

[ Honestly, Julie wishes she were more surprised to find out that his origin story is somehow even worse than she already knew. Unfortunately, it's no great shock that it can all just be chalked up to more incredible cruelty. It doesn't seem worth dwelling on.

She taps the flower against his fingers, as if it were an extension of her hand. ] Better them be disappointed than you get stuck with some shitty "ability" 'cause of 'em. Imagine if you had like, a giant frog tongue, stickin' to everything. They didn't know what they were doin', it was just as likely as gettin' something good.

I'll take a pencil on my hunt.

[ It makes him feel better, to know she can defend herself with magic if needed. Even if it may not be perfectly under control—though as far as he can tell, her grasp on it is more than decent these days. Blooming flowers included.

He smiles a hint. Maybe they did know—but he was never especially told what they were attempting. ]

Perhaps that will be my first learned spell. Sticky tongue. [ He watches the people passing by for a moment. ] What about you? Have you felt your magic more as you've learned it?

I'll make you a giant one, it can replace a sword. Fits a scabbard just right.

[ Based on her experiences in Abraxas, it seems much more likely that the mages had no idea what they were trying to get out of him. As far as she can tell, these highly-educated mages are just rogue scientists on LSD, hypothesizing and then starting all the way at the human trial stage. Like fucking supervillians. ] Anytime you need something across the room, you can just bleehhh [ she sticks her tongue out obnoxiously for a second ] and get it. Very efficient.

[ His question, though, does give her a bit of pause, makes her roll her eyes in thought. Her words come out slowly, delicately, like she's trying to phrase it correctly without knowing what that means. ] I don't know if more is the right word. It's more like... before, I could feel it all, but I didn't know what it was. I couldn't feel it in the dungeon, so when we got out, it hit me like tidal wave, and I didn't know what was goin' on. I thought everyone felt like that here, like there was this thing always with 'em. On top of 'em, inside. Tryin' to... reach out, I guess. I never felt it before, so I thought it was just bein' here, so close to the Singularity.

But... [ She sighs heavily and squints a little, because she's not sure if her next thought is stupid or not. It's entirely possible it's dumb, idiotic wish fulfillment from a girl who had nothing going on in her real life, that it was really all coincidence. ] After that, it was like some hole was filled in. I didn't fit in back home. I never knew what I wanted to do, I wasn't very good at much. Like some part of my brain was missin', something that everyone else had without tryin'. And then, after the first time I went to the Horizon, it didn't feel quite as much like that. I remember, even when I didn't know who I was that time, it still felt right that I was there. Especially after we found the door from Lloyd's place to mine. Like I was supposed to be there.

[ He laughs when she imitates a frog, a quiet little noise that fades as he listens. He remembers being trapped down there. More than the confinement, it was being cut off from all that he was which got to him. How he could never quite sleep because when he closed his eyes, he heard almost nothing; the way the nights made him feel blinded because he couldn't recall the last time he ever experienced true darkness without his vision being taken. Being set free had nearly hurt, as it came rushing back.

It'd never occurred to him those entirely human might have felt the same, solely from the magic that flowed through this sphere.

He makes a thoughtful sound. Thinks about Nadine asking him if he believes in fate. He's wondered since if it follows all of them, no matter how different their lives. Not a force that moves them like puppets on a string, but one that pushes them to confront the choices they have to make. ]

For years, I was told there was more waiting for me. That I was missing something. I thought it was horseshit, but some part of me looked, anyway. Then Ciri came along. They said we were destined for each other. [ He looks away, searching for how he wants to say what's on his mind. ] I don't know what I believe. But I do know we found each other twice over, across two worlds. She gave me what I never knew I didn't have. Maybe what you were missing, magic or purpose or both, you were always meant to find it here.

[ The corners of her mouth turn down, and so does her gaze. She focuses on turning the flower over in her hands, running her thumb along the lines of the petals. There's no indication in their texture that just an hour ago, they were dried and crumbling to pieces. ]

But -- you were in the same world, the two of you. It's fuckin' cruel, for my destiny or purpose or whatever to only be somethin' I could have after... [ She trails off. After all of that, she doesn't say. Something that she never had a possibility of having without unimaginable suffering, pain, death, both for herself and for her whole world. What if it never happened? Her destiny was supposed to languish in a world she didn't even know existed, while she dragged on for decades, unfulfilled? Isn't destiny supposed to be something that a person can actually have? A choice they can make? Her thumb accidentally punctures one of the petals, and she fixes it without a word, another moment of blush-colored light. ]

When I was a kid, they used to tell us that there was a divine plan for everyone, that God knew us before we were born and had a path ready for us to follow. And I remember thinkin', back then, that if God knew me and loved me, like they kept sayin', then why make things so hard? Why did I deserve all the shit that happened to me, why was that the plan? [ She chuckles, and it's little more than just a mirthless puff of air. ] All this shit reminds me of that. Except way, way worse, 'cause at least when it was just "God's plan", it didn't kill almost eight billion people in the worst way.

After life fucked you over? [ He gets it. How it feels. ] My mother claimed it was Destiny, that had her abandon me to the Witchers.

[ As though it made it all right. It didn't. And he isn't sure if it had anything to do with Ciri. If maybe the reason he was missing something was because he'd been taken from his life in the first place. If it was what she told herself, to let herself live with her decision. Would he have found himself in Cintra, anyhow, had he not lived his life as a Witcher? Could he have even protected her afterwards as he had otherwise? Would Ciri have simply been bound to another protector and his path found elsewhere?

He's thought about it, often. What it all means. He spent so much of his life telling himself none of it meant anything. Now it feels as though it does and he can't say whether or not he wants it to. It'd been simpler when he was certain it did not. These days—he doesn't know. A divine plan is not a concept he subscribes to. His choices have never stopped feeling like his own. And yet. Some things, he can't deny. ]

You don't deserve what happened any more than I did. [ He hesitates. There's a sense he's only recently been working this out himself, a question that lies underneath what he's saying. ] I don't believe in plans laid. But sometimes we find it, that one good thing. Maybe that's all Destiny is. Something eventually meant to come amidst the senseless shit we're dealt, that makes it a little more bearable.

Your mom's a cunt. [ It comes out bluntly, unbidden. It's not helpful and she knows that. But she doesn't make any effort to seem contrite or take it back.

Part of the issue is simply that Julie's cultural background makes it hard to accept the idea of a truly chaotic universe, where nothing means anything, and every series of events is just happenstance. Both her upbringing and the general world she knew were geared around the idea that things happen for a reason. That there is such a thing as karma and kismet, that the cosmos want balance. That piece of her, so deeply embedded that it cannot be removed, screams for justice. An explanation owed, as to why she would be given this gift but cursed to live somewhere she couldn't ever access it and wouldn't even know why she felt its absence. It weeps for the time lost, the education stolen. Everything she can never have because she had to die to get here.

And it hurts, hurts to know that she can long for those things all she wants, but there will never be an answer, because the truth is probably closer to the opposite. That there's almost no reason or rhythm to any of it. That she is just a collection of random atoms, born on a random planet. That everything -- her immunity, her resurrection, her magic -- is all complete chance. She wants someone she can be angry at, but there isn't anyone and never will be.

But then what killed her in the first place? That wasn't something random. ]

Yeah, but don't you hafta know there's somethin' worth it out there, to make you keep goin'? Would you have done it all the same if you didn't know you were supposed to be lookin'? [ She didn't know. And she can't say right now whether she would have done things differently, whether she would have left Vegas and run to Boulder, whether she would have just swallowed a fucking bullet when she realized she was alone. Or if knowing this world was waiting would have been enough to make it all worth it. ] I don't know. It just feels fuckin' unfair.

[ Do they? Maybe. Maybe some do need it and never find it. For him, he doesn't mean it as a pull of faith that kept him moving forward. It's something he found, abruptly, in those woods that made him realize, when looking at all those decades behind him full of pain and heartache—perhaps they can be worth something to someone, if not for himself. But his relationship with fate and faith is complicated. Some part of him won't accept the idea that everything in the world is preordained, that he's always been exactly where he was meant to be from the start, because it would mean Visenna was right to do what she had.

He doesn't want her to be right. A petty, childish desire, but it's one that stays with him. ]

Yeah. It is. [ It is unfair. Always has been. From any angle, it feels unfair: that he's here, with a life and a family and people who care for him, and his brothers are, what. Still alone? Fated to die forgotten in a fucking swamp somewhere?

But he'd never asked to go through the things he had, either. In a sense, her bitterness and anger over it—it's not a foreign thing. He's felt it, too. He's simply had a few decades to learn to put it aside, not because he found some peace or a realization that made it acceptable, but solely so it didn't consume every part of his being. ]

I don't know, either. [ Surviving hurts. He's never known it to be anything else. He grows quieter. ] I just believe—if your magic feels as though it's meant for you, then who's to tell you otherwise? Arrived by Destiny or chance, you decide what's yours when you find it.

[ She sighs and tilts her head back, looks up at the sky between the buildings. She'd spent so long being propelled forward by the idea that someday she would figure out what she meant for, that it would take her somewhere she wanted to be. And it turned out that the only way for her to achieve that was to lose absolutely everything that meant anything to her, to stumble through some kind of freak cosmic coincidence. To suffer incomprehensible pain and somehow manage to remain mentally present enough to take advantage of the silver lining.

The clouds drift by overhead, dotted by the occasional passing bird. ]

I know it's mine. Things make sense now, where they never did before. But it feels like I lost so much time, bein' somewhere that I could never do the thing I was supposed to be doin'. [ She's quiet for a beat, still looking up, and her head tilts a little to one side. ] I guess it wouldn't've been the same without you.

[ Along with Nadine, he's honestly been the single most supportive person along her way. Julie is someone who spent much of her life being discouraged by those around her. She's not sure she would have kept struggling forward at magic without him. ]

[ There's a blink and he looks at her a little closer. Somehow, that statement takes him by surprise. It's never crossed his mind he's done anything; all of her learning, she's done on her own. He visits her and she shows him what new magic she's learned. Maybe that's what she means. That he comes by to watch her in the first place.

Perhaps he's always found quick kinship with those that possess a sort of dogged determination to be the things that the world has told them they can't. He feels it, that loss of time. When he thinks back to the few childhood memories before the Witchers, it's always akin to...remembering someone he's long buried. Not a memory that belongs to him. ]

I know that's true for me. [ He says it plainly, without ceremony. She's one of the first he trusted. And she's been here from nearly the beginning, like him. Not a hell of a lot of them left from those days.

He doesn't mistrust the other Summoned—a handful, he considers important, allies—but it's different. For many, their existence in this sphere remains temporary, a problem to solve. It's not so for him, for her. A permanence sits between the few whom he knows are making this place their home that he doesn't share with everyone. ]

[ It's not an accident that Nadine is the only person to whom Julie has actually expressed how small and unsupportive her world was before the superflu. Tiny, rural American towns didn't like people who stood out, who wanted bigger and better. They resented anyone who got out, devoted themselves to dragging down others like crabs in a bucket. Julie was a girl, was poor and the child of drunks. She was too smart, talked too much and longed for more, and it was easier for the adults in her life to convince her that she wasn't destined for anything important anyway, so she should stop trying. They didn't have the energy to put into nurturing a child who didn't fit the mold. And their lack of recognition taught her that she wasn't smart or important, because if she was, they would have put in the effort, right? So she must not have been worth it.

But, when she started learning magic, Geralt didn't think she was too dumb or too immature to do it. He held up a poinsettia and told her to try again when she thought he would tell her to give up. Not because she thought lowly of him, but because she considered him grounded and logical, so she assumed he would see what she really was. And he did -- that just turned out to not be what she thought she was.

With a quiet hum, she rests her head on his shoulder. Maybe there is something to the idea of destiny, that she had to come to Abraxas this way because she needed him to encourage her, to be here with her so she wouldn't give up. She doesn't know what she gives back to him, because she doesn't see herself as someone with much to give; maybe she was just meant to be the one who was there that night in Nott. Maybe there really is no rhyme or reason, and they just happened to crash into each other and stick. She supposes it doesn't matter in the long run.

She twirls the stem of the flower between her fingers, and without consciously meaning to, makes it bloom where she had rolled it back to slightly before that point. ]

How long are you gonna be gone this time?

[ In the quiet, Geralt sits without saying much more. She leans against him and that's really the only answer he needs. Maybe that's where their experiences diverge—he doesn't know what it is to not be pushed for more, for better, too often past the breaking point that any child should be expected to bear. Vesemir did his best, but Witchers are Witchers. They were only ever raised, only ever taught, one way and it's the one that says if you can still crawl, then you can keep moving. He thinks he's old enough now to understand where that line is drawn, and he's never wanted the same for Ciri—but sometimes he sees her as she is, grown up with all her hard edges and far too like him, and he has to ask exactly how well he actually succeeded.

But at least the concept of giving up is not one that he entertains. It isn't her affinity for magic, either. Julie has it, but it's simpler than that. She's a survivor. In that alone, he recognizes a strength that perhaps not everyone who's not equally been there can see.

His gaze flicks down towards the flower. The small thrum of magic. ] Two weeks or so. Next city over. Thought I'd take Jaskier with me.

[ An easier trip than the desert wilds. He remembers her telling him Be safe, and though that will never be how his life goes, at least this time—so soon after all the shit that's happened—he can stray somewhere less dangerous than he normally would. He does understand. Not wanting to lose more than she already has.

Besides, there's purpose in familiarizing himself further with the surrounding cities. For all that he prefers to keep his head down, he needs a certain amount of connections to find work. ]

[ It's one of those situations where there probably was no "good" answer, no satisfaction on either end of the spectrum. Or, rather, that neither of them ever saw anyone who experienced the happy median. Geralt was only ever around others raised the exact same as him, and Julie was from somewhere poor and rough enough that everyone else was also experiencing some form of dysfunction in their family. And while there is no such thing as perfect parenting, it certainly cannot come at either extreme, constant pressure or continuous discouragement and neglect.

She makes a small noise of acknowledgement. It's a bit surprising to her that Jaskier wants to leave for two weeks, given his flower stand, but then again, boys' trips like this are nothing foreign to her. Redneck men will disappear into the woods together for weeks, if allowed, all responsibilities be damned. (She doesn't really understand the appeal of roughing it.) ]

Ciri said she'll take me to Aquila one of these days, so I can see the ocean. [ And she'd shown Julie a picture of it, in the Horizon, her own memory transferred to a printed postcard. For someone who's only ever been to a handful of places in their life, it's an enticing promise. ] She said everyone there dresses real colorful and fun. So you'll blend right in.

[ If Geralt were the sort to admit nostalgia, he would say that this is what it is: a trip out of nostalgia, for a time when it was only the two of them and a road and nothing else. That he absolutely planned this, from selecting the contract to finding a time where Ciri and Rinwell will both be in town to look after things at home. As it is, he's only acknowledged that he picked up a job delivering and decided he may as well bring Jaskier along. ]

Did she? [ Hm. He remembers that. Julie mentioning she never saw the ocean back home, that she's always wanted to. ] You'd be more than safe travelling with her.

[ It's good, seeing Ciri...invite people places. He knows she doesn't get close to many, has very few she considers friends. She's already had to rebuild her life several times over.

A huff escapes him. Perhaps Jaskier can convince him to wear a slightly darker shade of black. ] Like a walking fish on land, I'm sure.

[ CLOSED ] head down, hands up

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no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

just a lil wrap up tag