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abraxaslogs2022-04-16 10:46 am
abraxasmods) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-04-16 10:46 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- aerith gainsborough; the sun,
- alucard; the hierophant,
- anakin skywalker; judgement,
- castiel; the hanged man,
- cirilla of cintra; the devil,
- commander shepard; judgement,
- dean winchester; the lovers,
- diana prince; the empress,
- edelgard von hresvelg; the emperor,
- garrus vakarian; justice,
- geralt of rivia; the hanged man,
- gideon nav; strength,
- goro; the chariot,
- harrowhark nonagesimus; the magician,
- hendrik; death,
- himeka sui; the fool,
- jaskier; the sun,
- jasper; judgement,
- jayce talis; the magician,
- jesper fahey; the wheel of fortune,
- jordan hennessy; the moon,
- julie lawry; the wheel of fortune,
- kell maresh; the magician,
- kylo ren; the tower,
- link; strength,
- nero (dmc); the chariot,
- princess zelda; the high priestess,
- rey; the star,
- rhy maresh; the lovers,
- ronan lynch; the moon,
- sam wilson; justice,
- shuten-douji; the devil,
- thancred waters; strength,
- thane krios; death,
- viktor; death,
- wanda maximoff; the hanged man,
- yennefer of vengerberg; the chariot,
- zhou zishu; strength
EVENT #7: THE SIGHT
Event #7 - The Sight
The night before APRIL 18, your dreams are disrupted by a vivid image of the same eclipse that occurred last month. The black sun seems to be an endless void in the sky, growing ever darker - until it suddenly opens into an eye that stares straight at you.
When you wake up, much of your night seems a blur except for the vivid dream of that eye. Whether you find it unsettling or try to ignore it, the image is something you cannot get out of your mind. If you ask, you will discover that none of the locals of your faction saw another eclipse. Speak with your fellow Summoned, however, and you may learn that while there was no eclipse that formed over the world, you were not the only one who had this dream.
Of course, dreams don't need to mean anything. You can't feel or see any immediate effects, and nearly everyone around you is going about their day as usual. Maybe you should do the same.
When you wake up, much of your night seems a blur except for the vivid dream of that eye. Whether you find it unsettling or try to ignore it, the image is something you cannot get out of your mind. If you ask, you will discover that none of the locals of your faction saw another eclipse. Speak with your fellow Summoned, however, and you may learn that while there was no eclipse that formed over the world, you were not the only one who had this dream.
Of course, dreams don't need to mean anything. You can't feel or see any immediate effects, and nearly everyone around you is going about their day as usual. Maybe you should do the same.
The Awakening
It might happen that very morning or a day or two later. You could be discussing the dream with a fellow Summoned or perhaps you simply brush shoulders with them as you walk by. Whatever it is, as soon as you make brief physical contact, one of you is struck with a sharp pain in your temple that grows into a terrible headache. It's disorienting and painful as the world around you shifts to someplace you may or may not recognize. Like an old film reel, you watch the events of the past play out before you: the past of the other Summmoned. It might be something they would rather hide, a moment of failure or despair, or something they are immensely proud of and brings them great joy - or even a jumble of several images over the course of a person's life. But you see it as if it were real and right in front of you all the same. When you come to, you'll likely find yourself on the ground or bent over, possibly with one or more people around you to see if you're okay. It'll take you a bit to gather your bearings, and the subsequent pounding in your head could last from minutes to hours.
Or, maybe you aren't the one who receives the vision. Instead, as you watch, another Summoned might grasp their head and crumble in front of you. They may go silent or groan in pain. They'll be impossible to shake out of their stupor until it's over. If you ask what happened, they may be inclined to tell you the truth - that you, you were what happened to them.
Or, if your Arcana signs happen to line up in a specific way, you'll see each other in the shared memory itself. You may also find that for certain Summoned, you can help soothe the effects, calm their emotions, or help draw them out of the memory before it consumes them for too long. It's not entirely clear what determines which effect, but one thing is for certain - within each memory, every Summoned as they appear in the past seems to wear the mark of their Arcana somewhere on their person.
For some, they might experience this only once. For others, they might experience it multiple times: with the same person, with several other Summoned, or with a different memory each time. Over the next 7 days, you'll find the Summoned around you are all receiving a glimpse into each other's past, as if the Singularity has awoken an eye within each of you.
Flee for the safety of the Horizon if you want, but you'll find that in there, it's much the same. In fact, inside the Horizon, the other Summoned don't even need to be anywhere near you - just existing in the Horizon space itself together will be enough to possibly set off a headache-inducing vision.
Or, maybe you aren't the one who receives the vision. Instead, as you watch, another Summoned might grasp their head and crumble in front of you. They may go silent or groan in pain. They'll be impossible to shake out of their stupor until it's over. If you ask what happened, they may be inclined to tell you the truth - that you, you were what happened to them.
Or, if your Arcana signs happen to line up in a specific way, you'll see each other in the shared memory itself. You may also find that for certain Summoned, you can help soothe the effects, calm their emotions, or help draw them out of the memory before it consumes them for too long. It's not entirely clear what determines which effect, but one thing is for certain - within each memory, every Summoned as they appear in the past seems to wear the mark of their Arcana somewhere on their person.
For some, they might experience this only once. For others, they might experience it multiple times: with the same person, with several other Summoned, or with a different memory each time. Over the next 7 days, you'll find the Summoned around you are all receiving a glimpse into each other's past, as if the Singularity has awoken an eye within each of you.
Flee for the safety of the Horizon if you want, but you'll find that in there, it's much the same. In fact, inside the Horizon, the other Summoned don't even need to be anywhere near you - just existing in the Horizon space itself together will be enough to possibly set off a headache-inducing vision.
The Factions
What has occurred between the Summoned will not go unnoticed within the factions. While it's difficult to say how faction officials have picked up what's happening, it'll be obvious they do know.
In THORNE, characters will be asked to remain in the castle walls until further notice. Characters will not be allowed to leave the castle grounds, not even to go into the surrounding city, and anyone who is already outside will be requested to not leave again as soon as they return. If asked, they will be told it's for their own safety, given the Singularity is behaving unpredictably and the Summoned have a unique connection to it. Soothing potions and healers are on hand to offer assistance, if anyone is particularly suffering from ill effects.None of the factions appear to be doing much more than keep a watchful eye on the situation - but as the week comes to a close, officials will start making a decision as to what they want to do and how to handle the Summoned who have demonstrated this unforeseen connection to the Singularity.
In the FREE CITIES, characters will find the army by the outposts show more activity than usual. A higher number of guards will patrol the streets throughout the event, particularly in areas frequented by the Summoned. Anyone who publicly and visibly experiences the effects of the memory share (pain, doubling over, etc.) will be offered assistance by the guards. They are generally there to help, but they are also there to maintain order and ensure anyone behaving erratically due to this incident is properly contained. This might include confinement for a day or two if anyone is especially posing a risk, but no one will be punished except in the most extreme cases, as the locals are aware this is not within the control of the Summoned.
In SOLVUNN, the locals will be watching what's happening with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Host families and neighbors will be on hand to help with charms meant to offer protection, as well as general care and assistance (soup, blankets, and so on) if your character seems to be especially under the weather or afflicted by the event. Towards the end of the event, more elders and mages will be out and about to check up on the Summoned to make sure they're doing okay. If asked, the mages will say they aren't sure what's going on, but that they are currently divining with the gods and hope to have a definitive answer soon in the upcoming days.
no subject
So you would've kicked me out into the snow of the mountains eventually, is what you mean.
[He teases. No, even if he hadn't, Jaskier knew he would not have lingered long. He had priorities, his duties to attend to... and he would not stay where he was not wanted. As an outsider. Life was too damn short.
Bet he could've made the Witchers love him, though. Given enough time.]
And you? No headache yet? Nothing... nothing of mine?
no subject
But she found her place and in time, he knows Jaskier would have, too. Theirs is a hard-won loyalty, but it is one that is equally hard to lose once earned. ]
And have to dig you out of the snow later? Hardly.
[ He looks over, shaking his head. No. Nothing yet. He takes another drink. The images are difficult to shake—difficult to separate from his own memories. Sometimes they blur together. He's had his head fucked with so many times in his world, he's tired of it. It feels like every time he's beginning to feel...steady, something else comes along and rips a piece of his past to the surface. ]
I keep seeing— [ He pauses. ] Reminders. Of things long since passed.
no subject
But Geralt was not affected. Not now? Should he go, before something happens? Yet here Geralt lingers, so Jaskier lingers too.
His poor wine.]
Reminders? Like what sort? I mean, I would say that was a bit more of a reminder, if we're being honest. Like a full-blown hallucination, more.
no subject
[ They are close. They crawl right up against the walls of images he learned to put aside, to not let them haunt him at every turn. It's work, something he has done for decades. Maybe it isn't what others would call healing, but for him it is. A form of healing, the only form he knows. And much like when he was in Thorne and Yennefer had torn that memory to the surface, this feels the same. As though he is being undone.
He hears it. The screaming. He can smell the blood. The rotting. And he doesn't know how much of it comes from him and how much comes from what's invaded his mind.
He shakes his head. In the corner, Mog stretches in his small wood bed, unbothered. ] It doesn't matter.
no subject
He frowns, watching his friend, poking Geralt's leg with a toe rather forcefully.]
Of course it matters. It matters whether or not it's bothering you, which, by the way, it clearly is.
[So spit it out already. It's what he would have said before his newest little... flashbacks. It is the same tempering in his nosiness that has allowed him so much trust from Alucard.] You don't have to tell me. But I wish you would. Whatever is bothering you, I'd rather shoulder it with you then pretend it doesn't matter.
no subject
He drinks more. Listens to the footsteps outside, down on the street below. ]
In Thorne, when she—when they broke into my mind. That's what this feels like.
[ Memories, pulled forward. It's more than that, really, but he isn't certain how to put it into words. Doesn't know if he can. Jaskier received something gentle from him. A warm memory. And he hopes that that's all Jaskier ever sees, but he knows it doesn't work that way.
He exhales. Shit. ] Just be careful. Most of the visions I've received have been less than pleasant.
no subject
Shit. Geralt, I'm sorry. [He touches his arm, letting his hand rest there.] I didn't realize.
[He didn't think about it. Unfair, he considers now. Geralt's so used to shit, so easily brushes it off, sometimes he can convince himself that the Witcher's fine. That this is only one more thing he must endure. (He should not have had to endure any of it.)
He wants to do something more, anything, but what the fuck does he do? Geralt's a bitch to comfort, and he'll claim he doesn't want nor need it -- and perhaps that's true. The longer time goes on, he thinks, the harder understanding becomes. Between them. He worries.]
Don't fret over me. I've seen horrible things since this war started. I'm no longer such a butter-brained fool. [His smile is small, amused.] And you probably came home to escape them, didn't you? Fuck. I can go out, you know. I probably should, anyhow. Care may help, but I don't believe there's much escaping this now.
[Perhaps in the Horizon? And gods know he has friends who will take to this even less than Geralt. Shouldn't he try to warn them?]
no subject
He looks over at Jaskier. His brows draw together a hint. ] I knew you were here. When I came home.
[ It is not an explicit request for Jaskier to stay, but the implication is there: that he had come inside, knowing Jaskier would be home. And maybe that's selfish, maybe he should be more careful, knowing what he does of his memories and how they keep spilling, but he's tired and unsteady and he just. Wanted a familiar face. Someone to remind him he is not back there anymore.
He doesn't want Jaskier to go.
He pauses. ] I should've stayed away, but... [ Gave him an awful head pain instead. At least the memory wasn't so bad. ]
no subject
[Look, once Geralt spoiled them with all the cheese and soap, he's decided he's at least putting a steady supply of coin into one of them. And the one he chose is definitely frilly, lovely little soaps.
Jaskier waves a hand.] Oh, please. Geralt of Rivia, do something selfless for my benefit? I could never imagine such a thing.
[So he moves close, shifts until they're seated close together, until he needn't reach to swipe a drink that is becoming less needed as the pain in his head is only a ghost. He would rather stay, too; not because of memories, but because he cannot get the image of that dream out of his mind. To be honest, it is far worse than memories.
It lines up so easily with the eyes he's sworn he's seen in the dark. The light of a flame.]
You may as well enjoy my company as you can, before your next desert excursion. [He tips his head back, looking benignly beautiful. It's a talent.] How about one of our baths? You know, like old times. I've got some stunning bergamot oil that smells absolutely lovely.
no subject
Not that he won't miss Jaskier alongside him. He'd...enjoyed it. Their trip. He'd needed it.
Jaskier says old times as though Geralt is not frequently dunked into a bath and scrubbed down by the bard. His lips tilt a hint. Despite what weighs on his mind, it often feels less heavy when he's with Jaskier. Perhaps that's a talent, too. ]
The ones you picked up in Aquila? [ He's already standing, grabbing the bottle to take with him. ] Fine. Perhaps the scent will keep the memories at bay.
[ He's more inclined, in their new home. The tub is bigger, the water runs better, and more than that, it's theirs. Not attached to an inn. ]
no subject
And baths are lovely. A rich man must share what makes him feel fulfilled.]
The very same.
[He grins, knowing he's won already, before Geralt even agrees. He does, and Jaskier rises to go to their bathroom with him, already pulling his shirt off. Why not enjoy the time for now? The memory's left him feeling warm, perhaps extra affectionate towards his friend.
It's -- it is nice. To be remembered like that.]
Well. I think, should it happen again, the worst you'll get is a memory of me buying the oils. I'm pretty sure you were there for that, actually. Always a fun chance to see yourself from outside your own physical body, I suppose.
[Why not search for a silver lining?]
no subject
He slips off his shirt, leans over to turn on the water. It flows, a touch cool to account for the warm night outside.
A grunt. ] I don't like seeing myself.
[ It's off putting. Like watching a doppler that isn't a doppler, mimicking a memory with startling accuracy.
Geralt strips off his trousers, too; slides into the tub. Unlike what's typical, there's an absence of any recent bruises or scratches. Nothing fought this month. All he hunted was a small deer to feed everyone for a week or so.
A gentle padding of paws on wood approaches. Geralt peers at the gryphon. ] He isn't joining us.
no subject
[And if to prove the point, Jaskier makes sure to take in Geralt's shirtless chest with a curving smile. What? It's lovely. He may have slept with him several times through their housing together, but he also never really stops admiring lovely bodies.
He loosens his trousers, but before they can drop Mog decides to interrupt, little claws clicking.] You're always so bossy towards him! No wonder he has a rebellious streak. [He kneels down, scratching his gryphon under the chin.] I promise you, little one, you will not enjoy hopping in with us. For one, Geralt leaves us barely any room, and two, I'm at least half-sure you'll hate the water.
[Mog gives a plaintive chirp but sits back to watch. Whether he understands is debatable; unfortunately, Jaskier has discovered Mog has some attachments and has no respect towards a gentleman's privacy behind a bathroom door.
Jaskier loosens his drawers, slides into the water, and lets out a sigh. Mm. It's lovely.
He reaches for the soap, offering it to Geralt.] I've been training him lately. I think he takes well to it.
no subject
[ He ignores the gryphon. It's going to sit there the entire time, isn't it? Never mind. He holds his hand out for the soap without looking over. It is easier to grouse about a bothersome pet than stew over all the other shit. There are bodies and blood and he wants to not think about it.
Another chirp comes. He glances at Mog, waiting with big round eyes. Hmm. ]
He has stopped gnawing my boots.
no subject
[Which, well. Is actually through a lot of Geralt's help, with all the hunting he does. Mog lives a life of luxury, eating rabbit livers, deer hearts, and all the bits in between of everything they bring in. And as long as Jaskier is around, the meat never spoils, so there's more than a steady supply of it.
Jaskier stretches his legs out, propping one on the lip of the tub. As lovely as it is to have company, Geralt does take up a lot of room.]
See? I told you! A few weeks ago, he would've jumped in here with all his claws out. Ask me how I know.
[Lucky no one had been around to hear his screech.
He's scrubbing at himself with a second bar of soap when he hears something like a grunt -- not that that's rare for Geralt, but it feels different. And he only has enough time to see him wince before Jaskier grabs his arm.
He's since gotten his sea legs, but today the rocking of the boat leaves him nauseous, a hand over his mouth as he meets the last elf with an offered hand, a child he can only guess is as young as five taking the steep steps down below deck. the guardsman this time was not easily swayed with words, hadn't heard the name Jaskier. But a pouch full of coin helped him look the opposite direction as Jaskier climbed off the ship, giving a final look back with his lute across his back. He passes by a patch of stained dirt where he knows one of the elves had their throat slit before being thrown into the harbor.
A second memory comes. Jaskier in a different coat, but the same lute at his back. Jaskier holding his hand out for different elves, some missing the tips of this ears with only bloody stumps instead.
He sings at the tavern that was once his Horizon, the candles on the wall giving the whole scene a melancholy glow. Burn, Butcher, Burn! he shouts, and the crowd shouts it with him. Burn, burn, burn, burn! Like a call and response, until Jaskier sinks into a chair, breathing hard. He puts his lute down, lets the drums carry the song to its completion, and takes a heavy swig from a bottle of wine that had waited so patiently for him. Any energy he may have taken from his performance drops out of him, his head going into his hands.
Easy, Jaskier says, aiding a female elf down the steep stairs, her gait awkward and stilted. Her ankle had twisted on the run, she says, arm tightly wrapped around his own. She thought she'd never make it all the way, half-carried by two of her brothers who wait to take her out of Jaskier's grip. Thank you, Sandpiper, the larger one says, a short bow of his head. After all this time, I never truly believed you were real.
Jaskier smiles, lips curling, but there's a weight to him, a tiredness in the slope of his shoulders, as if his lute has grown heavier. Yes, well, he says in response, clapping the old boy on the shoulder, I don't believe it myself, some days. Be safe. Take care.
He leaves the ship, the murmured whispers of elves fading away as the sounds of the docks of Oxenfurt rise again, the lapping of water against the ship. At least there are no corpses today, but the air is growing bitter and cold, his breath rising in the dark. Jaskier sits on a nearby barrel, his legs swinging, a notebook opened across his lap as he watches the ship finish its final preparations, then begin to sail towards Xintrea.
He marks another tally mark on the page, a list of them spilled across the page already.]
Geralt? [He curses, holding onto him so he doesn't slip into the water. Mog is making an alarmed clicking that's driving into his head, making his heart pitter-patter in fear.] Geralt! Snap out of it!
no subject
—not what he expected. Maybe because he's known Jaskier for so long that even though he's aware of the months, years, time they spent apart, on some instinctive level, it surprises him that what he's seeing is wholly new. And yet, in another sense, it doesn't surprise him as much as it should, because of course Jaskier would help the fucking elves. Perhaps it makes the most sense of all. More so than the idea that Jaskier took his riches and fame and only spent it on wine and jewels and women and men. He has always known his friend to be much more than that.
(He regrets, a little, that he wasn't there for any of this. Does it matter, though? His regrets are not really the point, even if he is sorry he left, that he knows—without ever having to hear that song—that he broke his friend's heart. And he would say he didn't mean to, but the truth is in that moment, he had. It was easier, then, to sever ties than to cling to them, fearing that he would lose it, anyway.)
When he comes to, it's with a curse tumbling from his lips. Jaskier's hands are on him. Geralt reaches for them without thinking, his other hand on his head. ] Fuck.
[ Fuck. He's sick of his skull being split into pieces. He blinks once, twice, trying to drag himself back into the present. Ugh. His stomach roils, the water spinning. Mog chirps shrilly, anxious, and the noise pierces through his head, enough that he wants to reach out and give the bird a shake. ] I'm fine.
no subject
He grips his friend tightly, even as his eyes open again, helping keep his head above water. Jaskier clicks his tongue at Mog to silence him, eyes never leaving Geralt's face. (The soap has fallen, lost to the abyss of water around them.)]
I -- fuck. You'd say that if you were missing a bloody arm, too. [He moves closer, all but taking his weight as he can.] I'm sorry... I thought it -- I thought it was over. If you can sit up, I've got -- Nadine made me a nice concoction, it should help with the pain. Would you like it? It's rather concentrated.
no subject
He does sit up, one arm propped on the side of the tub. ]
No. [ No. He's all right. He takes Jaskier's arm with a firmer grip—one meant to let Jaskier know he's steady. It isn't ever over, he thinks, but. He'd hoped that was all for them tonight. Not that...the memories were anything terrible. Not really. His head just hurts like fuck. And he needs time to—
Think.
He looks up at Jaskier, searching his gaze. ] You were helping the elves.
[ He doesn't ask why Jaskier didn't tell him. Whether it was deliberate or a reason to say it simply never arose, it isn't important. He thinks he understands either way. ]
no subject
Since he tends to do it away from everyone else.
Jaskier blinks. Oh, no. His gaze is piercing, serious. Here it comes. He swallows.
All at once, Jaskier appears nearly abashed.] Ah. That... that is not what I was thinking you may see.
[He nods again, but he looks away, running a hand through his wet hair, pushing it from his face. Still, there's humor in his voice leeching in.] Surely you didn't think I would spend the war resting on my laurels like some horrid noble. [He looks back.] I was so used to keeping it a secret. You can guess what they would have done to me, should anyone have found out.
no subject
Well, I did have the thought you might've saved a cat or two from a tree. [ Some humour leeches in, too, before it fades. Yes. He can guess. It was a good strategy. No one would've suspected him. A bard. Wealthy, vain, self-absorbed. Jaskier is all those things. But he isn't only that. (Always did have too big of a fucking heart.) He feels it. The curl of fear that might be in part a remnant of the memory, in part from the thought itself, if Jaskier had ever been caught. Yennefer had told him Jaskier as in trouble, and he'd asked what kind, found his friend jailed for nothing more than lecherous behaviour.
It strikes him it could've been something far more dangerous.
Geralt reaches into the water to try to fish out the slippery soap. An attempt to bring himself back to a grounded reality. ] Sandpiper, hm? You couldn't have picked a bigger bird?
no subject
[He doesn't want to think about what he didn't want Geralt to see. What he was afraid he would see.
He doesn't think about him at all.
Ever. Clearly.
Jaskier brings up his other arm out of the water, already holding the soap. He taps Geralt's chest with it, but his other arm remains strained, even with Geralt's fingers around it.
Please. Someone must have picked up the mantle.]
Because no one expects anything from a sandpiper. [He smiles, only somewhat guarded.] Nothing more than a minor annoyance. And guess who assured me I was exactly that?
no subject
I heard it. All your songs. [ He doesn't specify in or out of the memory. Both, now. It doesn't matter. He hardly thinks Jaskier would've expected him not to hear them, with how quickly, how far, his music spread. ] Seemed easy to tell myself they meant you preferred I stay gone.
[ He's not really denying he was an idiot. And a bastard. Just—he's never had anyone in his life like Jaskier. He still doesn't. Not really. Not someone who knows him. They were friends, not bound by anything except Jaskier's desire to remain by his side. There was no bond of suffering, no wish. In all of his life, he thinks, their friendship felt like one of the most fragile things he ever possessed. Some part of him had always anticipated he would be the one to shatter it and so he did.
He supposes he's learned better now. He regrets how it happened. He does. He'd missed him. But he is glad to see that Jaskier found a purpose that drove him. ]
no subject
He may have loved many and lost nearly as much, but it never... Geralt had been the longest-standing thing in his life. The only thing that felt permanent. Jaskier had never doubted what they meant to each other.
Until after.]
Hmph. I wanted you to hear them. I hoped you would, that you would go sick with what a bastard you were. Ah. How I dreamed of you finding me again, grumbling, Oh, Jaskier, I'm stupid and brutish and don't deserve your presence. But I do deserve to be snapped up by a dragon, or a wyvern, or whatever. My life is lonely and empty without you. [All said in the very accurate Geralt imitation he's picked up over the years.] But you are such a silly fool, thinking that's what they meant. Melitele's tits, Geralt, I never thought you were that shit at interpreting my lyrics.
[He takes it all in stride now, however. Mog, having sensed the danger is over for now, trills quietly and curls up on top of Jaskier's discarded clothes. Still keeping an eye on them, just in case.
Jaskier is quiet again.]
I've done plenty of good in the world. I will never say otherwise. And, as we both know, you would be penniless and possibly dead in a ditch without me. [A touch of humor that brings his lips up, his legs shifting in the water.] But it was the first time I felt as if... as if I'd really changed something. The things the elves suffered, I can hardly recount. I was sick with their suffering. My own.
[His hands raise to spread over his face, washing it with fresh water anew. Even thinking of them, of what he left behind... it's his only regret.] Now I'm here, and I cannot help them ever again. It is naïve to hope that another has picked up the mantle where I dropped it, but... someone must, mustn't they?
no subject
Coming back is hard. Staying is hard. Perhaps it shouldn't be, but for him, it is. It requires opening a space in his heart that cannot ever be closed should it be found empty. It's funny. He's dealt with loss and grief his whole life. But he's so rarely dealt with being pushed away by someone who matters to him. The lasting memory in his mind is his mother, leaving him. In that moment, some part of him had wanted to do the pushing first, before his closest friend could have the chance.
He places a hand on Jaskier's knee. ] It isn't.
[ The world is shit. They both know that. The war back home, elves and men and dwarves alike will fill the streets with their corpses. But he doesn't believe it's naïve to want for better. Sometimes he wishes he could—
(He could be not so afraid to hope.) ]
no subject
[He knows. There was no way Geralt came to him asking for "help" he didn't need, looking like someone's dog that's been stuck in a rainstorm and is begging for a bit of shelter and a pat on the head, without knowing he'd been an utter cock. Without even knowing a bloody thing about what Jaskier had spent his time doing.
Jaskier takes a deep breath, holds it, releases it. He nods.
A rare thing it is, he thinks, to hear such quick reassurance. And it feels all the more meaningful for its rarity.]
Here. You may as well scrub yourself before it happens again. If it does. [He hopes not. If only because he knows Geralt hates this, the headache is rather awful, and Jaskier feels utterly exhausted by it now.] If you ask me, I think we can do just as good to this world.
[Geralt didn't ask. And Jaskier doesn't need to say it, but he wants to hear the words out loud, his intentions building themselves into something real, solid. There are no elves here, but there is always suffering. There is always looming war.]
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