abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] head down, hands up

[ A scrunch of his brow and a look greets that remark. It's a security device. What sort of fun is Jaskier expecting out of it?

No. Don't answer that. ]

Weapon might do. [ Geralt does not add that Viktor is not any type except the gravely ill type. It's neither of their business and he's pretty damn certain Viktor does not want him to know. He only knows because he can smell it. (Also, he's got eyes.) Which isn't something Geralt can help, but he can at least afford the man a semblance of privacy.

They finish supper; Geralt feeds a scrap of bone to Mog when he thinks Jaskier isn't looking. The room is small, the blankets scratchy, but he sleeps easier than he has in some time. Come sunrise, he rouses Jaskier. Packs up their horses and rides out. They camp a couple more days, cross the beach that he decides they can stop by on their way home, and eventually land in the bustling city of Aquila. It isn't bigger than Cadens, but it feels so. Maybe it's the open market square, the sculptures, the atmosphere. The clothes are, indeed, more colourful, more adorned here. He's never been to Aquila proper—not to explore or visit. Only made quick stops by the outskirts for a contract.

He does have the delivery to make. A short walk takes care of that, package handed to the shopkeeper. Then: hm. What now? Inexplicably, he finds himself lost. It is not a feeling he's used to. But Geralt tends to go places for a purpose. Which he's accomplished. This is normally the part where he would turn around and go home, or find an inn to rest in before the next day's ride.

Accompanying Jaskier is the easiest solution. So that's what he does, following his friend where he might go. The bard needs someone to look after him, in any case. ]

Edited 2022-05-06 15:15 (UTC)

A weapon! Ugh, you're so boring. Just because the man looks like shit doesn't mean he can't have fun.

[Though, after their meetings, maybe Viktor should not be described as "fun." Perhaps "fun, as heard from two rooms away at three in the morning, with a vague smell in the air."

Jaskier doesn't see this time, so Geralt is lucky, only because it would be more fuel for the bard to tease him about loving the gryphon. Clearly he does, the bastard's already built a bed for the catbird, without even being asked. Once their meal's paid on his coin -- as comes naturally -- he scoops up a yawning gryphon and sets him on a blanket on the floor, curling up in bed himself.

He wakes already clinging to Geralt, as is usual. Whatever's in bed with him gets attached to. Unsurprisingly, Mog's already in the window, tail swinging, watching the morning birds chirp in a branch right outside. Jaskier scoops him into his bag, and off they go.

It's the way it's always been with them. Easy, comfortable.

Luckily, going to a new city is always entertaining. Jaskier marvels he's lived here so long and never visited, but... honestly, it's been plenty of working making a name for himself in one city, all over again.

So what does he do?

Shopping. Obviously. When Geralt finds him, he's already wearing a new hat (absolutely fetching, of course) and has a leather pouch in his hand, a gift for Ciri.] Look at this place! Already a bit busier than the Cadens market's ever been.

[ Geralt identifies the hat before he identifies Jaskier. (That isn't true. He can smell him in the crowd before he ever sees the peek of a feather.) He falls into step beside his friend. ]

Someone tried to sell me a glowing jelly in jar. [ He peers at the stalls as he passes by. The market is so fucking big, he's not certain he can tell where it even ends. Already, he can recognize goods from places outside the Free Cities—imports from Solvunn, the wine and cheese. He drops a few coins for the goat cheese, because of course he does.

As much as he isn't interested in shopping, there's one thing on his mind. As they walk, Geralt eventually stops: pausing over a silversmith's wares. Not weapons, though. Jewelry. Rings and pendants and bracelets.

Hm.

Ciri was born around Belleteyn, wasn't she? (So was Yennefer.) It's upcoming. Gifts rarely featured in his life on the Continent. Since he's been in Abraxas, though, people have...given him. Things. For occasions. And he knows he wants to mark Ciri's special day. He has something in mind. He just isn't certain if she'll like it.

Jaskier will find him lingering around where several jewellery makers have congregated. Some possess gaudy gems and shiny stones, but Geralt isn't interested in gems. He's searching for a skilled smith who can engrave and cast silver. ]

And you didn't buy it? But what fun!

[He grins at Geralt, knowing full well the man is hardly the sort to be swindled, especially by jelly, glowing or not. (A shame, though. It would have been fun to put next to his lamp.) Geralt wanders off again as Jaskier buys a bottle of wine, a rich, deep red he expects will go rather well with their next rabbit roast. In his hands are small trinkets for others: a small figurine of a horse for Rinwell, and a horror novel for Hector. The leather bag full of hand-painted cards for Ciri.

Then he finds Geralt again, peering around his shoulder.] I know you aren't looking for jewelry. Though if you are, I would love something with a yellow stone.

[ Zero shock, when Jaskier appears once more juggling a handful of purchases. Geralt, equally to the shock of no one, has purchased nothing except a cup of honeyed melons, the evidence of which he's long consumed. If there's one thing he's appreciated about being in a warmer climate, it's the fruit. Harder to come by when the land's covered in frost and snow for a quarter of the year or more. Around these parts, there's always something no matter the season, and it isn't near as costly to buy.

He doesn't look over his shoulder, even as he replies with a grunt. ] You can afford your own jewellery.

[ No one's ever accused him of being a romantic. He lifts a round silver brooch, engraved with delicate flowers. Learning Ciri's tastes is difficult. He grew up with men whose gifts, if they ever gave any, often consist of practical blades and equipment. He's given Ciri a sword and a dagger. He's searching for something...that isn't a weapon this time, but that she'd want to wear.

Maybe there's someone who can help. Namely, a certain bard who enjoys shopping. Now Geralt does glance over his shoulder. ] Ciri was born around Belleteyn. You bought a medallion for me once. [ Once he retrieved his actual medallion, he set Jaskier's on the hilt of his sword. ] I thought she might like the same.

[Jaskier pouts.] Rude.

[Mog pokes his head out of Jaskier's bag, attempting to wriggle a paw out to snatch at a hanging chain as Jaskier moves on. The bard clicks his tongue and, slowly, the paw disappears back into the bag.]

Oh? Ah! A nameday gift? For Ciri? Oh, I didn't know! And of course she didn't mention it. And neither did you, I note, until this moment.

[He had. A medallion. Not from here, but from a craftsman in Cadens who must have moved on. Still, Jaskier had long noticed how Geralt kept it, attached to his sword, once he had gained his original. A sweet gesture they've never really spoken of.

He pauses. The sentiment behind Geralt's words are practically soft as downy feathers, leaving Jaskier quieter.] I can't think of anything she'd love better. As long as it makes you think of her, I know she'll appreciate it.

[ No. He had not mentioned it. It was on his mind, a couple of months ago, because it was also Yennefer's name day, and he'd thought, perhaps, at the time—

It doesn't matter now. Ciri deserves something for her day. A quiet affair, since he doubts she wants anything extravagant, but something nonetheless. Time with her family, friends. An annoying household pet.

He hums. That's a fucking soft sentiment, too. Think of her. She is always on his mind, one way or another. Is that what happens? When you have...a daughter? Apparently. He moves to the next stall, where more silver-cast jewellery is laid out. ]

Would she like a wolf, you think? Or a lion. [ The lion cub, they called her. He knows she's made her home with him, but Cintra was her home once, too. Her roots will always be there. ]

[Yeah it's soft, but look at him! Smitten with his little princess. Anyone who hadn't caught on Geralt's heart nearly beat for her wasn't paying attention. And it was good Ciri deserved it. Fierce, and a bit insane, a bit feral, and absolutely loving. The lute he carried with him now was perfect evidence at that.

He smiles. Real advice, is it? A rare, rare bird.]

At this point, I think Ciri thinks of herself far more as yours than of Cintra. A wolf. For sure.

[He's quite sure. After all this time, all the years she can recall with Geralt...]

Something like yours. Perhaps less of a snarl? She certainly growls a good bit less than you.

[ Rare, but here they are. Jaskier knows his jewellery, and more than that, he knows Ciri. So does Geralt, of course, but—he knows better what she likes in her blades and riding gear. Besides, this feels. Important.

He grows quiet. He supposes that's true. He remembers telling her Come home, and she had. She never told him what it was that she was drawn into, what Voleth Meir showed her, but knowing the demon, it must've been something she painfully desired. And it is equally true he is not certain he wants to remind her of what she lost, her complicated feelings around Cintra. Around Calanthe. ]

Only because she likes you. [ He smiles a bit. Ciri's warmed up to Jaskier a good amount, from when they first came together. Even managed to sneakily buy him a finely crafted lute. (Geralt has zero idea that Ciri wound up taking music lessons from Jaskier because she committed too hard to the task. She's learning decently well and he likes listening to the two of them play.) ] And what have you got in mind for the girl?

Edited 2022-05-18 18:35 (UTC)

[The noise Jaskier makes is caught between a hum and a laugh.] She does. Of course she does! I'm quite likable, thank you. It's why I have so many friends.

[And so he does. Ones, he might add, that he did not make out of spite for other friends who left him far behind.

He no longer holds it against Geralt.

His fingers run over silver belt buckles, imagining the sort of wolf he would think himself: its head thrown back, flowers threaded in its fur, with pointed ears laid backwards. Geralt's choice, he imagines, will be much more straightforward in design.]

Unwittingly I've already picked her up a gift in a hand-painted pack of cards. [He lifts the small leather pouch tied to his wrist.] For the nights she destroys you in games. But for her nameday, I feel she needs something more... Is there a decoration, perhaps, for a saddle? Something that may not get in the way?

[ Many friends indeed. Geralt has few, but Jaskier has never been short of them. Even now, he isn't certain why it is that Jaskier stayed so close by his side. What's one Witcher to the most famous bard on the Continent? (A lot, apparently.)

It isn't something he asks anymore. Jaskier is his closest friend and he is, it seems, Jaskier's closest friend in turn. What reasons might lie behind how it happened or why, it no longer matters. Not anymore.

He considers. ] A furred tassel. Or horsehair. Keeps the gnats away.

[ It was not something needed on the Continent—weather's not often warm enough for that—but in Cadens, flies and other buzzing insects are a near constant hassle. He's attached a couple to Roach's tack, as summer approaches. ]

[Jaskier gasps.]

Geralt! That's actually a wonderful, thoughtful idea! I hadn't even considered such a thing. Thank you. [He gives him a peck on the cheek when Geralt's close enough, then pulls away.] I'll find one that's suitable. Only the highest quality for our little Witcheress.

[And he surely means that. Jaskier disappears into the crowd, looking for the perfect merchant for one. In the desert, apparently, these things are not so rare. Perfect! he may know how to ride a horse, but he certainly doesn't attempt to in the most sweltering heat. He much prefers wagons now he can afford one or two.

He spots Geralt and returns to him, waving a large tassel wrapped with beautifully beaded cording, spots of green beads strung into it.] What do you think? They match her eyes!

[ The bard is off like a shot. Geralt gives a grunt, waves him away even as Jaskier has already vanished. In that time, Geralt returns his attention to the silversmith. He picks through a few options. It's more care than he's put into any purchase, other than his blades.

The flowers do not occur to him, on his own. He sees them carved into a brooch, next to a circular pendant of a soaring falcon. Thinks of Jaskier saying, Perhaps less of a snarl.

Hm. Perhaps.

He places the money down for the commission as Jaskier's footsteps approach. Geralt finishes the transaction, takes a second or two before he looks over at what Jaskier's found. He takes the tassel between his fingers. The horsehair is quality. ]

Fine choice. [ She'll like it. Frankly, Ciri would like anything from Jaskier. She's inordinately fond of him. ] Spent enough coin yet?

[A rare, true compliment from Geralt. Jaskier beams. He may not know horses accessories, but he does know finery. And he thinks, renounced princess or not, Ciri deserves them. Fineries.]

Oh, don't ask me such a dangerous question. [Luckily Mog's in the bag against Jaskier's hip, because he's already lost enough arm real estate to gifts and treats for himself that he has no space to carry the gryphon, too.]

I think so. We had better move on! Now, you did promise me that this city has a fine coast, and that's what I wish to see. Seeing as your job is complete, you have no responsibilities but satisfying my curiousity.

[Jaskier gives a sort of half-wicked smile, very sure in himself that Geralt will acquiesce. As he always does.] And tell me of this medallion you commissioned. A wolf? What sort?

[ His gaze flicks down to the gryphon, with its head poking out of the bag. Other than its brief adventure on the road, it has been remarkably well-behaved. Nothing truly seems to bother it, in fact. Not the bumpy horse ride, not the crowd of people. ]

You haven't learned to satisfy yourself? [ He takes one of the bags Jaskier is juggling before its contents spill about the ground. He doesn't want to spend the next hour chasing whatever it is that might go rolling across the market square. ] On our way home. We'll stop for a day or so.

[ The bay is on the path to Cadens; it'll be, hm. An interlude. In the meantime, the city is bustling and he's certain Jaskier will want to explore it first. There are, what. Museums, plays? Geralt won't say he isn't interested in these things. It's more, he's never had much room in his life to be interested. A Witcher does not wander about art galleries and study paintings. But...these days, this world. It's different here. He has a bit more space to do what he wants, without everyone recognizing him as a Witcher.

They pay for two nights at an inn room. Jaskier explores the city over the next couple of days. Geralt is content to wander on his own, picking up imported items that can't be bought in Cadens, a few new concoctions at the apothecary, until he meets up with the bard again for something or other: a meal, a drink, a trip to look at some of the sculptures. When Jaskier has had his fill, they pack up their horses, take the short ride towards the coast. The morning breeze from the ocean is cooling. The sand is warm.

It is here that Geralt reveals the medallion, opening up the leather pouch and tipping it out into his palm. ] Less of a snarl, as you suggested.

Edited 2022-05-30 19:10 (UTC)

[Jaskier's smile will let Geralt know he's set himself up for this.] I think you know as well as I do how skilled I am at satisfying myself. However, occasionally I prefer company to my satisfaction.

[And Geralt is just that company. The bag slips out of Jaskier's hand as if he's thrusted his things at Geralt plenty of times (he has), shifting Mog on his hip a bit higher. The gryphon looks up at him with wide eyes, patting the edge of the bag with his talons before slipping his leg back in the bag.

Thanks the gods he trained him for this sort of travel. When he's not chasing down lizards, he's rather well-behaved.

Mog continues to do so as Jaskier insists they return to the market ("to see if any new merchants have showed," and then he sneaks Mog into a museum with a dedicated wing to sculptures, an art form that Jaskier has rare interaction with (mostly as decorations to castles and churches.) He keeps a hand in his bag for Mog to chew on so he makes no sounds, and Jaskier manages without getting kicked out. Then an open-air musical play for the next day, and a few hours in a sweltering sun.

He's getting a little more used to it, but the brims of his hats are getting wider to protect the bit of chest and shoulders he's begun to show off.

Still. Even with as long as they've been still here, Jaskier is eager to move on. He doesn't dally once they've decided to head off, and with Jaskier leading his horse at first and Mog running beside him, they set off.

Towards the coast.

At long last.]

You hid it from me this whole time? [He asks, aghast, as if he's not the one who asked after it then promptly let it go. (All good things come to Jaskier in time.) He runs his fingers over the carved silver wolf, the weight of it sturdy. Heavy. Much like Geralt's. (He knows it well, having moved it aside once it's hit him in the face during one of their friendlier, more naked encounters.)] It's lovely, Geralt. [He smiles, warm at this... this bond between his friend and Ciri. How much he clearly adores her.] She'll love it, I know it. I always knew all this time with me would finally rub off on your fashion choices.

[ He certainly did set himself up for that. It earns a roll of his eyes skyward before he simply walks away. Idiot.

(Which is not to say, Geralt did not provide the company to Jaskier's satisfaction that night.)

The waves lap at the shore where he lounges now. He's discovered from his time in Cadens that the desert is full of rocks and cliffs and dry spiky bushes and a surprising number of green if squat trees. Near the water, it's flatter, with sand and flowering bushes some feet away. A single crab skitters along and disappears into a hole. He'll always miss the colder mountains and travelling is more of a pain without plentiful lakes and rivers, but...there's plenty to appreciate out of the desert, too. ]

You didn't ask to see it. [ Geralt points this out, despite not needing to. Will she like it? Yes. He thinks she will. It's been a century since anyone was ever given a medallion. Ciri is as much one of them as anyone. Maybe more so, given she made the choice when most of them did not. ] Vesemir gave me mine. I thought it was only fitting I give Ciri hers.

I did so! [At some point. He's pretty sure. Still, it's good enough he gets to see it before it's hanging around Ciri's neck, which he can only imagine it will be soon enough. Given that Geralt never takes his off now he has it again and Ciri is very much Geralt's daughter...

He looks at Geralt's face, fingers rubbing together, a little surprise crossing his face.]

Nice to be able to put a face to that name after so many years. [A grouchy, no-nonsense father was a perfect representation of the man Geralt would become eventually. Even if he'd found both of them shared that terribly dry sense of humor. Dryer than the crispest wine.]

A very respectable tradition, of course. [He lets Geralt hide it away again, pausing to kneel down and pluck up a smooth shell from the sands. The waves are gentle this time of the year, and the wind just so.

It's lovely, the breeze under the brightening heat. An escape from the desert.] I'm thinking of surprising her. Telling Julie and Nadine about her nameday. I have a feeling they'd love to do something to celebrate, and... [He pauses.] I could bet she's not had something similar in a very long time.

[ He hums. He is glad Jaskier got to meet them, briefly, before they landed in this world. The other wolves. Especially knowing that he'll likely not ever see them again. The thought leaves behind a weighted ache each time. He's getting better at pushing it down.

He slips the medallion back into its pouch. ] She'd like that. Rinwell may have a dessert or two up her sleeve, I'm sure.

[ Something small, quiet, but full of friends and family—he knows Ciri would appreciate it. (Has he celebrated her nameday with her before? Her and Yennefer and Jaskier? The three, four, of them? Is that a memory Ciri holds? He's never asked. Part of him doesn't want to know, and yet.)

For him, this would be the first time he's ever spent Ciri's nameday with her. He's hoping...maybe he's hoping it'll be a good memory. Not a perfect one, but a good one. ]

Damn, you're right! If we're truly blessed, she'll have a fresh batch of ice cream to unleash on us. Perhaps even something special for Ciri.

[His mouth waters at the thought. He still recalls so easily how delighted she was to share something new with them -- something that he'd never heard of on their sphere. It is those sorts of memories that really have made being here worth it to Jaskier. The sharing of things he never would have known, meeting people he never would have met.

Having a home, of sorts, despite being on the road for most of his life.

He turns to the water, watching it lap the shore. Mog gives a squeak of a yawn at his hip.] You should bring her here sometime. I bet she'd enjoy it, if you can peel her away from cutting up scorpions in the kitchen long enough.

[ His lips curve into the smallest smile. When he first brought Ciri to Kaer Morhe, he had not anticipated she would make it her home. Cold, broken, filled with rats and men and musty furs. She had, though. She made it her home. And then he remembers telling Vesemir, I can't stay. Too dangerous. Too many people chasing her.

Now they've landed here. The dangers have not passed. But Ciri at least has a home again. They all do. (He only wishes...but he needs to stop wishing when it comes to Yennefer, doesn't he? Where has it ever gotten him?) ]

We've a special butchering table now. [ He tips his head back and to the side to catch Jaskier's gaze. Amusement lines his expression. He'd bought them the table for a reason. So Jaskier would stop complaining about the kitchen being used for both butchering and eating bread.

He glances back towards the sea. ] When I used to visit the Isles, the shores would be full of sirens and salty seawater thrashing your skin. This is far less unpleasant.

[ Not that he wasn't greatly fond of Skellige. Good people. Good food. Excellent wine. ]

Only because I nattered about getting one, thank you. And told her to use it!

[He still doesn't understand how the Witchers can stand eating where they cut up beasts, and he says that after having met the rest of the wolves and seeing the inside of Kaer Morhen.

Here he'd thought some of the shittier brothels he'd ended up in were depressing.

Jaskier removes the bag from his hip, placing it gently on the beach. Mog's mostly curled up, mostly asleep until the moon rises again and he finds his energy reserves. It's enough time for Jaskier to appreciate a little dip. How could he come to the sea and not enjoy it?]

I don't know, I liked the sirens a bit. Lovely breasts. Big, big tails. [He holds his hands up as if to emphasize the.... tails.] The threat of being eaten alive, but possibly cock-first. The sort of things a man dreams of.

[When he's a bit drunk and depressed and finds appeal in dying mid-coitus, of course. Or Jaskier is simply being dramatic.]

[ Look, if there were a lab and autopsy slab available, he'd use it, but they make do with what they have.

He lays back. A quiet laugh escapes from his chest. ] You could only dream one would eat you cock first. They prefer to tear open the intestines.

[ Learned that the hard way. As he does many of his lessons. No sirens here, though. No monsters. Just the sun, setting. The moon rises, the stars shine. The waves turn dark, the breeze cooler in the evening. As the shores clear away of visitors, he finds himself drawn to the sea.

No reason not to. He doesn't hesitate to strip down, leaving his clothes atop a rock and stepping into the water. He tips back the bottle of wine in his hand. If Jaskier is taking in the view, he certainly won't complain. He's hardly oblivious to where his friend's eyes roam. ]

[Geralt's dark laugh elicits one from himself, as he watches the extremely tantalizing show in front of him. Geralt has never given a shit, and Jaskier accepts treats as they are given to him, like an enthusiastic puppy. (Or, at least, as the Countess de Stael once said of him. Frankly, he does not believe it was meant to be complimentary, but he's always decided to take it that way.)]

You really are determined to ruin a man's fantasies, aren't you?

[It does bring to mind that a good deal of him will miss Skellige as well. The Skelligans truly understood his music in the basest of ways. They had always wanted the baudy, fun jaunts.

Alas.

He kneels next to his bag.] Stay here, Mog. [As if the creature has moved at all. He's still curled up, round as a roll, and about as warm. Jaskier removes his shirt, folding it on top of his bag, and then pulls the strings of the bow at the small of his back. His trousers follow, and then he is in the water, letting it lap coldly at his legs, then his hips. Water brushes over the scars on his arm, across his chest.] Looking like a siren yourself. Long hair, large breasts. A sort of fatal attraction to all of you. [He reaches out for the wine with wiggling fingers, pulling it from Geralt's grip to gulp some down.] Luckily, I know you have no predilection towards intestines.

[ That's what he's here. To ruin fantasies of laying with monsters. Which does not dissuade as many men nor women as much as it should. He's learned that over the years, too.

Of course it takes no time at all for a Jaskier to join him. Geralt leans back against one of the rocky pillars in the water, jutting out from the gritty sandy floor. The water laps at his waist. In the night, it's cool—easing away the heat of the day.

He takes another drink before letting Jaskier steal it. His eyes roll. They roam over Jaskier's chest, then down where the rest of him is just barely hidden under the surface.

Hm. He tugs the jug of wine back out of the bard's grasp. The corner of his lips quirk upwards very faintly. ] And luckily, I do know you've a predilection towards cock.

[ In a manner of speaking. A predilection towards many indulgences. ]

[ CLOSED ] head down, hands up

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nsfw.

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