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)
abraxaslogs2021-08-01 07:11 pm
gynvael) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-08-01 07:11 pm
( CLOSED )
Who: Geralt + Jaskier; Sam Wilson; Belle
When: July 25-31; Aug 5-13
Where: The castle // dungeons
What: The aftermath of the Horizon, and questions Geralt would rather not answer.
Warnings: Talk of death; possibly other similarly dark topics
(( closed starters below. if you'd like a starter following up on the Horizon or anything else in between the July event and August arrivals, hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
discontinued! ))
sam wilson | jaskier | belle | sam wilson (ii)
When: July 25-31; Aug 5-13
Where: The castle // dungeons
What: The aftermath of the Horizon, and questions Geralt would rather not answer.
Warnings: Talk of death; possibly other similarly dark topics
(( closed starters below. if you'd like a starter following up on the Horizon or anything else in between the July event and August arrivals, hit me up at
no subject
The guard passes and Jaskier shifts the bundle in his arms.]
A doctor? [He glances sidewise at him, fumbling with the handle of his door. The question hangs in the air as he peeks inside. Empty, luckily. No one wants to be trapped in their rooms during the day, he assumes. Quite true of himself. He nudges the door open.] No, no. Not the way he described him, I don't think. A funny word he used, what was it? [The door closes behind him with a flick of his foot.] Coworker. Said something about a skillset, a hunter... a mercenary, perhaps? Though it looks as if you could use a doctor. [He sets the pile of books on the floor by his bed, turning to Geralt.] How is your leg?
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Mercenary, was it. He sets the books on the table and doesn't hesitate to take up Jaskier's bed. He's tired, Jaskier knows he's tired; he's not in the mood to pretend otherwise. It's not even sleep he's lacking. Not exactly. The guards, for the most part, let their nights go undisturbed. There are beds. Fuck knows he's not doing anything except sitting around or taking a walk in the yard once a damn day. It's more the fact that he's not had an outlet for anything in far too long. He can only meditate away so much. ]
Fairly certain he's a soldier. Not surprised he knows a sellsword. [ He thinks. Sam doesn't seem to operate within any kind of structured army as far as he can tell, but it's the closest term he can find to describe him and it's one Sam doesn't seem to reject when it comes up.
Geralt swings his legs up on the bed and lays down. He is moving more easily than he had before. The injury remains, but it isn't festering the way it once had. He suspects, a little, that their trip into the Horizon had suspended his body's natural healing briefly, though it's hard to say. He's never had to heal at the rate of a human before. ] Better. I'll be fine.
[ And he will be, in general, because that's simply how he works. He tucks an arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Nicer ceiling than the dungeon's. How does Jaskier feel about the Horizon? He remembers the bard visiting often, always with his troupe, always with a white wolf that quickly vanished. The pieces all fall together now that he's back, memories intact once more. Parts of it catch him by surprise. That white wolf, especially. Or not surprise, but...he'd always thought—mm. Supposes it's not as if Jaskier ever mentions his family much, other than to tell an embellished story. Still. He knows Jaskier well enough to understand when he's covering something up. And he had been, hadn't he? In there, except at the end, when Geralt had finally agreed to join him on his travels.
Not that he's ever doubted their friendship or believed it lesser than it is. That's not it. It has always been exactly as it needs to be, no more no less. But much of it—nearly all of it, really—has been unspoken throughout the years, and something about the Horizon had peeled back more layers than it had any right to. It leaves behind a feeling he isn't sure what to do with, one that seems too fragile to contemplate. To turn in hands as rough as his. So he tucks it away, though not without a certain care. ] No trouble up here?
no subject
He makes a small noise of affirmation.] Ah, so he told you. See? You are making friends.
[It's the most teasing he can do right now, he thinks, in another time where he would've shoved Geralt over and shared the bed simply for a few minutes of peace. Jaskier's lip twitches, and he flutters a hand at Geralt's response.] You always say that.
[This time he takes it without argument; even though Geralt was limping, it's not the wound that is wearing on him so much... so it must simply be healing. If his mutations are still affected, he must be marveling at how fucking slow all of it is. The process of healing.
Right. In there, he hadn't limped at all. In fact, it was the first time he'd seen the Witcher in quite a while totally uninjured. And the first time where he had felt... unburdened.
Now, Geralt carries even more weight than before.
Jaskier piles all the books on a small desk, pulling up a chair as he lifts the top one off, flipping back to the page he'd hastily dog-eared. If Geralt is going to rest, he certainly isn't going to be entertained by watching him sleep.
His finger drags along the handwritten lines to find where he's stopped.] Hm. Unless you mean Ambrose being quite satisfied with himself, then no. [He sighs, lifting his head, his nail clipping at the edge of a page to flick it back and forth. Jaskier has already spent plenty of time ruminating on what this means. He fully expects, as he suspects the rest of them do, that this power they'd had in Horizon would be harnessed somehow by this kingdom. Or perhaps it already has. Certainly it was not a success because their people had found a plane to use as an entertaining playground, traumatic fires and brimstone aside. And even now, as he feels a connection to it, despite the wonderful experiences he had there... Jaskier, truthfully, is afraid of it.
His chest burns with all the questions he knows will be answered with mere grunts. Do you still feel it? Do you remember? Will you go back? Can you, after losing her?
Jaskier licks his lips.] I have a date. [He turns to Geralt with a smile curling his lips, his eyes lighting up. Picking another topic rather than the one he really wants to discuss may as well be a natural talent by now.] A pretty necromancer. Now, before you say you disapprove, I promise he's very nice. And, from what he's said, only works his magic on animals. Which is very reassuring, of course.
no subject
It bothers him he can't do more. Can't think of more he can do, other than wait for an opportunity that might never come.
He lets the silence sink and settle. The quiet helps. So does the familiar shuffle of Jaskier beside him. When Jaskier mentions a date, Geralt turns his head. His eyebrows go up. A necromancer? He wants to laugh. Who in the hell openly claims to be a necromancer? He imagines it's shadowed magic even within Thorne -- but then Jaskier says only animals and realization crosses Geralt's face. He stares for a a good thirty seconds. The dead rabbit hopping about the snow with its eerie glowing eyes comes back to him. ]
Hector. That's who you're courting?
[ In all honesty, Geralt gives not one fuck who Jaskier pursues. Not even a necromancer, because while the act is questionable at best...at least the man so far only seems interested in bringing puppies back to life. Besides, questionable also applies to Jaskier's tastes. It's hardly as if Jaskier will do much more than flirt and bed before finding someone new after some days or weeks, depending on where the cards fall. But unraveling this thread makes for a nice distraction. He knows it's the reason Jaskier brings it up; he won't say it, but he's quietly grateful. ]
no subject
[His smile returns easily enough. There's something a bit pleasant with surprising Geralt in turn.
It's exactly why he brought it up. And though one may see this as bragging that he had the ease and time to do just this, he knows Geralt won't take it that way. (And maybe he didn't think of it that hard.)] I met him there, too. I know that now, but I didn't realize it at the time.
[He can't help but swing the conversation back to it. He shouldn't, it's only -- fuck, it really is incomprehensible to him.] Well, he was perfectly polite without memories, but a bit strange. Still, it was refreshing to speak on the sciences with someone who isn't... [He rubs his fingers together.] Making up things.
[Looking at you, Kylo Ren. He hums for a moment, leaning back in his chair.] The more of the guests I meet, like me, the more it seems the general sentiment is to release the prisoners. Even if they have no personal connection.
no subject
As did I. Brought my supper back to life. [ He lets out a breath at the ceiling. His head hurts. Not about this necromancer, but. All of it. The Horizon. How it all lingers. How aware he is of all of those who saw him...as he was. With the girl, with his quiet cabin. With the things he said and asked. He knows he's not the only one who might have felt too exposed. And he wonders what it was all for. To form that tether? The one he feels even now? Its presence is unsettling. How Thorne intends to exploit it unsettles him further.
Jaskier's statement is acknowledged, but not responded to immediately. Everyone has been stolen from their homes, their lives. Makes sense they'd align themselves with the prisoners. But believing they should be released is easy to say. When it comes down to it, he knows most are more concerned with protecting themselves and those important to them. He's the same way.
In fact, now that Jaskier brings it up—he's more interested in the opposite: those who show signs of siding with Thorne. ] And the ones who don't share that sentiment. You've met any, too?
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[The frog had been mostly inoffensive, but Jaskier is not sure how he may feel if something he was eating came back to life. Perhaps he should suggest he not do that. Or, perhaps having no memories changes a man. A little.
Jaskier leans back in his chair, the tome forgotten already. He realizes now that the Horizon has reminded him how terribly he misses his life. Not the Continent itself, really, though he certainly does miss being recognized and, in turn, paid for that recognition. He misses traveling. Boots on dirt, and the stars overhead. The sound of a horse's whickering. Staying in inns he absolutely could get stabbed in because a barmaid had a wonderful pair of breasts and adequate ale. It was only at the end of his Horizon journey where everything slotted together. Where they were, in a way, back on the Path. It had simply been Jaskier's path this time.
He tilts his head back, watching the roof above them, finding designs in the swirls of wood.] Certainly. They're rarer, and quieter. And there are those, I imagine, who want to stay for the Singularity itself. The townspeople outside the castle are all of a similar mind to the castle denizens. I can't imagine what this knowledge of those who can approach the Singularity might do to public opinion.
[A thump as all four chair legs hit the floor again and he sat up.] Have you thought about it? What this new knowledge will do for their plans? This is what Ambrose wanted. He wants some connection to that... thing.
no subject
Don't know if it's all new. [ It comes as a thoughtful murmur. From the conversations he's had, from Ambrose's pleased but not shocked reaction—did he know? Suspect?
He opens his eyes again. The same ceiling stares back at him. He hears the creak of Jaskier's chair and hates that he can't hear more than that. Can't hear Jaskier's heartbeat or smell the lingering scent of those he's been around during the day. ]
If they mean to exploit the connection, it's either to strengthen the Singularity's power or harness it further. Possibly through us. [ He turns his head. He doesn't think Jaskier will venture back in on his own, but just in case. ] Don't get close to it again.
[ And yet: he knows it's their best chance of going home. That power. Isn't it? What other choice would there be to use? He does want to go home. Needs to go back to his world. For all that it's spat him out, he's left too much behind. Besides, he needs to get Jaskier home, too. ]
no subject
How was it things felt like they were getting worse, not better?
Jaskier scoffs, and he kicks the bed so the mattress shifts enough for Geralt to feel it.] What, did you expect me to go up and lick it? It may surprise you I did not go to it willingly the first time.
[As tempting as it is to keep bothering the fuck out of him, this isn't getting them anywhere. They have the same amount of information shared between them, and the Horizon has only made things more convoluted.
Jaskier gets up, tugging on the blankets on his bed. He drops them over Geralt in a way that reminds him so acutely of how Geralt had done it to him. In Horizon. That somehow, even without memories, they had found each other.
Hmm. Destiny was still quite fickle, wasn't she?] Get some real sleep. We may have enough time for another bath after.
[It is, literally, the least he can do to help.]
no subject
He sighs. The blankets flop over him like a limp rabbit. He leaves them piled over top of his body in a tangled lump. He can't bother with the effort to shake them out. And frankly, he doesn't give a shit, either. Sleep. Doesn't feel like sleep, real or not, will do much of anything except have him wake up to find another piece of the sky has fallen out. (Maybe Jaksier's dramatics have been rubbing off on him.) Still. He knows Jaskier is right. If there's nothing to be done, he may as well rest.
At least he doesn't have three other pairs of eyes on him here. (Or a dozen now. He's not touching upon what the fuck is going on with the other man in his cell. He has enough to contend with as it is.)
Eventually, he does sleep: lightly, and with most of the weight still on his mind, but he manages to do so. ]
no subject
Jaskier gives his friend a good pat on the shoulder despite his sigh. Sam's words have sunk deep, it seems, that they keep bubbling up to the surface. Jaskier must wonder if there really is a difference between an optimist and a fool. That he could think, even for a moment, that he is lucky to have someone he considers a friend here. That, should thinks go awry, he will... he will do what he can to help.
It isn't much. Some illusionary birds and a bard. But they can still try.]
Sleep well, you lout.
[He must be exhausted to sleep so quickly. And Jaskier, unable to sit around doing nothing, finds his hands itching for something to do. Sitting here reading boring historical tomes isn't it. The choice left is easy. He releases his lute from its cage, running his fingers gently down its sides. Such a simple thing compared to the elvencraft.
Gods, he misses it. He misses it terribly. A piece of his own arm. He's had it nearly his whole life now. Now he's stuck with this... inadequate thing.
Still, he can make it sound beautiful. Jaskier returns to the chair and folds one leg over the other, leaning the belly of the lute against it. He doesn't sing at first; it's simply plucked notes that move quietly through the room, his eyes closing as he concentrates. And then he sings: something he isn't afraid of that came with him from Horizon. It's not about anything in particular. No theme or ballad. It's only pretty words, inspired by his journey up snowy mountains, through wintery caves. Simply the song of winter.
It would nearly be winter there. At home. And he would be going back to Oxenfurt, with warm, fur-lined cloaks and old friends. There would be no fall of Cintra yet. No flames in Sodden.
He shakes his head and drives the thoughts away. There is only the snow, the frost swirling off his tongue. Heavy clouds and a troll who hums a song bemoaning the loss of his people.]