middaeg | ( OPEN ) february catch-all

Bullshit.

[ Point proven further when he has to switch hands. She stands her ground in front of the door, blessed that the sheer presence of Geralt has never been intimidating for her. Because a determined Witcher was often not meant to be trifled with and it had somehow become something of a pastime over the years.

Her chin lifts when he takes a step forward, the words stinging a bit. He's angry and volatile and she knows she can't take anything he says personally right now considering the burden already weighing him down. But, she needs to keep him safe. Whatever they planned for Jaskier wasn't something they were in a position to stop. Not tonight. All she could do was try to be a beacon of strength for him as he faced whatever horrors awaited him. Yennefer focuses, letting a calm thrum of focus surge through the bond. ]

We will get him back, I swear it. But not tonight. Now you can either sit the fuck down on the bed so I can tend to your wounds or I will put you there. Rail at me all you want, you're not back out there tonight.

[ What gets him more than anything is that he knows he'd be doing the same. If their roles were reversed, he'd be stopping her from barreling recklessly into danger. There's a second where the surge of anger is directed at her. He has enough mind, at least, to swallow that down before he spills words he regrets -- or maybe it's her influence on the bond.

Whatever it is, he doesn't try to get her to move. Nor does he back off. A curse slips out under his breath. ]

It should've been me.

[ It's more than he means to admit. Saying it out loud doesn't help one fucking bit, either. It hangs heavy in the air. He'd have wanted Jaskier back no matter what. But that Jaskier is gone because of him is hard to swallow. They'd wanted him. Jaskier had just happened to be there. An easier target than a Turnskin, once they laid sight on him. ]

[ And there it is.

The guilt surfaces faster than she'd anticipated, having already steeled herself for the verbal lashing that never comes. Cautiously, she takes a step towards him, reaching out in an unexpected display of care -- making a point to avoid the blisters on his neck as she touches his face.

She doesn't say what he's already thinking, that Jaskier was an easier target than either of them. And Jaskier was selfless enough that she had a feeling Jaskier had thrown himself into the fray without a second thought. And to think he'd been so upset with her and Geralt for being reckless in the dream.

It'd be amusing if this wasn't so fucking serious. Her voice is deceptively soft, almost gentle if she were the type to speak like that. Masking her own fears as best she can as a thousand thoughts fly through her mind of how much this might destroy the fragile and happy bard. ]

Go sit on the bed. Please. [ Her thumb strokes over his cheek before she pulls away. ] I'll draw a bath.

Edited 2021-02-14 21:31 (UTC)

[ A sigh escapes him. Her touch eases some of the chaos in his mind. His fingers curl around her wrist and he leans into it just a hint. He doesn't want to put her in danger, either. And he knows running off without any care will do exactly that.

With some reluctance, Geralt sits on the bed. Even so, it doesn't stop him from trying to do...anything. Anything at all, other than sitting on his ass or dwelling on what Jaskier might be going through. Neither will help. He can't tell if the fear he feels is his own or Jaskier's, or a mix of both. Ignoring it is difficult, the way it thrums under his skin.

So he fishes out the folded parchment he'd found on one of the cultists' bodies, if only to focus on something else. Blood and snow has smeared the ink, but much of it is still legible, written in scrawling cursive. He doesn't expect much: an obscure note, perhaps, or even a crumpled shopping list. In turns out to be much more. A banquet, open to new and old members alike -- as long as they're formally invited.

Subterfuge is not his greatest strength. It's both a facet of who he is and also what he is. Witchers can hardly walk in unrecognized most places; there's never been a reason to even try. Yennefer, though -- it is hers. Geralt turns the invitation in his hand, examining the seal and signature. A thought begins to formulate. He's not certain it's one she'll entirely agree with. When he asks, he distinctly leaves out the rest of what's on his mind. ]

How's your illusory magic?

Edited 2021-02-15 00:29 (UTC)

[ The sound of water echoes as she fills the large tub in the bathroom attached to her bedroom... Their bedroom. She always seemed to be the one dragging her feet in their relationship, but something about losing Jaskier puts everything into perspective. Again. As much as she hates to admit it, strong emotions and circumstances put everything into a black or white mindset. And one thing becomes abundantly clear -- she can't lose Geralt.

She comes back to check on him once everything is situated, grabbing a few healing solutions and balms to add to the bath for Geralt -- the note catching her attention. Looking at it, she focuses for a moment, waving her hand to clean off the blood and snow with a bit of prestidigitation. The same magic she's been working on to help keep everything clean. Looking over it, a plan is already forming in her own mind. ]

Passing enough to make another one. I'll take a closer look at it later.

[ Setting it on the dresser, she picks up the salves and bottles from a drawer before turning to look at him as she moves back towards the bathroom. ]

Let's get you cleaned up.

[ He lets her take the letter without further comment. His head is still spinning; cold calculation says they won't kill Jaskier quickly. Given the condition of the victims found in the Wilde, it takes awhile. They have time.

The rest of him doesn't want to grant those bastards one extra minute with his friend. It doesn't matter if Jaskier will physically survive it or not. Jaskier shouldn't even be there in the first place. There's no telling what they're doing to him.

After a second, he pushes it aside. Silently, he follows her into the bathroom, stripping his clothes along the way. His wounds are not the worst he's ever had -- not even close -- but they still make him stiff as he settles into the steaming water.

He's fine, really. On his own. He can take care of his injuries. But he doesn't want to reject her presence. She's the only thing keeping him from walking out that door. ]

[ As awful as what is awaiting Jaskier, she couldn't let her thoughts linger on it. Either he'd be strong enough to find a way to survive whatever was waiting for him or they'd deal with the fallout. She could only rest somewhat assured that they wouldn't kill him. There was a chance they wouldn't need to deal with trying to go through resurrection magic without a body.

Pragmatically, she also realizes that trying to trade herself or Geralt for him as heartier stock to withstand whatever they had in mind would be pointless. He's about as pure a specimen as they'll likely get their hands on that's not a child. Untainted by other magics and untarnished by other traumas. If her guess is correct, they'll keep him functional for as long as possible.

And hopefully, that will give them enough time to get him out.

Yennefer grabs a cloth, sitting on the edge of the tub as she pours two of the potions in with him. Soaking the cloth in the now medicated water, she adds some healing salve to it and begins going over the blisters gently. She doesn't say anything, stewing in her own thoughts as she goes through the motions and takes in his injuries. ]

[ The heated water should be soothing. It's not. All it does is remind him of what's brought them here.

Other than a hiss as the cloth brushes over the burns, he's quiet, focusing on the magic that binds the three of them. The thread hasn't broken, but it's also silent. Unconscious still, maybe. He hopes it stays that way for awhile yet. And that the silence doesn't mean something worse.

He scrubs at his fingers while she works on his wounds, washing blood and dirt out from under his sharpened nails. The water quickly stains pink, murky.

Eventually, he has to ask. ] Do you feel him?

[ She lets the sound of the cloth and the sloshing of water and she rewets it fill the room, pausing when he asks.

Yennefer pauses, closing her eyes to fully focus as she reaches out. Trying to discern anything other than him still being alive. ]

Yes. He's... He's alive. He's too calm to be awake. But I can't tell if it's sedation or if he passed out on his own.

[ Either way, it's for the best. She dips her hands deeper into the water, continuing to work salve over any other blisters to at least assist in promoting the healing process. She'll begin healing him eventually, but not tonight. Not when she was still extremely unsure if he'd actually stick around or try to run. She doubts he'd be willing, but she might also offer one of Jaskier's sleeping draughts to get him through at least a couple hours tonight while she kept watch.

Her question is matter-of-fact as she moves the cloth back up to his neck, but her tone is caring. ]

Do you want to talk about what happened?

[ Same as him, then. He takes a breath. Shit. Yennefer has managed to wrangle him into the bath, but the restlessness continues to hum under his skin.

Funny. He's always been taught to prepare well. It's the first lesson any Witcher learns: to take their time. Observe. He knows better, and yet the only thing he wants to do is to charge in, with or without a plan of any kind.

A few minutes pass without an answer. No. He doesn't want to talk about it. And he wouldn't have if it had been anyone else. It's Yennefer who's asking, though, and she's always been able to get more words out of him than should be possible. ]

I've been tracking them. You want to hear the best part? I wasn't even following them tonight. [ Geralt pulls loose the cord holding back his hair, sticky with blood. Jaskier has always had the ability to hone in on him out of nowhere, and he's never hated that more than he does tonight. ] I told him to leave. He never fucking listens.

[ She had no plans to push it, if he didn't answer. There was no need to pick a fight tonight of all nights. Not with him and not about this. Not when there was already enough simmering beneath the surface and waiting for the second he decided he was done being patient.

Casually, she swirls her hand in the water as she waits in the silence -- the pinkish hue leaving bit by bit. Though, her movements still when he starts speaking. She keeps her gaze cast down, almost not wanting to startle him and halt anything else he gets off his chest.

She leaves off the empty platitudes people often weave in when they're attempting to be supportive. The 'it's not your fault's and even worse, the 'it's going to be alright's. Yennefer already knows how much Geralt is beating himself up and she has no intention of being disingenuous. Instead, she relies on a more honest form of communication between them, reaching out to gently touch his jaw -- her expression serious. ]

He has a very caring heart. [ Untarnished and rare. Especially for their world. She doesn't say it, but she silently battles with a twisted sense of gratitude. Not sure Jaskier would have been able to keep Yen from leaving if Geralt had been taken. And honestly, not sure Jaskier would have been able to keep Geralt in the house if it had been her. In terms of scenarios, this is probably the best option if one of them had to be taken. ]

And he's stronger than we both, or at least stronger than I often give him credit for. [ Violet eyes leave his face as she begins to rise, planning to begin rinsing out his hair unless he needs her to sit a bit longer. ]

[ It's good she does; Geralt's not sure he can take it, hearing platitudes. He turns to look at her instead as her fingers brush his jaw. Her gaze is soft and on anyone else, he would hate it. It would feel like pity. But he knows Yennefer. She doesn't do pity. Not when it comes to him.

He brushes a thumb over her cheek. For a moment, he lets her presence steady him. He does his best to keep his own emotions from overwhelming the ties between them—though whether he succeeds is another matter.

When she draws away, he lets her. The salve in the water has eased the rawness of the burns, no longer aching so sharply. ]

I know. [ That much is true. It's not anyone who can spend the better part of their years keeping up with a Witcher. ] But some things are beyond strength.

[ Picking up a small bowl from nearby, she grabs a neutral smelling soap - dipping both into the water. She carefully wets Geralt's head before putting down the bowl and lathering the soap -- setting it down nearby should he want to grab it. With more care than she'd admit out loud, she begins washing the blood out of his hair. She's careful to not get his ears wet, taking a bit of time to examine him a little closer. ]

Yes, but most is not. Certainly not when it comes to torture or experimentation. There's a chance he's not alone -- that they'll keep him with other Mirrorbound they've grabbed. And as long as we can feed him strength through the bond, he'll make it through.

[ He has to. Her hands still on his shoulders, tensing slightly before it leaves her and she returns to the calm she was attempting to give off. ] I would never wish this lesson on him, but perhaps he'll also learn that pain reminds him he still draws breath.

[ Yennefer is just about the only one he'd allow to take care of him: a quiet moment that's meant to be private between the two of them. And that they'll likely never speak of out loud.

It's a quiet that doesn't last long. The more she speaks, the colder his blood runs. It's where they differ, maybe, because Geralt has never seen pain as a lesson. It simply is, a thing that happens, one that you either live through or you don't. The only thing he's ever learned from it is that if you're lucky enough to survive, you get to live with the knowledge that something inside you has irrevocably changed against your will.

By the time she finishes, her calm does little to ease the tension in his shoulders. He pulls abruptly away from her hands. It's not fair to push his anger onto her. Deep down, he knows she doesn't even realize the implications—

It's not as if he's ever talked about it, his time in the Trials. But his nerves are frayed, and a long buried bitterness overwhelms him suddenly. ]

If only we all had your wisdom for comfort while we bleed for science.

[ She'd channeled her pain on the floor as she fought to stay conscious through her transformation, the years and years of torment and beatings and any other cruelties foisted upon her culminating into feeling every part of her body shift and break and reform. An experience she never would have gone through if Tissaia hadn't saved her when she'd tried to kill herself. Just as she'd heard rumors of the Trials, she's sure there were rumors of what a Sorceress undertook to obtain her beauty. That they were offered the luxury of sedation for the pain.

Her mind floods back to writhing on the floor, the echo of her screams filling the chamber. Her body being ripped apart for what felt like an eternity. She laughs, but the sound is hollow as she reaches for a towel. Drying off her hands, she doesn't give herself enough time to think through her own next steps. Something he was very good at drawing out of her. He's raw and she's an easy target, she knew that going in -- especially when he lets the 'we' slip. But he'd struck something, a very very old wound. ]

There are far crueler fates than bleeding for science. There's no emotion in science. The cruelty is methodical and result-driven. There's an end to it, a call for an outcome. He should be so lucky to only bleed for science. [ She sucks in a breath, not wanting to share anything else that might give him further ammunition. She'd already said too much. Instinctually, her hand touches one of the scars on her wrist -- a scar he'd commented on in their first meeting. As quick as her hand is on her arm, it drops as she casts. There's a shimmer to the window as she turns, a barrier snapping into place to keep him from running as she calls over her shoulder. ]

Do with the bath as you see fit. I'll fetch the bandages for whenever you're out.

[ Now is not a time he cares to hear lectures on what is more or less cruel. Not even from Yennefer. Or perhaps not especially from Yennefer, somehow her words always far harder for him to ignore than anyone else's. His gaze flicks to the movement of her hand.

Then the windows shimmer with magic, drawing his attention away. His eyes narrow. He knows exactly what she's done. ]

Yen—

[ Shit. Of course she's gone. He huffs an exasperated breath. It's like her, isn't it. He hauls himself out of the bath, roughly drying himself off. It's not exactly appreciated, being held in his own damn home, even if he knows she right. There's nothing he can do by running in there except give them another specimen to hold.

There's some time before he goes to find Yennefer again, but he does go to find her. They're both...affected. By all of this. If she needs to tell herself there's strength to be gained in the end for Jaskier, he can understand. And though it's tempting to withdraw, the tangible link between them reminds him there's no point in pretending he's alone.

When he finds her, he sits down beside her. ] I'd hardly fit through those windows, anyway.

[ There was something so exclusive when it comes to trauma, this mentality that somehow what one person has gone through can’t compare to someone else’s pain. Geralt looking down on her and discounting her own life experiences are partially her own fault. She didn’t open up about her life because she didn’t care about everyone else’s thoughts about her. It was easier to be perceived as shallow and speaking from a place of presumption rather than her past.

But somehow, Geralt was flipping that idea on its head and it made her want to scream. Added with the complication that she couldn’t mask her reactionary emotions through the bond, not yet. Instead, she embraces the confirmation of swallowing down her vulnerabilities and going back to that cold and shallow exterior that had protected her for so long. Focus on being as neutral as she can for Jaskier, not wanting to add further stress through the bond for him. Focus on a plan and just deal with it all after they got him back. She can’t be mad at Geralt for his reaction, his bond with Jaskier far deeper than her own. This was a moment where she could be an outsider to their foundation and just… exist in the same sphere looking in as he works through his own guilt and anger.

There’s a bottle of gin on the table with some glasses, the fire roaring as she lays out bandages -- beginning to coat them with another healing salve to help accelerate the process. She’d never admit it out loud, but she’d slowly been building a collection of more and more salves and brews until she could make her own. Not a current priority over other magics. She doesn’t look up as he walks in, the couch dipping a bit as he joins her. ]

Better to rule out the temptation to try entirely. [ Because the key word there was ‘hardly’. Geralt was the type that would push his body through just about anything if there was a chance it might work. ] Give me one of your arms.

[ A quiet snort escapes him. It's difficult to parse how he feels, a simmering fury with no direction. Rare, for him. He's not often heated and it makes him unsteady, trying to wrestle it back under control.

Temptation is putting it lightly. He's willing to test the limits of her magic, if it comes down to it. She can't keep him here, or at least she can try -- though for now, he's let it go. Her comments have turned old wounds raw. He's not ready to say something he regrets yet, arguing about a strategy he knows will only make things worse. They have the invitation. It's their best lead.

If he'd been calmer, he might have dug deeper into why she said what she had. But right now, there's too much on his mind to delicately pull those strings apart. He's still prodding at the bond, waiting for when Jaskier will finally wake -- when something will happen.

Instead, he offers his arm. The redness has subsided a little. At least he knows better than to interfere with her work, letting her take over with bandaging it. ]

[ He's welcome to try. She's not above teleporting him around the house until his head is spinning so much he can't stand up straight or hitting him with one of Jaskier's contraptions to knock him out. Because she knows she can't hold a barrier forever with him pounding against it, but she had other options. Now paired with a large estate.

Strange how the idea that just talking to him isn't her first thought. He was stubborn, doubly so it seems when it's a suggestion from her that contradicts his own desires.

When he doesn't speak, she doesn't try to fill the silence. If it's uncomfortable, so be it. Talking was far more dangerous than anything else he could possibly throw at her. So, she begins draping the bandages on the chain marks, slowly working and taking her time. Popping the top off the gin, she takes a drink straight from the bottle, offering it to him as she rises to move to his other side ton continue wrapping him up. It's a good way to keep her hands and mind busy, to resist the temptation to be the first to speak. ]

[ If there's one thing Geralt has excelled at, it's sitting in silence, uncomfortable or not. He lets it build and build, only the sound of liquid sloshing in the bottle. He tips the gin back—for a few seconds longer than he should—and offers it in return: possibly the closest thing to a peace offering between them right now.

Once the last bandage has been tucked, the only thing he says is a thank you that comes flatly even for him.

Deep down, he's not angry with her. But it's easier to be angry than to admit that he wants—that he needs—anything from her. That he already misses the gentle calm of her fingers in his hair. And it's easier to let her be angry with him, too. At least that, he knows well how to handle.

He gets to his feet, ignoring the ache that's begun to build from the usual bruises that will fade soon enough. There's more liquor downstairs and since he can't fucking go outside, that's where he's headed: to gather another bottle of gin to his room, a space he hasn't often spent the night in since he's moved in.

Only a sliver of the two moons remain in the sky. Geralt parks himself on the floor by the bed. He means to try to settle his mind, but for once his attempts are met with frustration and he ends up cracking open the gin instead. Fuck it. Not like he's going anywhere soon where he needs to be sober. ]

[ A quiet simmering is much easier than coming to any sort of verbal blows again. At least not yet. She doesn't respond to the thank you, not having done much considering she hadn't actually used any magic to heal him on purpose. Not yet. Not until they knew for sure what was happening with Jaskier.

She lets him roam, moving up to her own room to do a form of meditation that's more for maintaining the barriers in various rooms as he stalks around the house. Once he's settled in his own room, after walking past a few times and finding him either attempting to meditate or drinking, she finally lets him be. She doesn't allow her thoughts to linger on how accustomed she'd grown to sharing a bed with him. No. She stays focused, light barriers acting as more of a warning than anything while everything is quiet. Conserving her energy for the 'what if's coursing through her mind.

Yennefer isn't sure how much time has passed, at least a few hours when she gets up to check on Geralt again. She can feel his frustration and the beginnings of the numbness that often came with a second bottle of gin. She wanted to at least get him into bed to rest when there's a sharp jolt through the bond. That sudden panic and fear that has to be coming from Jaskier, cursing under her breath. She'd hoped he'd at least remain unconscious for at least the full night -- reduce the amount of time he could be exposed to anything.

She holds out a hand, locking a barrier entirely around his room in place as she catches her breath leaning against her bed. Keeping him in, even through the doorway. Her first instinct to get to Geralt, her own fears of him breaking through her barriers... Of losing him only amplified by Jaskier's panic. Part of her wonders if she'd made a mistake not going with him to rescue the third in their bond, but she knows all three of them being captured or even just Geralt getting captured cannot happen.

Standing in the doorframe, she stays outside the barrier for a moment, taking in his reaction before she risks entering the room. She knows he'd never hurt her intentionally, but she's also keenly aware that knocking her out would drop the barrier. ]

[ For a couple hours, he manages to take the edge off. He sharpens his sword and distinctly does not acknowledge Yennefer lurking outside the door every so often. It's simpler to ignore it than to face how worried she is about him. He can feel it and he hates that she is.

He's fine. The last thing he wants is someone worrying over him. Nothing good has ever come of it. Jaskier had been worried about him, too, and now he's locked away somewhere.

Thought of sleep does cross his mind. He can try, at least. Running on fumes won't help free Jaskier. He's putting a cork in the bottle of gin to do just that when the fear pierces his chest. It's sharp, startling; the bottle slips from his hand, shattering.

He's already on his feet to look for Yennefer, to see if she's felt the same—except she's there, and it takes a split second for him to realize she's sealed the doorway, too, magic humming. Did she—? ]

Yennefer. [ There's more than a warning in his voice. It's not even that his first thought had been to run out the door, but the immediate sense of being trapped while Jaskier's panic curls around his heart triggers something primal inside him.

With one half of his bond suffering, the wolf inches closer to the surface. His eyes glow, claws growing thicker. They scrape against the barrier as he slams his hand against it. ] I will break this down.

[ Fuck.

She steps forward, grabbing his hands as he bangs on the barrier -- using a little magical boost to push him back as it reseals behind him. Pushing his hands down, she grabs his face and forces him to meet her gaze. ]

You will do no such thing because breaking through that barrier means cutting me down. That's the only way you're getting out of this fucking house right now.

[ Any anger she had about what transpired between them is gone, focused solely on keeping Geralt in his current form and in the house. She was too tired to deal with containing a godsdamned wolf right now. The tone that had accompanied her name was something she'd deal with later. Well, he could prioritize Jaskier all he wanted right now, but she was going to be the voice of reason once again. ]

Geralt, if you go out there, go after him... I might as well go with you. Because I cannot be left alone to deal with both of you facing whatever it is the cult has in store.

[ She doesn't say it, but it's simmering beneath the surface -- that she can't lose him. Not tonight. Her own fear leaks through the mask she'd so poorly slipped into place. Her fear and her love. Unspoken, but present. That single commitment that drives her -- reminds her how much she can't also lose him tonight. However short term it may be. ]

[ The last thing he expects is for her to come closer, though the truth is he's not thinking much at all. He hasn't felt this overwhelming instinct since the first few nights if the full moon, when he'd gone without any bond to tether him.

Fortunate, maybe, that he and Yennefer had bonded, as well. It's hard to say what might have happened if only Jaskier's tentative link was there to keep him centered. But she's here, too, and her touch settles him more than anything. Her forced calm hasn't helped much; this is different. Warmer. They've never said it out loud and he's always...known, in some ways. How she feels. Or he's hoped he's known, anyway. It's still different to sense her love so clearly.

He exhales, an unsteady breath. Shit. ] I'm not leaving you.

[ It's a promise he's made to her before. And he doesn't want to spend the next few days fighting her, either. Neither of them need this. But that lingering panic is still there, spiking, spilling into his every heartbeat. Ironic, that the bond which once helped calm him is now threatening to do the opposite.

He doesn't trust himself. He's not sure she should, either. His grip on the wolf is delicate on his best days and much of what he normally relies on to manage it, he can't right now. ] I don't know what will happen when it gets worse.

[ If they weren’t bonded, she wouldn’t have even bothered trying to keep him in the house after a certain point. Not worth the fight and, no matter how much she might care for him, without the bond? Her argument never would have succeeded. She wouldn't have been able to compete with what she was feeling as well from Jaskier.

There's no backpedaling or denying what she feels when their emotions are so raw right now.

When he doesn't push through, reiterates that promise again, she takes a few more steps forward. Placing her hand on his chest, she sighs and drops the shields. An extension of trust -- trying to get her own heart under control. ]

We'll figure it out, Geralt. And we'll find him when we infiltrate the party. We'll get him back.

( OPEN ) february catch-all

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)