abraxaslogs | [closed] home is where..

It feels colder than Rinwell remembers of a winter in the Free Cities. She's used to far worse, of course, born and bred in Cyslodia's eternal winter. But it's not just the weather that seems to have shifted around here.

Her steps barely creak the stair planks as she descends down from the apartment above the bakery and not for the first time, she pulls the cloak about her shoulders a little tighter, making sure the collar of the military uniform she'd been given and the prominent sigil are obscured. Truthfully, the cold she feels comes more from the lack of answer at the door; the place they'd once hidden a spare key had been empty.

Perhaps she wasn't the only one who had disappeared from this world.

And with her magic still dampened, Rinwell had no way to reach out and check as she remembered doing. At least, she thought she remembered it? Some memories were a little foggy, but the main threads were still present, still connected her to faces she'd truly hoped to find after she'd slipped her leash and vanished off the back of the outpost wagon.

Instinct carried her feet not into the bakery itself, but towards the stables nearby, where the two witchers and their bard had rented space for their horses. Animals may have been Law's "thing" on Dahna, but here, Rinwell had made herself useful. Had found it enjoyable. And if...If they were gone now, the friends she'd made, the people who'd taken her in and made them one of their own.. then at least the path they'd begun teaching her was one that could lead to work for herself.

But if they were gone, if Geralt was gone, would Roach have a new owner now..? Would she even be here? Trying not to let her shoulders slump, she sidestepped around some passing workers, before ducking through the doors to the stables.

Between Libertas, the Heralds, and the three of them having a tendency to wander, it's no surprise the house is empty. Kol, the baker downstairs, has put a sign on the door noting he will return in an hour.

Geralt, for his part, is in fact at the stables. He's taken to paying a stableboy to muck and do the general upkeep—they're no longer short on coin these days—but he still comes every morning to take care of Roach herself. And, of course, talk to her. Which is what he's doing at the moment while he brushes her.

"We've made it another winter." Her ears flick. She snorts in his direction. "Don't tell me you're demanding a Yuletide gift—"

Light footsteps sound behind him. The stableboy, he presumes.

"Leave it outside. I'll—" He stops. Wait. He knows that scent. It's been some time, too long, but.

Geralt spins around. His eyes widen. Fuck. Is that—?

"Rinwell?"

Edited (excuse the accidental early post ;;; ) 2022-12-03 04:47 (UTC)

The shift of hooves, the crunch of hay underfoot. The familiar sounds and smells of animals boarded in the barn hits as she steps through the door.

Rinwell isn't really anticipating anyone being here, not really. And certainly, Geralt had no way to expect her to show up unannounced. But there's a familiar mare tied and in the midst of a groom, earning a sudden smile of relief — and then freezing, startled, as an equally familiar gruff voice speaks up.

And also stops, to stare at her.

"Geralt?" After a moment, she can't help but offer him a small but happy smile. "You remember me..?"

It is her. Not that Geralt is unaware this is possible; folk have vanished and returned before. But none of them have been his people. His losses have been permanent.

He's too caught up in Rinwell safe and sound to consider the implications behind her return. He steps towards her, thinks fuck it, and wraps his arms around her.

"We all do." How could they forget? Geralt releases her. Even Roach seems to remember, giving Rinwell a gentle nudge. More than that, he's grateful she remembers him. That isn't always the case, he knows.

A dozen questions circle his mind. He doesn't want to overwhelm her, though.

"Home's still where you left it." He puts away the brush. He'll return for his horse later. She'll understand. "They'll want to see you. Ciri and Jaskier."

She isn’t expecting the hug. She freezes a moment, breath catching in her throat, before she reaches up to hug him back. It must look so strange, to those unfamiliar. She’s so much shorter, after all.

“R-really?” The others remember her too? That the apartment is still theirs is a relief: it was a familiar space she could retreat to here.

And then there’s Roach and her velvety nose, which gets a fond pat in return.

“I want to see them, too! I have a feeling I’ve missed a lot.”

Which is putting it mildly.

A look crosses his face at that. Missed a lot. Yeah. She can say that again. He isn't sure if she knows of the destruction in Libertas, but he imagines she must've glimpsed some of it.

"We've had a few changes," he replies. "Some new faces."

He leads her out of the stables, down the dusty path that's less swelteringly hot now that winter has settled in. The walk is short, and the stairs leading up to their door hasn't changed. He pushes it open—peering inside to see if Ciri and Jaskier are home.

He lets Rinwell go on ahead first, to greet whoever appears.

Rinwell is well aware of the understatement in her sentence. She simply has no idea how much has changed.

She knows that recruitment of the newly Summoned is much more aggressive. Not that Libertas has fallen, nor the means of its destruction. But once she does…well. Perhaps it will change things, certainly her perception of ‘sides’.

But right now, it’s far less important than reuniting with the third family group she’d had in her life.

“I guess they’ve continued summoning a lot?” Her nose wrinkles, and there’s another pat for Roach before she falls in behind Geralt, a spring in her step evident as they walk back the way she came. “Have many others disappeared that needed ‘replacing’?”

He unlocks the door, and her expression brightens as she steps inside. No one answered when she’d knocked earlier, but now..?

Jaskier is often in-and-out as of late, with the recent agreement with Alucard, their finding the perfect office space, and Jaskier, after all this time, feeling a spark of inspiration with a new space to dedicate his interior decorating skills to. Not to mention more space for plants he can grow during the colder months -- not that it gets very frigid, but he's hoping he can pick out some rather festive plants to add to his next sale.

So it is on the floor, surrounded by any means of pots, bowl, and roundish holding dishes that Jaskier could get his hands on, filled with varying amounts of soil, with tiny green sprouts in most of them. And when the door opens, he barely looks up where he is carefully braiding ivy into a thick, coiled rope. Now that he's set up a few extra shelves in the office, he has room for the flora.

"Oi, watch your step! This is a delicate operation!" He tugs on the hanging piece of vine, the leaves beginning to flutter as he looks up to -- not Geralt, exactly. Geralt behind her.

Her.

Jaskier blinks.

"Rinwell?"

It is exactly the last face he expects to see. One, in fact, he has accepted he will never see again. The plants all around him begin to shift and rattle as his heart tumbles up into his throat. "Rinwell! My dear!" Jaskier is on his feet much faster than any man his age has a right to be, grabbing her and lifting her to spin her in a tight hug, if she doesn't fight him off first. He doesn't even think of asking. "I don't know how you're here, but I don't care! Oh, I've missed you, my dear, how are you? You look the same! You look wonderful!"

“Hi Jaskier.”

That’s what it is supposed to sound like, save that she’s swept up into a fresh hug mid-name, voice shifting more to an eeeeeeer as he spins her about. She’s surprised, yes, but pleasantly so, something warm burning in her chest at receiving such warm greetings.

So this is what it is to be missed. She hugs back, shooting a ‘what can you do?’ Look over his shoulder at Geralt that’s too happy to be serious, before she’s set back down again.

“I’m okay. Still a little pool dazed, but I at least know that will pass.” No real surprise there on that being the ‘how’ of her return, and Rinwell watches her step (no risking the plants!) as she turns about, taking a moment to assess both men in the privacy of their home.

“How are you? Both of you.”

As if Jaskier gives time for Geralt to react; he already knows quite well that Geralt will remain rather quiet, and will have that awfully annoyed-but-fond expression on his face.

Ah. The pool does answer some questions. Several of them, in fact, in such a short answer -- and though he burns with thousands more, he is, truly, only so glad to see her in the first place. Their home has always been comfortable, he likes to think, but they lost so much warmth when she was... gone. When they had to accept that Rinwell was out of their reach.

And now she is back. In some ways, he knows it is awful. Being free (or truly feeling free) and then returning. A second kidnapping. Perhaps further tortures. And to rejoin this world as war marches ever closer...

He does not dwell on those thoughts. It is her face, the quiet in her tone, that he focuses on. "What's this? Has Geralt driven you to be so somber already? We should be already planning a party, not talking about our feelings!" As if Jaskier misses a chance to throw one. But carefully, he releases her and moves his pots out of the way so they are no longer such a danger, though several of them wiggle and wave as if greeting the return of the girl as well. "Though, if I'm honest, I think we are doing... you know, all right. Some things have happened as of late, that are -- well, not to be discussed in so otherwise a happy occasion. Do you want to see your nook? We'll have to clear a bit out, but --" He gasps. "Geralt, we'll need to get her a horse again! You still remember mostly how to ride, don't you?"

From the bottom of the stairs, Ciri can hear something of a commotion up on the landing above. Jaskier's voice, mostly, shouting indistinctly. That, in and of itself, is not entirely unusual. She doesn't think anything of it -- he must be yelling at Geralt, or maybe at Mog, or just at a piece of parchment that isn't making whatever words he wrote on it sound as good as they had in his head.

So when she heads up the stairs, dusty and windswept from a nighttime excursion beyond the city gates, Ciri has every intention of simply ignoring the bard and his excitement, whatever its cause, and heading straight for a bath and her bed.

It's not until she actually opens the door that it registers. There is Jaskier, as expected. Geralt, a tiny bit more of a surprise at this time of day, but not terribly unusual.

And, between them, a figure that takes her a long moment to recognize. Or, rather, to really understand, despite actually recognizing her right away.

Ciri steps inside.

"...Rinwell?"

More than only startled, she sounds... hopeful.

Geralt lets Jaskier answer on his behalf (Geralt is, as always, in a perpetual state of fine. However that's interpreted). He's content to watch the two of them, silent but fond, until Ciri's footsteps alert him to her arrival.

In the commotion with Jaskier, he'd not even realized she was home. Geralt brightens a bit to see her—because, more than anyone, he understands how rare it is for Ciri to have a loss returned to her, unharmed.

"Found her at the stables," he explains.

He gives them time to reunite before he places a light hand on Rinwell's shoulder.

"You made it in time for dinner."

They don't tend to eat together; Geralt's rare appearances in the city combined with Ciri working and Jaskier's odd hours, flitting about—almost feels a bit. Fitting. That they're somehow all here when Rinwell's returned.

[closed] home is where..

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