[ CLOSED ] the feeling never dies in your eyes

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: September
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Libertas
What: thisisfine.jpg
Warnings: Blanket for Witcher canon, destruction/war imagery and related topics, etc., references to child death, NSFW marked



(( starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

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[falcony]

[ truth be told, it's not just that geralt's been keeping to himself. sam has an equal hand in how little they've seen of each other, all but diving headfirst into the simple fact of work. of familiarity in everything this supplies, in the test runs and the actual runs with his wings; for better or for worse, this is something sam is an expert in. has done too many times to count. and with the faces, the people, the numbers he has in the cities that know that side of him, it's easy to lose himself in the work.

and that's what he does, truthfully - lose himself in it. there is always something to do, always somewhere to be, and that's where his mind is when someone falls into step with him as they walk through what's left over from the city. sam blinks, pulling himself out of his own thoughts and putting himself back into the moment, to geralt at his side.

( how long has it been since he checked in with geralt? with jaskier? sam tries to remember how long ago they last exchanged messages, but it's a little hard to keep the days straight. ) ]

How'd you know? [ he says with a small smile, their steps falling in synch easily. ] Where you goin'? [ it's worth asking, if only because he and geralt have been operating under separate layers of work these last few days. sam's not even sure he knows where geralt's been, beyond the assumption it's been in the city, considering the layer of sand and grime geralt sports is roughly similar to sam's. ]

[gynvael]

You're walking north. [ Thoughtless banter. All this—it's shit, but it isn't uncommon. Not for him. The way he moves through the destruction is heedless, maybe even a little callous, stepping over broken bloodstained dolls, a limb or two, without a glance down.

Geralt has been in the city, in and out, going between looking in on Jaskier, Ciri, Julie, Dean even ever since the man somehow got himself nearly lit on fire and Jayce had to put a new set of lungs into him. Or whatever the fuck magic he performed. It's fine. There's simply been...

A few incidents. Almost a relief to be walking without some crisis looming on the horizon. (Yet.)

He indicates eastward in answer. Sam must know the orphanage is there, that most of it's caved in. Hardly the sturdiest building in the city even while it was standing. He doesn't explain his reasons. Doesn't think he needs to why he's going past all the rubble to that area in particular. ]

[falcony]

[ that one hurt, and if sam had it in him, he might have rolled his eyes. made a comment about geralt's incredible tracking abilities, how could he have ever figured that out, but sam lets it go with a kind of huff of a laugh. a shake of his head. yeah, alright, sam probably set that up too easily.

it doesn't go unnoticed how easily geralt walks through the destruction, but sam also doesn't think much of it, aware enough of his own presentation, how he keeps pace with geralt without hesitation. sure, his stomach curls when he thinks of it for too long, his head spinning with what ifs and why nots, but for better or for worse, he has a job here. he has something he needs to do.

best way to keep from spinning downward is to keep focused on what you can do. and that is exactly what sam does.

that's when geralt gestures eastward, and it only takes sam a moment, maybe half a moment, to remember the map of the city. where the orphanage is. what geralt is most likely headed off to do. sam's eyes go northward again, the direction he'd been headed, goes down the list of everything he should be doing right now, before he glances back to geralt again. ] Need an extra pair of hands?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt tilts his head: neither agreeing nor disagreeing. ] If you have them.

[ He doesn't need Sam's help, technically. He can go about it alone; there are soldiers on standby, other Summoned, and he's aware Sam's busy. Flitting from one place to the next. (Literally, on occasion. He's seen those mechanical wings.) But if Sam wants to lend a hand, it's a good a place to go together as any.

Besides. For all that he prefers to be alone, on rare occasions, he wants the company. With the right person. They know each other well now. Sam won't ask any questions that needn't be asked. They walk for a time in silence—on Geralt's part, at least—but as they reach the cresting hill on the road, he asks: ]

Have you heard much out of Thorne? [ He's spoken to Thancred, to Yennefer, but Sam has his own people. Stephen, in particular. Perhaps they know something the other two do not. ]

[falcony]

[ sam nods, agreeing that he does have them, and while their direction does not necessarily change, there is a shift. one that says that wherever it was that sam had been going, originally, he has now decided is not as urgent. it may be in part that sam just wants to check on the status, or perhaps heading by the orphanage had been on his list already. or, alternatively, perhaps sam just wants to move on to the next job, the next few hours, alongside geralt.

the walk goes on in relative silence for a while, something sam has gotten quite comfortable with during their year and a half of knowing each other. sam would have been alright to continue on in that same silence, but he also does not seem surprised when geralt asks the question. ]

Not much after that first day, no. [ because stephen had been sam's first content when he had heard the news, a frantic message sent across the continent, worried, panicked, already moving. stephen had given him as much information as he had at the time, which hadn't been much at all. they've kept in relatively constant contact since, but it hasn't exactly helped. ] You?

[gynvael]

[ A shake of his head: not much for his part, either. ] Heard that mage burst into a thousand bits. About the only light from the shadows.

[ Unfortunately, his death scorched an entire city to pieces. In some ways, it's fitting, that this war was started not over the Singularity but the queen's grief over another. Or what counts as grief in her frozen blackened heart.

At any rate.

He steps up the slippery pile of rocks, shoveled to the side and not yet secure for travelling over. He imagines they aren't meant to go this way, that the army may have let this road slip by their blockades, but they're here. It's the quickest path he knows. He doesn't want to turn around and find themselves caught in another loop upon loop between fallen buildings and fires that've not been put out.

He hauls himself up and over instead—offering Sam a hand at the top if he needs it. ]

[falcony]

[ that update, especially shared with geralt's normal even tone, almost has sam tripping up his next step. he manages to keep his steps even, but geralt probably hears it spike in his chest, not by surprise, necessarily, but the same drop in sam's stomach, the tightening of his jaw, that sam can't always shake.

he was murdered - his dislike for the mage aside, he was murdered, and the queen used that as reason for the very destruction that surrounds them. for half a moment or so, sam is just quiet, just settling his own reaction, before he pushes out a huff. ] Her kiss-ass, right? Good riddance.

[ and honestly, sam means it. he remembers hearing of geralt's kidnapping, of being forced to relive memories, the torture. sam hates it, and it really is honest - how much he hates the idea that the mage had ripped that consent from geralt like that.

sam follows geralt easily up and over the pile of rocks, his footing not as sure as geralt's but sure enough, making his way up and through and yes, taking the offered hand not necessarily because he needs it, but because it is there, so he might as well. ]

[gynvael]

[ Yeah. He hears it. And he is well aware this is not a topic he and Sam will ever see eye to eye on. He's also never held back his words for the comfort of anyone, friend or stranger. The only reason Grigory remained alive after that incident was distance—the simple fact that Geralt has learned not to chase vengeance over every wrong he's been dealt. But if they'd ever come face to face? With an easy opportunity?

He'd have struck him down. Without hesitation.

Seems someone did it for him, though, so here they are. Good fucking riddance indeed.

They edge their way down the other side of the sloping debris, hit solid ground again after another few steps. The orphanage isn't far—though as they draw towards it, it's difficult to see it. Most of it is rubble. It was never the sturdiest building in the city from the start. Now its simply gone, and there's a moment where he takes it in: the crumbling masonry, broken pillars, scorched earth around it. The acrid smell of smoke and ash. The scene is not unfamiliar.

Then he steps forward and just. Starts to walk, listening as he goes for a heartbeat that doesn't belong to him or Sam. He can see the remnants of a once thriving space: broken clay bowls, candles melted into wax puddles, shreds of drawings and charred chests. When he pops one open, trinkets are inside, the kind collected by those who have not much: a few shiny pebbles, a single coin, a small straw-stuffed dog with a missing button eye.

He picks up the last item, weighing it in the palm of his hand. For a while, that's where he stays, crouched over the open chest. He's certain workers or soldiers must've come by already—there'd be far more bodies on the surface otherwise—but he wonders suddenly how many of them even survived. Is it even possible to know? Does it make a difference? He only visited a handful of times, mostly to bring them to Nadine's storytelling during that week—but he does remember them.

There's a second where he glances at Sam, like he wants to ask him that, wants to bring it up. It's naïve. He knows better. They both do. So he doesn't. But he takes the worn stitched-up doll, anyhow. It needn't mean anything. If there's no one to return it to, he can discard it with the rest of this wreckage. ]

[falcony]

[ no, they never will see eye to eye on this topic, and sam is just as aware of that fact. it is something he's accepted, something that he can forget about every now and then, but isn't surprised when he's reminded. because whatever the opinion might be, however it is the two of them see this, sam knows enough of who geralt is for it to be something he's willing to accept. that he's willing to sit in this place of disagreement, and it doesn't do anything to the level of trust he has.

and part of sam also, too, probably knows that the only reason grigory lived this long is distance. he doesn't know, really, what he'd do if grigory hadn't had that safety net, but that's not something he needs to worry about.

it isn't important, though, and it isn't something sam puts much time or worry into. grigory is dead, and sam moves on. over the hill and down into the dirt path and around the piles of ruined buildings. ever since the first day he saw the wreckage, ever since the first glimpse he got of the ruined city, sam hasn't been able to remove his own memories from what he sees. the sand, the dirt, the buildings, the destruction - it's war, plain and simple, and sam is well into the mental state of seeing it as such.

as geralt walks, so does sam, his eyes on the exact places that geralt's aren't. filling that space at someone's side comes easy to sam, so it's just as easy to check places geralt isn't spending any extra time, going to double check an area that geralt doesn't do more than a glace over, if only because something else may be more important. when they've settled in one spot, geralt crouching down to check through a chest, sam works his way behind what appears to be a fallen wall, though the wood makes him think it could have been doors, maybe a piece of furniture. the things left in it aren't worth much more - more broken furniture, the remnants of what appears to be a kitchen, or sitting room. it curls, cold and angry in sam's stomach, but again - it's nothing new.

moments later after finding nothing of use, he pulls himself back away from the corner of the wreckage he was searching, just in time for geralt to glance over and meet his eyes. sam, knowing what he's asking without anything being said, lets his eyes go to the small toy in geralt's hand.

no matter how often he's here, no matter how often he does this, it doesn't get easier. but, as always, there are some survivors. there are still some, living through this chaos, who are going to live with this for longer than any of the rest of them will. but geralt is asking a question with that look, and while they both know the answer, sam still feels himself shake his head.

but before he can discard it, sam is stepping in close, checking over that toy as well as the other items - the pebbles, the coin. ]

Think the kids would get a kick out of that? [ he means the survivors, the ones that the military is taking care of, back in the camps. it's a longshot, but something about leaving it behind also doesn't sit right with him. ]

[gynvael]

[ Geralt glances back at Sam. Yeah. He understands what Sam is saying. It's less about right for Geralt and something more practical. No sense in burying trinkets if the other children might find comfort in them. But there's a part of him, too, which senses a value in these toys in a way he can't explain. Perhaps because he grew up with much the same. Things picked and cobbled together. He'd never thought to want for much, even at that age—he had more than others—but it doesn't mean he isn't aware of what he lacked as a child.

He dusts off a small discarded satchel and drops the few items inside. Then he rises to his feet again. If they can't find survivors, he supposed it might be worth looking for what can be salvaged for those back at the camps. ]

I'm not sure why I came out here. [ Wasn't like he didn't know what they're likely to find. It's not a disparaging remark, exactly. Contemplative, perhaps. ] But I thought there might not be anyone else who would miss them.

[ These are not children with parents and family out there searching. When they're gone, they're gone. Soon forgotten. He remembers thinking that, as the fires burned through Kaer Morhen. That there would be no one who would look for him. Not even his own mother. ]

i know we said wrapping but i was possessed.......

[falcony]

[ geralt doesn't have to say it, but there is a kind of agreement in the look. a nod, where there doesn't have to be any physical movement. yeah, geralt doesn't need to say, and sam is also looking through the rubble and dirt for more trinkets. small things, things that wouldn't normally be worth taking an entire trip out here to salvage. still, sam has a pouch with room, so he picks up what he can find.

they work like that in silence for a few more moments until geralt rises to his feet, and sam follows a few moments after, stepping back around to be near his friend as he finishes dusting off what he thinks might be some sort of broken paddle. geralt's voice isn't exactly surprising to hear among the distant sounds of movement, of soldiers and volunteers and crumbling rubble, but somewhere in the words sam does catch onto the thoughtfulness of it. the weight.

i thought there might not be anyone else who would miss them.

sam feels himself still at that, his eyes going first to geralt and then to the ruins they've been picking at, and he thinks that maybe he understands. it is that thought, that understanding, that has him stepping up to geralt's side - a hand clasping on his shoulder. maybe sam's smile is a little out of place, given the somber nature of their trek so far, but he can't help it. ]

Well- that's why we're out here, isn't it? Because we will.