Jo mutters it under her breath, to herself, more than says it to him; it might even be a concession to the fact some part of her has begrudgingly accepted she has to deal with him until they get out of whatever this long, weird, vaguely chilled hallway is. Jo is trying to find something to focus on anything, even the stupid back of Geralt's shirt, rather than let the cold slip into her bones, remind her of the cold taking over both of her legs.
There's a half collision with that shirt and Geralt—who is still too god damn tall—when he suddenly halts, and she'd been fixating on not fixating, which just fucking made a loop of fixating-not-fixating. It's right as she's trying to step back as the floor lurches upward, spinning, a wall somehow suddenly behind her, and she doesn't even intend for it to happen when she braces herself against some part of Geralt.
Who is rigid as a fucking statue. As that column he's clutching.
Not because she touched him. A thing she notices only when she does it accidentally on purpose (why is that getting to be a thing? At least it's not with a weapon this time; not that his was). Muscles coiled, still enough. She's pretty positive in the tiny box, he's not breathing. "Sorry" is habit (all of it still happening, being realized in a stamp of seconds) at not quite average volume still, but at least it is specifically for him this time.
Then, like the world coming back to life he's all movement, shifting hands on the walls so close to their sides, and Jo tries to press back into the wall at her back, but there's almost no room, and as she's frustratedly taking a breath in her nose, feeling at the wall behind her, when it comes back.
That heavy, cloying sweet something that makes her throat tighten and her stomach roll a little. It's almost nauseating in this small space in a way it hadn't been in a massive room, and she coughs slightly just out of reflex even when nothing's in her throat. "What the hell is that?"
no subject
Jo mutters it under her breath, to herself, more than says it to him; it might even be a concession to the fact some part of her has begrudgingly accepted she has to deal with him until they get out of whatever this long, weird, vaguely chilled hallway is. Jo is trying to find something to focus on anything, even the stupid back of Geralt's shirt, rather than let the cold slip into her bones, remind her of the cold taking over both of her legs.
There's a half collision with that shirt and Geralt—who is still too god damn tall—when he suddenly halts, and she'd been fixating on not fixating, which just fucking made a loop of fixating-not-fixating. It's right as she's trying to step back as the floor lurches upward, spinning, a wall somehow suddenly behind her, and she doesn't even intend for it to happen when she braces herself against some part of Geralt.
Who is rigid as a fucking statue.
As that column he's clutching.
Not because she touched him. A thing she notices only when she does it accidentally on purpose (why is that getting to be a thing? At least it's not with a weapon this time; not that his was). Muscles coiled, still enough. She's pretty positive in the tiny box, he's not breathing. "Sorry" is habit (all of it still happening, being realized in a stamp of seconds) at not quite average volume still, but at least it is specifically for him this time.
Then, like the world coming back to life he's all movement, shifting hands on the walls so close to their sides, and Jo tries to press back into the wall at her back, but there's almost no room, and as she's frustratedly taking a breath in her nose, feeling at the wall behind her, when it comes back.
That heavy, cloying sweet something that makes her throat tighten and her stomach roll a little. It's almost nauseating in this small space in a way it hadn't been in a massive room, and she coughs slightly just out of reflex even when nothing's in her throat. "What the hell is that?"