abraxaslogs | [ CATCH-ALL ] tomorrow is another day

He tells Kell everything. Newly arrived, as lost as Rhy had been when he'd first been pulled out of that pool (but not alone, at least), Kell has a lot to catch up on, and Rhy spends most of the day patiently answering his questions, showing Kell around the castle, explaining how things work and what is (or isn't) expected of them. He tells Kell about Lila, her brief appearance and abrupt disappearance, explaining as well as he can the theories he's heard from others such as Stephen and Ronan about how time moves differently and the magic is unpredictable. He tells Kell what he's managed to learn in regards to the magic in this world, which somehow actually responds to him; he mentions how he studies at the infirmary with the Thornean mages, how he's learned to staunch bleeding and treat small wounds, and also how he studies with Stephen Strange -- a man he must introduce Kell to later, of course -- and his growing proficiency with fire magic. He talks about his friends (and lovers) here, specifically Ronan and Mat. He explains to Kell the magic that allows people to send messages across great distances, how it is only available to the Summoned through the Singularity, and though he does his best to also explain the Horizon, actually introducing Kell to it will be saved for another day.

(He does not tell Kell everything, in truth. He doesn't tell Kell how miserable he'd been, how lost, how empty he feels without the warmth of another person in his heart where the Singularity keeps him tethered to this world with its indifferent magic. How he drinks more brandy than water and the cold keeps him awake. Kell knows. Kell sees it, and Rhy knows too. And they never talk about it anyway.)

Eventually, after a full day of stuffing Kell's head full of all manner of rules and etiquette around the castle, names and places and magic and theories, Rhy leads them both back to his chambers. Like all the rooms set aside for the Summoned, Rhy's contains four beds, but since Lila's disappearance, only his own is occupied. He's moved around some of the other furniture, set up a table near the window with a couple of chairs, several bottles of various fullness arranged on top alongside a pile of books. The unoccupied beds and trunks contain more of his things -- clothes laid out, most of them just as fine as anything he wore in London, in familiar reds and golds with some cooler colors interspersed on occasion for variety. He moves some stuff around, makes room for Kell, and sets him up on a nearby bed, promising to clean up more later and help Kell get settled in.

With the sound of Kell's breathing only feet away, Rhy thought he'd finally be able to get some sleep. It doesn't come. He spends a long time just staring up at the canopy, watching Kell's movements out of the corner of his eye until Kell is asleep before turning to watch him fully, still illogically afraid that if he takes his eyes away from Kell for too long, his brother might just disappear. Eventually, he dozes, eyelids heavy--

And that is when the nightmares come, as they so often do, and Kell is in them hurting and bloody. Screaming. Falling.

Rhy wakes with a gasp, sitting up frantic. He looks around, convinced he is alone, that it had all been a dream--

Only to find Kell still there, on the bed nearby. Rhy can't stop himself anymore. It is stupid and childish and he knows he should be ashamed, but he can't even find the energy to be embarrassed. He slips out of his tangled, sweaty blankets, closes the distance between them, and crawls into Kell's bed.

It is a lot. Feels almost too much, and not enough at the same time. Kell has questions, so many questions, and it irritates him to no end, he doesn't really understand all the answers. Yet. For the most part, he tries not to interrupt.
And listens, listens with a bit of amusement when he realizes that the first person he spoke at length in this place turned out to be his brother's lover. It's amusement with a hint of relief mixed in. He knows Rhy's taste in men. This Mat guy? He felt a man decent enough.

Listens genuinely happy when Rhy describes his studies in local magic. That part still feels like a dream, and he can't wait to see more of it.

When he does speak, it's to comment how Rhy's room looks eerily familiar for all the clothes and the number of bottles present. The last part blurting out before he bites his tongue. Cursing himself for his stupid callousness. As if Rhy needs more reminders that he might be drinking too much. As if Kell couldn't see, even without all the glass evidence. He does try to cover it with a joke about the absence of ridiculous hats... but it sounds hollow even to him.

But it's late, so they do go to sleep. And no matter his blunders, Kell still can't believe all this has really happened. He doesn't want this day to end. Even if he's almost falling asleep sitting or standing, at this point. The mages weren't lying, the summoning truly took a lot out of him. His body is starting to betray him. He can't help but drift off mere moments after he lies down, no matter how much he tried to fight it.

And it's still dark when Kell wakes up to the sound of uneven breath nearby. A few seconds before he gets his bearings, all the memories of the day before coming back. He fully expected for this to just be a dream, and yet he's still here. Still here and not alone. He does remember Rhy going to sleep in his own bed.
Invisible in the darkness, he smiles; drags a blanket over Rhy, over both of them, reaches to gently squeeze his brother's shoulder and whispers.

"Sleep, Rhy, sleep now. I'm not going anywhere."

He hadn't meant to wake Kell, but Rhy doesn't apologize. He wouldn't mean it.

There is no reason to whisper, not when it's just the two of them and they're both awake, but Rhy whispers back in the same low pitch anyway as he slides in under the blanket with Kell.

"You'd better not. I'd be so cross with you."

He scoots in close, slipping an arm around Kell's middle and hugging him tight.

Rhy doesn't have to explain why he left his own bed. It's reason enough that he's distressed. Kell doesn't really need to know. It just annoys him, irks him, more than he expected it will, that the way to know for sure is gone. Not that he really needs this knowledge. He just hates what the lack of it means. It's been only a day, and already he catches himself irritated at the stupid feeling. A phantom pain, like from a limb or a sense lost. It's pretty disorienting.

"I hope I'm allowed a leave for breakfast. It would have been incredibly inconvenient otherwise."

It's dumb to whisper when there's only the two of them here, so Kell rises his voice a little, but does nothing to move. He doesn't plan to. Not when it's still dark. In all truth, he has no idea what kind of plans he can even have.

"Not without me, you're not."

Rhy's response is dead serious; he means it. If Kell wants to wander off on his own anytime soon, he's out of luck. Maybe in another day or so, Rhy will be able to let him out of his sight without being overcome by crippling dread he'll vanish like Lila did-- but they're not there yet.

His first impulse is to throw some snark reply how he's now a prisoner in his own bed. It's Rhy's tone that stops him, turning a jab into a joke at the very last moment. A small blessing that he's able to do that in the middle of the night without sounding annoyed. It would be incredibly unfair to sound annoyed at his brother now, only for wanting to have him close.

"Good. You know the layout of this place better, so I actually expected a tour."

Maybe not right at this moment. Which brings that one thing that he's been trying to avoid but still looms over them, impossible to ignore. He cannot tell himself, so he has to ask. Eventually.

"Why are you awake now?"

"And you shall have it." Rhy relaxes, shamelessly snuggling close and stealing the edge of Kell's pillow.

"Nightmare," he responds without misgivings, but also without details. "It wasn't my intention to wake you." And, in the same breath, knowing it is selfish but asking anyway: "Let me stay here tonight."

He might at least be able to convince himself Kell won't vanish with the sunrise if he keeps an arm around him to make sure.

"You didn't, I was already awake."

A blatant lie, if there ever was one, but the last thing Kell wants now is for Rhy to feel guilty over something stupid like waking him up. Especially, when he both burns with curiosity and would rather not know what this nightmare was about. Though, it's actually wrong to call it curiosity. He's not curious, he's annoyed, irritated with himself for things he does not feel nor see. For what he knows, with more and more certainty after the whole day has passed, and he had time to think, is his fault entirely. For all the things, he should have done, but didn't, and those that he shouldn't, but did, that got them in this mess.

"Of course. Tonight, tomorrow, for as long as you need it."

It's a reply that comes out without thinking, for there's nothing to think about. He can never not be protective of his brother. It's downright painful that he can't even promise Rhy he won't disappear like Lila did. Though, maybe she did because it was her. That's her style. Kell finds some consolation in this thought. He very much doesn't want to disappear. Not without Rhy at least.

Rhy finds him after breakfast, during which time Ronan might have spotted him sitting with a red-haired man, deep in conversation, smiling like the sun. He catches up to Ronan in the hall, walking with him wherever he was headed.

"Ronan!" Rhy is beaming.

"Ronan, you'll never believe--" (Why wouldn't he? Still, Rhy can hardly believe it himself.)

"It's Kell. He's here."

Rhy likes to read -- or whittle, or even draw sometimes -- in the garden with a cup of tea, a habit he's enjoyed sharing with Mat as of late. Just spending time together, as he's filled his days with things to do and people to see so he doesn't end up stuck in his own head too often (other than to sleep, or try to). It's less a formal meeting and more that Rhy is quite sure he'll find Mat here around this time of day.

When he does, Rhy nearly barrels into him with a tight hug.

"Mat! I hoped you'd be here."

Mat's come to quite like his garden visits with Rhy. It's simply pleasant and relatively quiet, each of them doing their little activity separately but together. Sometimes, if neither of them are reading, Mat will sing songs from the Two Rivers or shares a little folk legend.

He is entirely unprepared for Rhy's enthusiastic arrival today.

"Blood and ashes, you're in a good mood!"

He laughs, glad to see it and intensely curious. His handsome prince has been rather subdued of late - for good reason. Whatever's lifted his spirits so, Mat's pleased for it.

Rhy gives him a tight squeeze before pulling back just enough to kiss Mat triumphantly on the mouth. It's brief -- just happy, not horny (this time) -- but entirely enthusiastic.

"My brother-- he's here."

He maybe shouldn't be so happy Kell is also trapped here now, except he knows Kell prefers to be trapped here than imprisoned in his own home, so the guilt is really very minimal. Mostly, he's just ecstatic they're together. And it shows.

"You must meet him."

"He's one of the new folk? Is he here here? I mean in Thorne..."

Mat hasn't met very many of the newest arrivals, he's only glad he's not among the greenest of them anymore. There's a whole slew of new poor sods to stumble about adjusting to this life.

"You lucky fuck! Of course I want to meet him! Rhy, I'm damned happy for you. Is he well?"

He knows how much Rhy's brother means to him, and knows how much missing him has weighed on the other young man.

Rhy lingers close, hands on Mat's arms, absolutely radiating overwhelming joy. He's gone from skittishly doubting that Kell's presence here is real to an almost manic happiness over it, excited to tell everyone. Mat's among the first on the list, of course.

"Yes, in Thorne. Thank goodness. I don't know what I'd do if here in the desert somewhere-- or what he'd do. He's so pale, he'd turn right into a cranky red crab." He giggles, gripping Mat's hands briefly before finally letting go. He's bursting with energy, bouncing up on his toes.

"But he's here. And-- well enough, though he'll be better when his magic fully returns to him. Sit with us at dinner. And don't mind him if he acts like a curmudgeonly old man. That's just what he's like."

"I will. And I won't. Truly, Rhy, I'm happy."

Mat doesn't have any joyous reunions of his own to celebrate, may as well celebrate Rhy's. He's damned curious to meet the man he's heard of. He's sure they'll get on, it's Rhy's brother for light's sake. Why wouldn't they?

"And what a lucky fellow he is, to have plenty of folks to help him settle in here. That'll make it easier, I'd bet."

Mat will do what he can to help.

(( set during The Sight event ))

[ It's almost involuntary, slipping into the Horizon. He is lying in bed, thinking of it, wondering if it will feel any better than the anxious hours he's spent locked in his chambers today after unsuccessfully attempting to go about his life the previous two days. He's been warned that it can happen there too, but he doesn't plan to seek anyone out. He doesn't quite understand that he won't need to.

Rhy appears, as he always does, at the center of the crater where the Singularity within the Horizon sits. No one really comes here, in his experience. He can sit and try to be still.

It is too much wishful thinking.

As soon as Rhy entered the Horizon, unbeknownst to him, a connection is formed. Something unburied. Something shared. ]

The room is beautiful -- richly furnished, with drapes of various colors hanging around the enormous bed painting the ceiling like a dawn sky, thick rugs cushioning the intricate inlaid floor and leading to an open space in front of a marble fireplace that takes up half the wall. There is a couch in this larger, front part of what are clearly ridiculously lavish personal chambers. On the couch sits a young man.

Tall and thin with a shock of red hair, the man sits pinned by helmeted guards on either side of him, his wrists cuffed in solid iron manacles carved with some sort of spellwork. He is struggling. His eyes -- one blue and the other pitch-black all around with not even a sliver of white or iris showing -- are fixed on Rhy, who sits across the couch in a high-backed chair, a teacup on the ornate side table next to him. He has leaned forward, regarding the red-haired man with a smile that is all jagged edges and scornful glee. A look he wears like an ill-fitting suit put on inside out, unnerving and wrong.

"You know so little of war," he is saying, voice low, somewhere between exasperated and amused. "Battles may be fought from the outside in, but wars are won from the inside out." He gestures at himself. "Kingdoms and crowns are taken from
within. The strongest fortress can withstand any attack from beyond its walls, and yet even it is not fortified against an attack from behind them. Had I marched upon your palace from the steps, would I have made it this far? But now, now no one will see me coming. Not the king, nor the queen, nor the people. I am their beloved prince, and will be so until the moment I choose not to be."

The man with mismatched eyes says something, snarled between clenched teeth, but the memory is starting to fade. It twists, tipping sickeningly like a ship in choppy waters. Rhy’s face splits into a too-wide grin.

He leans forward, and slams his fist into the side of the prisoner's face.

Edited 2022-04-24 09:05 (UTC)

[Jaskier is not a scientist, but he has studied scientific method enough that he can follow it in a rudimentary way. It is easy enough to connect that the dream he and Geralt shared, along with Alucard -- enough to assume that, at least, many in the Free Cities may have been plagued by it -- with this unconscious, unintentional sharing of illusory memories. He can put together that touch, somehow, prompts its happening.

And so: he will not touch. For now. Which is hard for him, by the way; it takes effort to keep to himself.

And so he learns from Alucard that the Horizon is not safe from its occurrence either, though he feels he can deduce it works similarly there. Alucard was close to him; he must have missed the moment their hands brushed on the teacups, or somesuch, because does it not make sense for touch to initiate it, too?

What he does not expect is to be relaxing in the greenhouse held high in Bleobheris's branches, the sunlight spilling into the clear glass panes overhead, a climbing wall of impossibly blue roses opening their petals as he approaches. He has a book in his hand, a copy of the bestiary he'd once written on the Continent, intent on adding this new little creature from Abraxas to it whether or not it truly matters now. It's simply something to do, to occupy his mind. He takes a seat on a bench, opening the volume.

And somehow, impossibly, the headache screeches through his mind.

You know so little of war, Rhy's voice purrs, and Jaskier finds himself standing behind the seat his friend is in, as if he is one of his guard as well. Now he's experienced this before, he does not fear moving through it. Moving so he can see Rhy's face as he continues, cold, his lips curling in a way that makes the bard shiver.]

Rhy?

[But Rhy, here, continues speaking. He doesn't pause, nor spare Jaskier a glance. And he doesn't pause, either, before he begins beating a bound man.

Jaskier tries to stop him, as foolish as he is, but his touch bears no change on the memory. Or is this simply a nightmare? How the fuck does this even work? Rhy isn't here! The tree does not react to anyone else's presence. He'd meant -- he'd only been hoping his friends would not suffer more from this --]

Rhy? Can you hear me? I don't -- is this you? Are you here, somehow?

[He isn't sure who he's addressing this to. Not the Rhy in front of him, who feels so -- strange. Sharp. The air? Can he send a message through the Horizon, like they do in reality? To be fair, it's the first time he's ever tried. Are you all right?]

The room tips; the scene shifts, still in the same room, but in flashes. Rhy standing over the red-haired man with a knife, cutting his shirt open. Rhy, wearing that sickening, cruel grin. A young woman with chin-length dark hair, pointing a gun at Rhy. An arc of lightning from his fingertips striking her in the chest, knocking her off the edge of the balcony.

Rhy, holding a strange glass pendant in one hand and in the other, a dagger to his own chest. "Give me the stone," he says, "Or I will kill the prince."

When he drives the blade between his ribs, the dream dissipates in blood and darkness, and the distinct echo of a horrible, rending pain.

[ --and when it is over, as it turns out, Jaskier can send a message here. Whether or not it's the same or simply because he wishes to and the Horizon allows for it, it makes no difference; Rhy sees the message, startled by its suddenness. It doesn't come with a signature. He isn't sure who it's from.

But he responds anyway. ]

I'm all right. Who asks?

[ He may have spoken too soon. When it hits, the headache is just as bad within the Horizon as it is outside. ]

[Unfortunately, before he can get an answer, it continues on.

And it's. Horrible. There's a feeling of dread, deep in his chest, watching this; something that knows this would not be a memory to be shared, but still caught on the look plastered on Rhy's face. Pressed against the wall, knowing these people cannot see him. Jaskier startles as a woman tumbles past him, off of a balcony, and he clenches every twisted nerve in his body, waiting for her to hit the ground. She doesn't, but it only feels like part of this disjointed memory. Everything feels wrong.

Who? He flounders as the word goes across his vision. Long enough he's not sure if he put it there through some Horizon fuckery, or --

Make it stop.

The words leak out back to him, in answer, until Jaskier shuts his eyes and rips at this magic, this force in the Horizon. When he opens them it's because he's practically falling into Rhy, grabbing him. It's him. Solid. (As solid as a man can be in the Horizon, which is enough to get him off in better circumstances.) Jaskier has a hand on each of his arms, gripping him.

He can barely hear over his heart thundering. He wasn't fast enough -- or he's made it worse -- because Rhy's face shifts with the pain that must be hitting him --

Unsurprisingly, the cell stinks of shit and moldy hay. Jaskier's hardly moved from his spot under the window -- the only spot with light, by the way -- as he's pretty sure the previous occupant may have left a delightful little present in the corner before. Leaving. Passing? Oi, he's probably dead.

Jaskier's a dead man, too. And he looks it, feels it, his head tipped back against the bare wooden planks behind him.

"Been a long time traveling," he sings, giving a huff before he adds, to the same rhythm, "now you're gonna fucking diiiee." He pauses as the guard just outside the door, barely seen through the bars on it, shifts, snorts loudly, then hawks a loogie.

Lovely.

"You've really nailed it this time, Jaskier. Really... really shoves your fist all the way up Destiny's ass. See, this is why we avoid sorceresses. And magic. You had to know she was going to bloody abandon you, didn't you?"

Oi, the guard calls, kicking the door, shut the fuck up in there.

"As I was saying --"

Before Jaskier can continue the conversation with he, himself, and hi, a squeak catches his attention. Several, actually, as he whistles the new tune coming to him.

"Now, now, what have we here? Fans, even in this shithole? Well, my dear gentleman," he gives a bow of his head to the mouse now beginning to move hesitantly towards his abandoned supper, "you may as well feast if you're to be my only company. The free ride will end eventually once they've decided to, I don't know, what's this town do with peepers? Poke out my eyes or something? Rather gruesome and unnecessary, if you ask me.

I also would like to remind you, sir, it is a crime I am yet innocent of --"

Would you shut. The fuck. Up?

Jaskier frowns. Been a long time traveling... on roads that lead to nowhere...

"No. I shan't. I will make every moment that you force me to spend in this gods-forsaken shithole you call a prison an annoying, festering torment, wherein you will hear my voice as you go to sleep and curse my name, even as my song persists!"

Edited 2022-05-02 07:45 (UTC)

[ Definitely not what he expected: having Jaskier fall out of seemingly nowhere and right on top of him. Rhy catches him on instinct, and the vision hits, with just as much force and ferocity as any of the ones in the physical realm. So much for seeking peace in the Horizon.

Rhy's knees buckle, and it's unclear now which of them is holding up the other-- or perhaps they both just tumble onto the ground.

A prison. Jaskier. Another vision pushed into his head, things he's sure his friends wouldn't want him to see. He feels awful, invading their privacy like this, and just as awful knowing the things they're being forced to see from the worst parts of his life. It's always the worst parts for some reason, isn't it? ]

[They fall. He hits the ground, still reeling with the lasting effect of the memory he'd been thrown into himself. Horizon or not, the impact hurts, snapping pain going through his knee -- perhaps because he expects it, hitting the ground.

He gets to his hands and knees, getting off of Rhy. Grabbing him to sit him up as his eyes go wide, blank, then close.

For fuck's sake.]

Are you all right? [What a stupid question! This is going all wrong. All wrong. He came here to escape this --

Jaskier cups his cheek, waiting it out. Waiting for him to pull out of... fuck. Whatever he's seeing now.] Hey. It's all right. Whatever it was, I promise.

[He wish the same was true for him. That he could... forget.]

[ His vision is swimming, but it's definitely a familiar face floating into view. A warm hand against his cheek. At first, the thought crosses Rhy's mind that they shouldn't touch-- but then, he realizes he was here alone, and it had still happened.

At least he's not alone anymore, even if he is... rather confused, and reeling. The headache is just as awful and nauseating here as it is in the physical realm, which hardly seems fair. ]

Jaskier... how did you--?

Yes. Yes, I'm all right. [ Not quite. Rhy amends, still a bit breathless: ] I'll be all right.

[ He hesitates a moment, but he has to ask. So far, he's always been in the same place as the other person, but it's always been reciprocal. Except the time with Ronan, when he'd been forced to experience his own past again with Ronan looking on-- but Rhy's glad that, at the very least, that hasn't repeated. ]

Did you see something too? Just now.

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

[He releases his breath. I'll be all right is much more honest, much more to the point, than most answers, and thus believable. Jaskier lets him go, though he sways as the headache of his own crashes through his skull.]

What?

[His brows furrow, taking his hands back to grab his head, rubbing his temples. Ugh. Even here? He thought the whole point was... not feeling pain? It isn't real, not here. Or is that only death?

Then again. He'd been fool enough to climb all those stairs, and he'd certainly felt that, too.

He looks at Rhy, getting to his feet.] Oh. [The expression that crosses his face is answer enough. Not even a minute of time to process that. Whatever that had been.] Yes. I... I did. Something of yours, I believe.

[Please don't ask. His hands wring together. It was, suffice to say, not terribly flattering.] And you had something of mine, assumedly. Was I at least wearing clothes? Not that it's nothing you've seen before, but -- I wasn't running without clothes, surely?

[He grasps the humor with a half-forced laugh, even though. It's a fair fear. There's been a few times he's needed to crawl out of a window with his trousers hanging off his ass. In his embarrassing hayday.]

Edited 2022-05-15 07:24 (UTC)

[ It takes Rhy a few more moments to gather himself enough to stagger to his feet as well, following Jaskier's lead. He blinks hard, vision suffering still from the insistent throbbing in his temples, no matter how he tries to will it away in this realm where they have supposedly full control. It doesn't seem to do much.

His brows draw together. He squints at Jaskier, frown pursing his lips, and unrelatedly rubs his forehead in an attempt to soothe the headache. Moistening his lips -- he suddenly feels parched -- Rhy gingerly shakes his head just once. ]

You were... in a prison cell. Still composing songs, at least. And clothing intact.

I hate to pry, but I thought you'd want to know what I saw.

[ Which is also one way of asking for Jaskier to divulge as well; he'll ask outright if it's too subtle, when his head's killing him a little less. ]

for kell; early april.

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for ronan, early april.

for mat; early april.

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for jaskier; april 20.

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