Geralt z Rivii (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gynvael) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-07-04 01:42 pm
gynvael) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-07-04 01:42 pm
Entry tags:
( CLOSED )
Who: Geralt + Jaskier
When: Before the July event
Where: the castle // dungeons
What: A bardish visit, part 2.
Warnings: N/A
[ Time passes both quickly and not at all down here—but out of everything, it's the continued allowance of visits that surprises him. He's been waiting for security to tighten, for the guards to begin disposing of prisoners, for something to change. So far, nothing has. It leaves him uneasy, but it does mean he has a chance to bide his time while Jaskier is above.
He's been avoiding dwelling on the princess. It's been, what. Four weeks? Just about. A long time for a girl to run from an army. It's easier to simply accept there's no longer anything to go back for. The thought leaves a bitter taste, but he's not about to hang his hopes on fanciful hopes. On Destiny. Besides, what's one more regret amongst a pile of others?
Time to move on. Put his focus on other matters that need more pressing attention, here and now.
His leg, at least, is steadily healing. Not quickly; not getting worse, either. It's about all he can expect. He's seated on the ground where he often is, preferring its flat hard surface to the lumpy, scratchy bed, which he only just barely fits into. Geralt's got half a bun in his mouth—the same one he's been eating for weeks, every day, and even he's getting fucking bored of the same damn meal by now—when Jaskier appears out of the corner of his eye.
He doesn't turn around, but it's clear he notices the bard, his eyes sliding ever so slightly in Jaskier's direction before he turns back to his food. There's a vague Mmm that passes for a greeting. ]
When: Before the July event
Where: the castle // dungeons
What: A bardish visit, part 2.
Warnings: N/A
[ Time passes both quickly and not at all down here—but out of everything, it's the continued allowance of visits that surprises him. He's been waiting for security to tighten, for the guards to begin disposing of prisoners, for something to change. So far, nothing has. It leaves him uneasy, but it does mean he has a chance to bide his time while Jaskier is above.
He's been avoiding dwelling on the princess. It's been, what. Four weeks? Just about. A long time for a girl to run from an army. It's easier to simply accept there's no longer anything to go back for. The thought leaves a bitter taste, but he's not about to hang his hopes on fanciful hopes. On Destiny. Besides, what's one more regret amongst a pile of others?
Time to move on. Put his focus on other matters that need more pressing attention, here and now.
His leg, at least, is steadily healing. Not quickly; not getting worse, either. It's about all he can expect. He's seated on the ground where he often is, preferring its flat hard surface to the lumpy, scratchy bed, which he only just barely fits into. Geralt's got half a bun in his mouth—the same one he's been eating for weeks, every day, and even he's getting fucking bored of the same damn meal by now—when Jaskier appears out of the corner of his eye.
He doesn't turn around, but it's clear he notices the bard, his eyes sliding ever so slightly in Jaskier's direction before he turns back to his food. There's a vague Mmm that passes for a greeting. ]
no subject
[It no longer holds a shard of bitterness like it may have years ago. Instead, it's most certainly a prodding joke, with Jaskier meeting Geralt's glare with a smile. He won't say it -- neither of them will -- but it's good to see him out here, being annoying and gruff and himself. Recommending, apparently, other acquaintances.]
So you trust him enough that he won't stab me in the back. I appreciate it. [He throws a cloth to dry his face at Geralt's, er, face.] And where did you find enough respite to share a drink? [This time, Jaskier's gaze may actually be a bit scrutinizing. He knows the sort of things that has Geralt standing up for someone else. And those occasions are often monumental.] Did something happen? Another detail you've found no importance in telling me?
no subject
[ His reply is dry, but not wholly without amusement. He wouldn't have wished for Jaskier to be here. That's the last thing he would've wanted, given the choice. But he can admit he's glad he's had the chance to talk to Jaskier before...
Before something happened. (He wants the same for Yennefer. Maybe it's for the best, though. What would he say to her? Would she even care to hear it?)
He catches the cloth, hauling himself out of the water. ]
Before they took us back. We had a few hours to rest. Guards were willing to look the other way. [ They're only guards, after all. A week in the tunnels, he imagines that final day, they'd just wanted to return home without trouble.
On the topic of trouble. He meets Jaskier's scrutiny with a look of his own, roughly drying himself off. There's nothing to talk about. Nothing that he wants to talk about. ] Drop it, Jaskier.
no subject
Or, perhaps, if he's feeling particularly spicy, despite it. Even if Thorne itself has deigned to treat them as separate, instead of a package deal.
Which, of course, they are. Considering how much Geralt owes him.]
Ah, guards. Always so astute and dedicated to their craft. [Jaskier gives a huff, watching the White Wolf dry himself with all the grace of a three-legged horse. Still, one can't help but appreciate the sight -- and also examine him for more scars that he doesn't recognize (he knows them all, thank you.) Nothing he can tell, except scrapes on his hands, and that wound on his leg.
It's not healed completely, but it's far less red. More a delicate pink now.
Jaskier arches one delicate brow.] So something did happen, and you're bent on grousing about it in your head without sharing, which has proven to make things infinitely easier on a man's mind, which I am quite aware of through both personal experience and, oh, years of study. [And though it's certainly an admonishment, Geralt can do what he likes. As he always does. Even if it bothers Jaskier greatly his friend always bears his pain alone.
It's almost as if, after all this time, he still does not trust his friends.] I won't bother you about it, but I do... I do wish you would tell me. Perhaps you have better understanding, but I still have little idea what horrors this place promises us yet.
no subject
No answer comes for a good minute or two. He tucks the edges of the bandage in, reaches for the ratty trousers he's been wearing for the past few weeks. A soft exhale suggests he has something he means to say that he isn't letting out quite yet. The other reason he hasn't spoken of it is because it isn't related to Thorne or what's happening here in the castle. They'd been shuffled off to do menial labour, and said labour had some shit side effects. That's all.
But he senses Jaskier's uncertainty, the fear that lingers under his words. Geralt perches on a table, leaning back against it to take the weight off his leg. ]
The crystals we were sent to gather had hallucinogenic effects. I saw some things. Anyone with me saw the same. [ He picks up the leather cord he's since gotten from Jaskier and wraps it around his still-damp hair, sweeping it out of the way. ] Not exactly the way I prefer to introduce myself.
no subject
It's only when Geralt sighs that Jaskier perks up. Oh, he knows that sound. Very well.
So he waits. As patiently as he can, which is not very patient at all, but at least he's quiet about it, picking at his cuticles with his nails, tossing Geralt the cord once he's squeezed his hair out.
It begins. The crystals. Jaskier blinks, slightly wide-eyed.]
I'm sorry, the crystals gave you visions? Shared visions? [Oh, that's totally normal. Completely. And, he imagines, an extremely not-nice thing for someone with Geralt's level of personal tragedy.
He knows better than to ask what he saw. Not that he doesn't want to know; he is quite aware Geralt won't answer.] I see. Makes sense why you're so ornery about it. In that case, I certainly won't go around touching any random crystals, then. [It isn't a joke; an observation only. And that means, if Geralt is recommending Sam, perhaps he can put two-and-two together and assume Sam must have seen something, too. The same thing, perhaps.
Time to do a bit of investigating on that note, then.
He stands, stretches, and walks over to Geralt to pat his shoulders in solidarity.] I'm being quite serious here, so listen.
[He takes a deep breath.]
Take care of yourself, all right? As well as you can.
[He doesn't ask permission (because he certainly never does for anything) before pulling his friend into a tight hug, brief and sudden and over with in a few moments.] We'll get you out of there soon enough.
no subject
For a bit, he simply sits where he is. His reluctance to return to the dungeons is apparent, even if he won't say it. The cell feels ever more crowded as time passes. Pushing Cirilla out of his mind grows harder the more restless he is. It all snowballs into a yawning pit, an urge that itches his fingers, makes him want to curl them around the grip of a blade he doesn't have.
So when Jaskier embraces him, out of nowhere, it startles him briefly. He's tense, before lifting a hand to accept it. His expression is difficult to read afterwards: contemplative, but etched with a concern he won't yet voice. Jaskier doesn't often hide his emotions. This time, it's different. He knows his friend is keeping a few things unspoken. That Jaskier has not said in explicit terms what he's afraid will happen, might happen. Truth be known, Geralt's not sure if Jaskier knows -- if any of them know. Maybe that's part of the fear. ]
Should worry about yourself first, bard. [ It's gruff, intentionally so, but a softness belies his words. ] Just find me those maps.
[ It'll give Jaskier something to do. Something to focus on. And the implication, further: that he doesn't plan on wasting away in some foreign court's dungeons if he can help it. ]