gynvael | abraxas:: INBOX

For fuck's sake --

[It's not directed at Geralt, exactly, simply a curse that slips out as he shakes his head, a hand ruffling already ruffled hair. He'd been so pissed at Geralt that he already feels rather empty without it. He can be pissed that Geralt did his Geralt thing and had someone goad themselves into fighting him, but if Nadine was there --

Then Jaskier knows what he was doing. And keeping her safe is worth more than bribe money. (Even if it was expensive.)]

She didn't mention. [The words are an exhalation. If he can trust anything, he can trust that Geralt will keep her safe. Not even for him; but for her. Because she is important.] Was this in the city? I haven't heard of anything happening in Cadens. If Marlo is letting such things happen under her nose and punishing the one who took care of the issue, then she is certainly barking up the wrong tree --

[ Geralt hums. ] Wasn't worth mentioning.

[ Aside from how it happened, at the time, it'd been little more than yet more robbers who chose their end. And though Geralt can acknowledge that Nadine had...pushed him, he also doesn't regret their deaths. He'd done it to protect her. That's all there is to it. ]

Not far outside. [ His gaze slides towards Jaskier. Mm. A beat passes. He understands what Jaskier is driving at. ] Leave it. It's over.

[ Between restless city guards to the Free Cities sending a message, the reasons could be anything as to why he's been targeted now. Doesn't think it's worth poking at. For all that Geralt would prefer otherwise, he's aware he's drawn his share of attention; he isn't interested in attracting more. ]

How much did they demand of you?

[Jaskier smacks his chest for that.] It is to me! The both of you, I swear.

[He takes his place back to Geralt's side again, noting that he does, of course, look like shit, and smells like it as well. Er. Not specifically like shit, but certainly a general aroma of a cell and all its inhabitants. At this point, Jaskier misses the scent of horse instead.

Jaskier meets his gaze, staring back. It pings him.]

You're hiding something from me. And not because you're being lazy with details, as usual. [The huff he gives is sharp. It's not that he is not willing to push Geralt's buttons to find out what, exactly, happened, but the reason Nadine has not said it, either...

He's not sure what it means. And the scenarios he comes up with are all manner of confusing and unrealistic.

Jaskier knows Geralt is simply trying to move away from the subject. He sighs.] Enough that I do mean it when I say you'll be working the stand to repay me. And yes, there is a pretty apron with your name on it. I will hear no complaints.

[ His eyes linger on Jaskier. Then he looks back ahead. Places one foot in front of the other, stepping around a smashed crate no one's cleaned up.

He isn't hiding it. He's simply not saying. ]

It is not for me to tell.

[ Nadine may, if she decides to. If Jaskier asks. He knows she feels worse about it than he does, and in a sense, he understands. Were their positions reversed, he'd be the same.

A soft huff. ] You know I've my own coin.

[ He does earn his share, thank you. Though he gathers this is not the point. Jaskier is not seeking repayment for the gold. He's seeking repayment for the act of coming to Cadens and Geralt missing the apparently vital tour of the park.

Which. Yeah. He'll come visit. Once he's fucking washed up. Even for him, the dried blood and grime is beginning to bother.

That's where he veers towards—home and a waiting bath. ]

[It's an annoying answer because it's the only one he'll respect. If this situation is more about Nadine than Geralt, than -- well, let's say he respects Nadine's need for secrecy far more than he does the Witcher's.

Jaskier hits him again.]

It's not about your coin! It's about humiliating you. This apron is very special, and expensive, and it has custom embroidery. And the least thing you can do to apologize is wear it, so I can languish in the sight for the rest of my days. It will be adequate recompense for missing our meeting -- and yes, I do expect you to eventually come look at my fucking trees, too. But not until you've washed the blood off.

[ —Wait. Embroidery. He'd presumed Jaskier did not mean it literally when he said the apron had his name on it. In retrospect, Geralt should've known better than such naïvety.

What. Jaskier's had it made? This whole time?

His brows lift. The look he casts Jaskier is layered with several shades of exasperation. ]

I'm starting to think you orchestrated my arrest, [ he pushes open the door to their home, ] to coerce me into a fucking apron.

[ He isn't serious. Wouldn't put it past the bard to scheme similar, though—but frankly, Jaskier knows Geralt well, and would've just handed it to Rinwell or Ciri to make him put it on. ]

Edited 2023-02-06 07:56 (UTC)

Oh, don't give me that look. [Jaskier hasn't even glanced over to see it, because he already knows every one of those layers. Intimately. They will not stop him from this reign of terror.]

You know, that's a rather good idea. I wish I had thought of the idea of hiring brigands to come attempt to kill my beloved because the only way I've ever gotten off in my life is the thought of finally being able to make you look like a complete arsehole, as if you haven't done that yourself, for years, without the aid of anyone!

[Jaskier slams the door behind them as punctuation. The very nerve of that sort of joke in the first place.] But I will admit, it's a rather amusing consolation prize at the end of it. And Nadine will enjoy it, too.

Edited 2023-02-06 08:13 (UTC)

[ Uh-huh. Geralt walks around the waddling gryphon that greets them. He eyes the house, and sniffs, just to be sure no one's been in it who should not. The last thing he wants is city guards going through their shit.

But the only thing he can smell are the plants, overripe apples, and. Is that—?

No matter.

He pulls off his shirt, unbuttons his trousers as he makes his way into the bathroom. ]

Only you, [ He turns the knob on the tub one way, then the other. Than the other again. The fuck—oh. There. Should get this fixed. ] would demand consolation over another's mishap. What would you ask for your own stubbed toe?

[Jaskier will not relent. Especially in his own house.] And only you would sit in a jail for a day without letting his friend know about it! Or ask for help! And for gods's sake, would you take your boots off first --

[Jaskier grumbles as he plucks up the fallen, dirtied shirt and balls it up, considering throwing it at Geralt's head along with his stupid, smelly trousers. Mog makes a chirp and distracts him, leading to the clothes balled up on the floor. Which Mog begins prodding at with a paw, to Jaskier's disappointment.

What he does eventually throw at him is a bar of soap.] Don't turn this around on me. You're the one who was being ridiculous. Might I add, at any time, you could have sent a message directly into my mind? In the middle of any of it?

[And almost as if Jaskier is not pissed at him, he also gets the Witcher a washing cloth and a towel for after. And he steals a look at Geralt's ass. Yes, he keeps his house tidy, thank you.] You weren't hurt, were you?

[ Two days, but Geralt decides not to mention that. He catches the soap aimed at his head. Glances only briefly over his shoulder. He grunts. ]

Meant to. [ He's reluctant to admit he still forgets he's missed quickly now. Within a matter of days or less. That didn't used to be the case, when he travelled for miles and weeks alone for decades, when they did not have easy forms of communication. It is not that he dislikes his absence being noticed. It's just. Easier. To manage things on his own.

Besides. A few days sitting in a cell is hardly a cause for emergency.

Still, his expression softens at that question. ] No. [ He sinks into the water, exhaling. An audible click comes from his knee. ] They only hassled me for information.

[ Nothing more. As long as they are no longer searching for the unidentified woman, Geralt will consider it a win. ]

But you didn't! So I don't even believe you meant to.

[Yes, Jaskier could give him some privacy, but for the record, they've known each other so long that any semblance of privacy provided solely for nudity is nonexistent. Even before they slid into bed together, Jaskier knew the story of nearly every scar across the Witcher's body.]

I know you think this is nothing important, but there's no reason you should sit in a bloody cell when I can get you out of it. [Jaskier, without pause, kicks over a stool next to the tub and takes his seat. No, he's not leaving yet. And Melitele herself is aware Geralt is shite at cleaning that spot right in the center of his back. His bulging biceps get in the way.] Do you really think I work nearly every second of my life for this sort of notoriety for nothing?

[It's less angry now, and more resigned. He sighs, rubbing his face, elbows propped up on his knees. At least the soap is beginning to overtake the smell of. Well. Geralt.] You are utterly aggravating.

[ Geralt scrubs roughly at the blood staining his hands, then the ends of his hair, with the same bar of soap. He is aware this drives Jaskier fucking mad, but he can't give a shit. It's soap. It's all the same to him. ]

Jaskier. [ He makes a vague noise—a hint of impatience laced through. He understands Jaskier was. Concerned. But at the same time, it shouldn't matter so damn much. ] It was a handful of days. I wasn't set to be hanged.

[ Rest assured, he'd have actually called in the bard for that. Though perhaps it says something Geralt considers nothing short of an execution dire enough circumstances to ask for help.

He still maintains a few days is a drop in the bucket. Last time he was behind bars was in Thorne, bleeding out; this was almost pleasant. ]

I know. [He already snaps it at the sound of his name. And how once that so did dig into his nerves, Geralt saying his name like one would the name of a misbehaving child. An annoyance. A distraction.

A terrible travel companion.

He is not the same bard he was as a young man. Gods, he has been through so fucking much. He has done so much. And yet these tiny things eat away at him like ants, munching at anything they can get their jaws wrapped around.] It's not about that. Geralt, have you ever considered I don't wish for you to suffer? Even an idle annoyance -- as you would think of a prison sentence?

[Jaskier drags his fingertips across the water, swirling it, watching him.] I am thankful you protected Nadine. And I'm sure she is, as well. But I wish you would consider yourself worth saving sometimes, too. Even if your full sentence is smelling like someone else's body odor after a day of meditation.

Edited 2023-02-07 06:53 (UTC)

[ His gaze snaps up. Geralt pauses, then lowers his hand with the bar of soap. Is that what Jaskier believes? ]

I'm not a martyr, Jaskier. [ Needless suffering is the last thing he seeks. That isn't what went through his mind. The truth is, nothing went through his mind. Maybe that's what he can't explain: that this, the entire incident, registered as barely a whisper.

Jaskier sees it differently. He gets that. He isn't arguing. It had simply never occurred to him there was anything to save him from. Beyond a brief annoyance. But he does understand enough to realize Jaskier does not want to hear that Geralt finds sitting in a cell for a bit the equivalent of sleeping outside in a storm because the village inn is full. Or kicked him out. It happens. Seems a stretch to deem it suffering.

He sighs. Returns to washing his back, fingers finding the long scar carved up his spine. ] If I were truly in a bad way, I'd have come to you. I promise.

[ He does mean that. This, it isn't about Jaskier. He knows his friend will be there if he needs him. (Possibly, he continues to miss what Jaskier is driving at, but he's. Trying. He can't begrudge Jaskier for worrying over him, even if he believes it unwarranted here.) ]

[Jaskier flicks water into Geralt's face.] Aren't you?

[He decides that listing all the times where Geralt has willingly thrown himself between claws and teeth and someone else is not worth it. That he embraced being a Witcher when he did not have to. It is all the things they have never fully understood between each other, brought to a head because of... a fucking prison sentence that doesn't matter. But it does. Because they live here now. Things are more different than they ever have before. Things like this matter because it is beyond merely getting on a horse after it's over and moving on somewhere else.] I'm not being overly dramatic. This simply matters to me.

[It may be a stalemate. Jaskier was also trapped in a cell, awaiting his sentence, and it had been fucking awful. Sitting there, unable to do the things only he could do, wondering if Yennefer had popped herself into another plane of existence and left him behind (a lingering bit of irony he does not miss now.)

He does miss Gordon, though.

Jaskier smacks his hand, snatching the soap out of it, moving his stool so he can scrub the fool's back. He always misses that spot.] You had better mean that. But perhaps think of my aid when you're also in a middling way, you fool.

[ No. He isn't. He's paid for the job he does. Except the times he isn't and he does it, anyhow. But it is easier to say that's all it is. Coin in exchange for ridding the world of beasts that can be killed.

As for the monsters that can't be slain, lurking in the hearts of men and their ambitions, well. Mm. That's not a Witcher's profession. Nothing to do with him. (Until it is.)

He relinquishes the soap to Jaskier's demand. He will never know why Jaskier is so insistent over this shit. All of it. The little things that Geralt is...that he doesn't think is worth considering. Not for him. It's not about what he deserves. More just. He hasn't a need for it. He's been raised to understand that he hasn't a need for it, these small wants and comforts.

Supposes even he can't reject a warm bath and a hot meal, though. Better than the slop on that prison. ]

All right. [ He loosens the cord in his hair. Yeah. All right. It matters to Jaskier. He can accept that.

There's no heat behind it when he adds, ] You're fucking demanding.

I know. [Jaskier sounds nearly amused at the revelation, scrubbing the dirt and smell of prison from his friend's back. Funny how this is far from the first time he's ever done so, and oftentimes it was worse than this, with blood or some open wound he has to weave around.

Demanding.

How funny -- and pathetic, he truthfully thinks -- to find a friend demanding for wanting better for him.

It's so very Geralt. So rather sad. At the very least, Jaskier reassures himself, though the memories are not gone, at least that horrid cellar has been destroyed. Remade. He hopes it does not exist again. There are steps forward. Perhaps not total improvements, but they aresteps.] Now, for my next demand I say you quit your bitching, and I'll go heat up some stew for you. With ale. Perhaps the ale will make you less argumentative.

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shall we finish up here or next tag?