[ Back on their sphere. In his time. Before they'd ever met...? Hm.
When he doesn't share details, she doesn't ask, letting him change the subject and listening while she begins to heat up a bit of the milk. Best to keep the powder and sugar melting into it smoothly, she's found. Doing it little by little, stirring frequently. Jaskier should know by now, he's the one who bakes; Ciri can cook just fine for practicality's sake, enough to feed herself and them when needed (though Hector and Rinwell have been taking care of it recently), but Jaskier's rarely seen her tending something over the stove like this.
At least it means she's busy and doesn't have to look at him directly while she's still blushing. ]
The... what? [ She barks a laugh, glancing over her shoulder incredulously. ]
The conflagration? Are you going to set the heroine on fire?
[ This sounds like a prospect that greatly amuses her, at least. ]
[It's because he loves Ciri deeply that he doesn't immediately launch into an insulted tirade at her laugh. The title was both enigmatic and meant to entice those of the fairer sex with the tale of a warrior woman. And Ciri was laughing at it! At the song for her.
He turns away with a flush that settles high on his cheeks, a flash in his eyes. A momentary anger that cools itself as quickly as it comes. He knows she means nothing by it. Still.]
It's a metaphor. I took elements of the legends of the phoenix to symbolize the rebirth of someone reduced to a mere royal title to a strong, capable woman.
[(It was only one laugh, but that's more than enough.) Yes, Jaskier still has an ego akin to an overripe peach; easily bruised, gushing sweet indignation.] But now I'm not so sure I'd like to hear you laugh at the lyrics if the title sends you into such fits.
Edited (jaskier's a little bitch) 2021-12-29 09:37 (UTC)
[ When will Jaskier learn that his outbursts are far more motivation to tease him than to stop? He's getting so worked up over it with such obviously overblown annoyance, Ciri can just imagine his expression without even looking at him most of the time. The way he places extra emphasis on his words and punctuates his complaints with a snapped-off bite, the bard's as prickly as the cactus he made a certain vampire. ]
I know what a metaphor is. And I do like that bit about the phoenix. Maybe put that in the title?
[ She seems to be ignoring the fact he's throwing a tantrum behind her, though. This part is fussy. She doesn't want the milk to boil. ]
Something about the sword that rose from the ashes... or some such. A title should be easy to remember. To get people shouting for it when you perform. Isn't that right?
[He mumbles to himself about well, I sure as fuck know who didn't teach you that, allowing himself the moment to, ah. Get over it. Though honestly, this is close to the criticism that boy Mal had given him, and look how that had gone over.
Ciri, however, is a trusted... er, whatever she is to him. A friend, at the very least, so he will be wise and accept it.
It's fair enough. The song is about her.]
Very well. [He says, through slightly clenched teeth. He sniffs. At first, it's about the swelling storm in his chest, but then he realizes there's something in the air. Fire, of course, and heat, but a sweeter smell, too. His fingers move to his hat, stroking the peacock feather sticking out of it.]
Contrary to popular belief, not every poem I write is so I can hear stamping feet and empty brains echo it back to me. However, I do enjoy the idea that your song will be one that is celebrated. [He sniffs again. Milk? What on earth is she doing, anyway?] As you should be. [Look, he's turning on the charm again. After a moment, he stands to go to his drawer, pulling out his songwriting journal (with Alina's note still tucked in the back.) He flickers through the pages, returning to his seat.] Rekindled Blade? But it lacks reference to the heroine. It's not about swords. Though I know you're very much all about swords. [The quill scratches over his paper and he hmms.] From Ashes, Comes Steel And Kohl?
[She does, after all, love her lined eyes.] No. Terrible. What -- what are you doing, anyway? Don't tell me you've been inflicted with my little bread-making... ah. Bug.
Oh, don't be cross, Jaskier. I never said I didn't like it. [ Ciri's laugh is gentler this time, her tone soothing. Coaxing this ridiculous man out of his unnecessary dramatics like she's done this before. She still doesn't look over, concentrating on her stirring until the milk is the right color and consistency. ]
Isn't the metaphor that I am the sword? [ See. She knows what a metaphor is! Ciri licks the spoon, tentatively testing it-- Then pulls a face and adds more sugar. ]
I told you. I'm making something. [ Hmm. The next lick is better. Ciri waves him over. ]
Nadine showed me. It's called chocolate. This one is hot.
Hot chocolate.
I'm sure you've never tasted anything like it. Bring the mugs closer. I think it's ready.
All right, he is a bit.] It's -- there's a process here that I'm trying to relate --
[He tilts his head at her expression, unable to tamp his curiousity down.] Hot chocolate? It smells like milk. [Ah, it must have been something she made in the Horizon. With the mention of Nadine, any potential cross-ness evaporates. Their last encounter, after all, was a warm one.
He grabs the mugs as ordered, peering over her shoulder. Closer, he can smell more of it. And it is... sweet. Like a cake. It's a good night for something hot, with the cold creeping in.] If it's this good, surely it will help stoke my creative fires. And you found this in the markets, really?
[He wouldn't know what to look for. He's come to terms that plenty of the things in the Horizon are not things they can find here, in this world. Reaching over her shoulder, he pokes a finger in -- and hisses, jerking it out.] Ow. Oh. Ooh, you weren't kidding about the hot part.
[Still, he sucks it off his finger. That. That. Now that is intriguing.]
[He shakes his hand in the air with a soft ooo. It's. Fine.
Jaskier blinks at her at her exclamation, his finger only faintly warm now. What, is she... worried?] Ciri, I've been playing the lute for two decades. Do you really think I have any feeling in these fingers anymore? Gods, you could put a flame straight to one and I doubt I'd hardly feel a thing.
[It would be funny to stick his finger in the fire to display, but for the sake of, er, keeping his fingerprints, he will refrain. Besides, it's -- it's rather new, that showing of concern. He sort of likes it. Big tough monster hunter with a giant scar down her face, yet she worries over a small kitchen fire near... the grown adult bard.]
Whatever you've done with it, it tastes absolutely intriguing. Come on, then! Here's the mugs.
[ Ciri stares at him a beat, then just... sighs. A very Geralt-like sigh, somehow.
She ignores him, and reaches for the mugs instead, ladling out some of the rich brown liquid into each and sliding one steaming cup back to Jaskier before turning off the flame, picking up her own mug, and bring it to the table so they can sit and enjoy it. ]
[And as Geralt-like as it is, Jaskier ignores it cheerfully. Look, his finger barely even hurts now, and he's eager for... for what he is realizing now is another gift. Not just the flowers, but this. That she asked around for.
Filled up, he takes the mug and wraps both hands around it to warm them. He pulls a chair out with a curl of his foot around the leg, then sits close by her.
He closes his eyes, inhaling it just under his nose like a wine. It smells nothing like one, but the scent is deep, sweet. It leaves his mouth watering even as new as it is.
He tastes. Taking a soft breath after to release a bit of the heat.
His smile is gentle.] It's marvelous, Ciri. Thank you.
[ Ciri sits beside him, cradling her own mug between her palms, peeking at Jaskier sidelong through the wisps of her bangs to catch his expression when he takes the first proper sip. ]
You like it. [ She sounds relieved, shoulders loosening, smile bright in her eyes. It doesn't need to be a question. The reaction is enough. ]
Good. I'm glad.
--oh! I have a honey cake too. If you're hungry.
[ Because hot chocolate and cake are definitely dinner. ]
[Others may be not so eager to throw the word out, but Jaskier is. It's warm enough one can feel it all the way down their throat, hitting their belly. It's not invasive, however. It's simply... comforting. The taste nearly as sweet as a sweet roll, but an entirely different flavor. It was incredibly hard to describe.
So he drinks more instead.
He brightens ever further.] And a honey cake! Gods, Ciri, I might mistake today for my nameday, the way you're spoiling me. Am I really worthy of all this?
[ Ciri is enjoying her drink too, taking little sips of the rich beverage. Nadine had advised her to try adding cinnamon too, but she'd wanted to show him the flavor she'd first tried. But there's still half a pot left. Maybe in a bit, she can mix it in and warm it back up--
Jaskier's effusive praise makes her cheeks feel hot. Maybe she's overdone it.
Ciri ducks her head, covering her embarrassment with the mug held over half her face, presumably to breathe in the sweet steam rising from the hot chocolate. ]
[As if Jaskier doesn't know the well-practiced moves of the easily flustered. That it is Ciri, who he has witnessed slaughter men effortlessly, who has portaled across sand and dunes, who has ridden horses like a demon -- it makes it all the better.
It's no longer a question why a man like Geralt could love a child so easily. Not because she is easy to get along with, or that she is completely comprehensible. Both things are false. It's... perhaps the answer truly lies in Ciri's sincerity in all things.
It is a quality that inspires men and women alike. A quality that has fools follow after a man's footsteps for a lifetime.]
I know. [He laughs quietly into his next sip.] I only wanted to hear you say it.
[ Quieting, Ciri buries her face in her cup too, taking small sips while it's still hot. She looks away, feeling-- it's stupid, but she feels a little nervous, almost. For what? There's no reason. Jaskier is enjoying her gift. They are enjoying each other's company, just as she'd hoped.
But she knows she hasn't... explained. And it's difficult to figure out how. ]
You... [ Ciri begins after a minute or so of silence, nudging her cup around for something to do with her hands while she searches for the words as if they might appear in her drink. She tries again. ]
You stayed. When I needed you. You gave me more than you give yourself credit for.
Of course you're worth it.
[ She doesn't mean this, precisely. Not only this. There's... so much more. ]
[Honestly, he's very satisfied with the comfortable quiet that falls between sips of the drink. It's delectable. Not only is it coating his mouth in this new, velvet texture, but his insides have gone warm. He's comforted by it, strangely.
When Ciri speaks again, he lowers the mug to the table, both hands lingering around it. The burn has left his finger by now. Honestly, he'd do it again just to see her reaction. ]
Meee...? [Oh no, she's doing that thing. Where the air stills, the world quiets, and he can only prepare himself for what's coming. After so many years with Geralt, he's very used to the feeling. Despite that, his heart tightens. She is not Geralt. And perhaps it is not something deeply meaningful that is coming.
Ah. Damn.]
Oh. That was not what I expected. [Oh, no. Why must this happen when he's already rather morose? With his magic fucking about, everything in him feels a bit off-kilter -- like how he is before coming down with a cold. Yet, right now, that cold doesn't touch him.]
Thank you, Ciri. [He meant it only to be a jest, yet she takes it so seriously. Jaskier reaches for one of Ciri's wandering hands, squeezing it. Of course he stayed. Where else would he have gone? Even if Geralt hadn't all but trusted him to take care of her. Funny enough, it makes him recall what Geralt had him swear, their first few weeks here. If he should return home, and Geralt did not, that he would find the girl. Find Ciri. His latest, and perhaps greatest, regret. Leaving her behind.
What a fucking mistake that Witcher made.] I want you to know that I will always stay. Despite whatever fuckery is coming our way. Or whether or not I'm particularly useful in the moment, which is debatable. I'll still be here for you, my dear. Someone must stick about and keep you all humble, after all.
[ Ciri lets him take her hand, giving his fingers a squeeze in return. ]
You're always someone I can trust. [ Here, and elsewhere. She says it without doubt or hesitation-- just a truth between them. But she looks into his eyes, keeping his hand in hers, leaning closer across the table with a faint wrinkle of worry between her brows. ]
You keep taking care of me. I wanted to give you something in return.
[ She's noticed. Lately, the way he's been, the faltering of his confidence, the hum of uncertainty and restlessness about him. The way he keeps saying that: that he's not useful, whatever the hell that means. That stupid song he'd been too clearly projecting something into, something that makes Ciri antsy and uncomfortable, worried for him. The Jaskier she knows is an overconfident fool, in the fondest, dearest of ways. Seeing him unsure of himself feels out of place, even if, at the same time, Ciri understands. With what had happened to Geralt, they're all a bit... off-kilter. ]
[He smiles, the squeeze enough to ease whatever spikes are still lodged in his heart.] You think so? Good care, I hope. And to recall my aunt once told me I could never be trusted around children, because I tended to find trouble for them when they couldn't find their own.
[Luckily, Ciri is very capable of finding her own trouble. Besides, it's quite easy to like her now that he's skipped all the awkward, bumbling teen years, but... he does wish he could know more of them. Of what this relationship could have grown from. Of course he could always ask her, but retold memories are so far from the real thing.
He finishes off his mug, mouth cloyingly sweet, but certainly considers a second either way. It doesn't hit the same as a fine liquor or a smooth wine, but there's plenty to appreciate in its taste --
He chokes on the last swallow, setting the mug down.] W-what? What makes you think anything is? [He looks at her, and she looks back, her green eyes unsettling bright. Keen. She's keen like Geralt, but unlike Geralt, she asks. Which is far more dangerous than anything being noticed at all.
Not that there's. Anything to notice.] You know, nevermind, I was thinking of something. [Jaskier moves on as if he's gone to master classes of spurring conversations onward, hopping over potholes in its path he wishes to avoid.] There's a bloody festival outside and we're in here. I don't agree with all their, er, quirks, so to speak, but I think what we need is something... nice. Like this drink. Warm, and comforting, with good company. What do you think? I bet we could drag Geralt out somewhere tomorrow night, once he's returned. There's not a chance he can say no to both of us.
[ Ciri lets him go, giving his hand a pat before she returns to her own drink. There is a beat of silence, hanging uncertain in the air, a moment where they both seem to know there's more unsaid, a hesitation unaddressed.
But Jaskier pushes forth and stamps it out before the feeling can grow. Ciri tucks the rest of her thoughts away for later. She does not know how to tell him. She isn't sure what to say. She doesn't know how to explain the way his words had pricked at her with hidden thorns when he'd said that, days ago.
Not everyone is destined to be a hero. Or a villain.
Or both.
Ciri envies the little raven in his nest. Jaskier wouldn't understand. And then, the conversation moves on, and the moment becomes the past, and she finds herself nodding and smiling and going along with Jaskier's grand new plans. ]
Not a chance. [ She agrees. ]
That sounds like fun. [ And she means it. ]
You want another cup? Nadine suggested adding cinnamon. We can try it.
[ It is enough to be here, sitting quietly, enjoying something together. Something she made. Something he likes.
It is enough that his smile draws out her own. He's good at that. It's worth more than he thinks. ]
Yes? Really? Then we must. I'll find something for us. I have an idea, actually. And if it it's a surprise, neither of you can turn me down.
[This is a first: despite his moving on, he feels a twinge. A twinge like guilt, which is far from something Jaskier frequently experiences. He sees how Ciri smiles back, how it's real, but --]
I'd love one. I'll make them this time. [He slides off his chair, grabbing both mugs. He only pauses by her for a moment, leaning down to kiss her cheek. An explanation. Or an apology. Or a thank you. It could be all of them. If anyone deserves to know, to ask him and get a real answer, it's Ciri. She... she notices him in a way that few do. In a way he does trust this time she holds ahead of him, where they were more than acquainted. Perhaps he could even be called family.
He returns to the pot of heating milk and chocolate, dusting it with a bit of cinnamon.
Jaskier is quiet. And then:] My magic has gone erratic. [He begins pouring the milk, now spiced, into the mugs, but doesn't turn to her yet. His shoulders tighten.] I'm sure it's nothing serious, and it isn't dangerous, but... it's put some things into perspective for me.
A surprise, hm? All right. I'll look forward to it. And I'll help drag Geralt along if he resists. It's been some time since the three of us have had a pleasant night out.
[ Neither of them mentions the Dimming, but Ciri is aware they both know. Something will be happening around the Singularity tomorrow night. Thorne and its magic. The Free Cities, Marlo's request for the summoned. Ciri is aware, and she wants to stay as far away from it as possible, even as the need to know keeps tugging uncomfortably at the back of her mind. (Yennefer will be there. It's a certain thing. She would not pass up the chance--)
Jaskier interrupts her spiraling thoughts with a kiss, and Ciri blinks, watching after him as he sweeps back into the kitchen. Her fingers touch her cheek. Her eyes follow his back, the muscles pulling taught across his shoulders. ]
What do you mean... 'gone erratic'?
[ She urges gently, when it seems he's decided to share what's on his mind, after all. Ciri won't hold the hesitation against him, focusing instead on what he says. And what he doesn't. ]
[She's right. It has been some time. Some time since they had not spent every waking moment figuring out a way to find the Witcher. To save him. Besides, this is perfect to ignore the world around them. To be far from this whole Dimming business.
Though to Jaskier, honestly, it's hardly about that.
He sighs. Now the topic has been broached, he... well, he actually would like to pursue it. Ciri, he trusts now, is someone who will actually listen. Who can offer more than silence or advice. She's quite perceptive, too; perhaps better than all of them.]
I don't blame you for not noticing. Plants die far too easily, after all. [He finally turns, lifting his mug to indicate the potted plants in the window. It could easily have been a lack of light, or a temperamental response to the cooler nights. The plants are dying, though. They have been, despite his efforts, though the rot always stars at the roots. When he walks by, they no longer shiver and reach for him.] No, nothing has happened. Not in particular.
[I simply have nightmares of waking up alone. To find blood spilled across the pillow, the floors. That I will be the one taken next. He returns to his seat and slides her newly filled mug across the table.] My writing has come back to me, and the muses sing once more. While that has improved, it... it feels like I'm going backwards. Like the magic is pulling away from me. Is it too strange to say I feel like it's dissatisfied with me? Far be it from me to personify any force I come into contact with, and yet. The bread molds, the plants die. And I can't get a good night of sleep.
[ She listens, following him with her eyes; her gaze flicks to the plants, thinking back on how they have looked in the past, how easily they grew, and how she's failed to notice them struggling recently. Or perhaps it's Jaskier she's failed to notice struggling, even if she could tell he seemed a bit off. They've both been, ever since Geralt--
But Geralt is fine now. (Mostly. Right?) And Jaskier is sleepless and melancholy, and keeps making comments about his own uselessness that are starting to get on her nerves.
Ciri reaches out to take the mug, lifting it to her face to inhale the steam now laced with the sharp warmth of the cinnamon. She takes a careful sip, just dipping her tongue against the liquid to check the temperature. ]
Jaskier...
[ Setting the cup back down, Ciri leans forward across the table on an elbow, meeting his gaze. Serious, but not unkind. ]
If you ask me, I think it's far more likely that your lack of rest and the burdens that you put upon yourself are more the culprit than your magic. I've told you before I am no sorceress, but I know a thing or two about the way chaos mixes poorly with unpleasant emotions.
[ Ciri reaches out across the table, resting her hand on Jaskier's arm (the scar beneath his sleeve). She gives his wrist a gentle squeeze. ]
[Already the way she says his name makes him wish he had said nothing of it. It's not as if he comes looking for pity, either, no matter what others might say. It really all comes down to how stupid it is, for him to feel sorry for himself, when what happened happened to Geralt, not to him. None of it was about him.
He doesn't meet her gaze, which says more than words will. At least he doesn't pull back from her touch. A warm hand has never been something he's shied away from, even one covered in callouses and scars.
He chokes a little, swallowing.]
Yes, well. I certainly did give myself these burdens, didn't I? They're not even mine to bear. [His lips twitch in an attempt to smile, to reassure her he'll be fine. He will. He always is. This is just a trifle. An annoyance. When he doesn't quite make it, he gives a nod instead.
It helps. It does. He's had the same fear that all of this, as much as it frustrates him, is his own fault. Which, honestly, makes it all the more frustrating.] Besides, you're far more sorceress than I am. I could never fit into all of those grandiose dresses with this chest.
She pulls back, fingers curling around her cup again, eyes falling to its contents. It feels like everything she says is the wrong fucking thing. Like she's just... messed this all up. What she'd wanted was to do something for Jaskier, to thank him for his kindness, and instead she's pushed him -- both of them -- into this uncomfortable place, and she doesn't know how to untwist it all.
Jaskier's joke doesn't land. It doesn't feel sincere, and she doesn't feel like laughing. ]
I'm sorry. I hope you're able to sleep better soon. The rest should help your magic.
[ He's right. The burdens that have been put upon him recently aren't his to bear. Maybe she's relied on him too much. Been callous, when she wasn't paying attention. She should have noticed sooner. ]
I can get some herbs for a calming tea when I'm at market tomorrow. I'll ask at the apothecary.
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
no subject
When he doesn't share details, she doesn't ask, letting him change the subject and listening while she begins to heat up a bit of the milk. Best to keep the powder and sugar melting into it smoothly, she's found. Doing it little by little, stirring frequently. Jaskier should know by now, he's the one who bakes; Ciri can cook just fine for practicality's sake, enough to feed herself and them when needed (though Hector and Rinwell have been taking care of it recently), but Jaskier's rarely seen her tending something over the stove like this.
At least it means she's busy and doesn't have to look at him directly while she's still blushing. ]
The... what? [ She barks a laugh, glancing over her shoulder incredulously. ]
The conflagration? Are you going to set the heroine on fire?
[ This sounds like a prospect that greatly amuses her, at least. ]
Please, I'd love to hear it!
no subject
He turns away with a flush that settles high on his cheeks, a flash in his eyes. A momentary anger that cools itself as quickly as it comes. He knows she means nothing by it. Still.]
It's a metaphor. I took elements of the legends of the phoenix to symbolize the rebirth of someone reduced to a mere royal title to a strong, capable woman.
[(It was only one laugh, but that's more than enough.) Yes, Jaskier still has an ego akin to an overripe peach; easily bruised, gushing sweet indignation.] But now I'm not so sure I'd like to hear you laugh at the lyrics if the title sends you into such fits.
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I know what a metaphor is. And I do like that bit about the phoenix. Maybe put that in the title?
[ She seems to be ignoring the fact he's throwing a tantrum behind her, though. This part is fussy. She doesn't want the milk to boil. ]
Something about the sword that rose from the ashes... or some such. A title should be easy to remember. To get people shouting for it when you perform. Isn't that right?
no subject
Ciri, however, is a trusted... er, whatever she is to him. A friend, at the very least, so he will be wise and accept it.
It's fair enough. The song is about her.]
Very well. [He says, through slightly clenched teeth. He sniffs. At first, it's about the swelling storm in his chest, but then he realizes there's something in the air. Fire, of course, and heat, but a sweeter smell, too. His fingers move to his hat, stroking the peacock feather sticking out of it.]
Contrary to popular belief, not every poem I write is so I can hear stamping feet and empty brains echo it back to me. However, I do enjoy the idea that your song will be one that is celebrated. [He sniffs again. Milk? What on earth is she doing, anyway?] As you should be. [Look, he's turning on the charm again. After a moment, he stands to go to his drawer, pulling out his songwriting journal (with Alina's note still tucked in the back.) He flickers through the pages, returning to his seat.] Rekindled Blade? But it lacks reference to the heroine. It's not about swords. Though I know you're very much all about swords. [The quill scratches over his paper and he hmms.] From Ashes, Comes Steel And Kohl?
[She does, after all, love her lined eyes.] No. Terrible. What -- what are you doing, anyway? Don't tell me you've been inflicted with my little bread-making... ah. Bug.
no subject
Isn't the metaphor that I am the sword? [ See. She knows what a metaphor is! Ciri licks the spoon, tentatively testing it-- Then pulls a face and adds more sugar. ]
I told you. I'm making something. [ Hmm. The next lick is better. Ciri waves him over. ]
Nadine showed me. It's called chocolate. This one is hot.
Hot chocolate.
I'm sure you've never tasted anything like it. Bring the mugs closer. I think it's ready.
no subject
All right, he is a bit.] It's -- there's a process here that I'm trying to relate --
[He tilts his head at her expression, unable to tamp his curiousity down.] Hot chocolate? It smells like milk. [Ah, it must have been something she made in the Horizon. With the mention of Nadine, any potential cross-ness evaporates. Their last encounter, after all, was a warm one.
He grabs the mugs as ordered, peering over her shoulder. Closer, he can smell more of it. And it is... sweet. Like a cake. It's a good night for something hot, with the cold creeping in.] If it's this good, surely it will help stoke my creative fires. And you found this in the markets, really?
[He wouldn't know what to look for. He's come to terms that plenty of the things in the Horizon are not things they can find here, in this world. Reaching over her shoulder, he pokes a finger in -- and hisses, jerking it out.] Ow. Oh. Ooh, you weren't kidding about the hot part.
[Still, he sucks it off his finger. That. That. Now that is intriguing.]
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Yes! I got lucky. Wasn't sure I'd find it here, but they had something similar. It did take quite a bit of asking around, but--
[ what. the fuck. ]
Jaskier?! It's been on the stove! I just turned the flame down!
There's a fire underneath the pot.
[ That's how cooking things works!! ]
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Jaskier blinks at her at her exclamation, his finger only faintly warm now. What, is she... worried?] Ciri, I've been playing the lute for two decades. Do you really think I have any feeling in these fingers anymore? Gods, you could put a flame straight to one and I doubt I'd hardly feel a thing.
[It would be funny to stick his finger in the fire to display, but for the sake of, er, keeping his fingerprints, he will refrain. Besides, it's -- it's rather new, that showing of concern. He sort of likes it. Big tough monster hunter with a giant scar down her face, yet she worries over a small kitchen fire near... the grown adult bard.]
Whatever you've done with it, it tastes absolutely intriguing. Come on, then! Here's the mugs.
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She ignores him, and reaches for the mugs instead, ladling out some of the rich brown liquid into each and sliding one steaming cup back to Jaskier before turning off the flame, picking up her own mug, and bring it to the table so they can sit and enjoy it. ]
What do you think?
no subject
Filled up, he takes the mug and wraps both hands around it to warm them. He pulls a chair out with a curl of his foot around the leg, then sits close by her.
He closes his eyes, inhaling it just under his nose like a wine. It smells nothing like one, but the scent is deep, sweet. It leaves his mouth watering even as new as it is.
He tastes. Taking a soft breath after to release a bit of the heat.
His smile is gentle.] It's marvelous, Ciri. Thank you.
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You like it. [ She sounds relieved, shoulders loosening, smile bright in her eyes. It doesn't need to be a question. The reaction is enough. ]
Good. I'm glad.
--oh! I have a honey cake too. If you're hungry.
[ Because hot chocolate and cake are definitely dinner. ]
no subject
[Others may be not so eager to throw the word out, but Jaskier is. It's warm enough one can feel it all the way down their throat, hitting their belly. It's not invasive, however. It's simply... comforting. The taste nearly as sweet as a sweet roll, but an entirely different flavor. It was incredibly hard to describe.
So he drinks more instead.
He brightens ever further.] And a honey cake! Gods, Ciri, I might mistake today for my nameday, the way you're spoiling me. Am I really worthy of all this?
[Rhetorical question. Obviously.]
no subject
Jaskier's effusive praise makes her cheeks feel hot. Maybe she's overdone it.
Ciri ducks her head, covering her embarrassment with the mug held over half her face, presumably to breathe in the sweet steam rising from the hot chocolate. ]
Oh, shut up, Jaskier. You know you are.
no subject
It's no longer a question why a man like Geralt could love a child so easily. Not because she is easy to get along with, or that she is completely comprehensible. Both things are false. It's... perhaps the answer truly lies in Ciri's sincerity in all things.
It is a quality that inspires men and women alike. A quality that has fools follow after a man's footsteps for a lifetime.]
I know. [He laughs quietly into his next sip.] I only wanted to hear you say it.
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But she knows she hasn't... explained. And it's difficult to figure out how. ]
You... [ Ciri begins after a minute or so of silence, nudging her cup around for something to do with her hands while she searches for the words as if they might appear in her drink. She tries again. ]
You stayed. When I needed you. You gave me more than you give yourself credit for.
Of course you're worth it.
[ She doesn't mean this, precisely. Not only this. There's... so much more. ]
You deserve to hear it said.
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When Ciri speaks again, he lowers the mug to the table, both hands lingering around it. The burn has left his finger by now. Honestly, he'd do it again just to see her reaction. ]
Meee...? [Oh no, she's doing that thing. Where the air stills, the world quiets, and he can only prepare himself for what's coming. After so many years with Geralt, he's very used to the feeling. Despite that, his heart tightens. She is not Geralt. And perhaps it is not something deeply meaningful that is coming.
Ah. Damn.]
Oh. That was not what I expected. [Oh, no. Why must this happen when he's already rather morose? With his magic fucking about, everything in him feels a bit off-kilter -- like how he is before coming down with a cold. Yet, right now, that cold doesn't touch him.]
Thank you, Ciri. [He meant it only to be a jest, yet she takes it so seriously. Jaskier reaches for one of Ciri's wandering hands, squeezing it. Of course he stayed. Where else would he have gone? Even if Geralt hadn't all but trusted him to take care of her. Funny enough, it makes him recall what Geralt had him swear, their first few weeks here. If he should return home, and Geralt did not, that he would find the girl. Find Ciri. His latest, and perhaps greatest, regret. Leaving her behind.
What a fucking mistake that Witcher made.] I want you to know that I will always stay. Despite whatever fuckery is coming our way. Or whether or not I'm particularly useful in the moment, which is debatable. I'll still be here for you, my dear. Someone must stick about and keep you all humble, after all.
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[ Ciri lets him take her hand, giving his fingers a squeeze in return. ]
You're always someone I can trust. [ Here, and elsewhere. She says it without doubt or hesitation-- just a truth between them. But she looks into his eyes, keeping his hand in hers, leaning closer across the table with a faint wrinkle of worry between her brows. ]
You keep taking care of me. I wanted to give you something in return.
[ She's noticed. Lately, the way he's been, the faltering of his confidence, the hum of uncertainty and restlessness about him. The way he keeps saying that: that he's not useful, whatever the hell that means. That stupid song he'd been too clearly projecting something into, something that makes Ciri antsy and uncomfortable, worried for him. The Jaskier she knows is an overconfident fool, in the fondest, dearest of ways. Seeing him unsure of himself feels out of place, even if, at the same time, Ciri understands. With what had happened to Geralt, they're all a bit... off-kilter. ]
What's on your mind, Jaskier?
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[Luckily, Ciri is very capable of finding her own trouble. Besides, it's quite easy to like her now that he's skipped all the awkward, bumbling teen years, but... he does wish he could know more of them. Of what this relationship could have grown from. Of course he could always ask her, but retold memories are so far from the real thing.
He finishes off his mug, mouth cloyingly sweet, but certainly considers a second either way. It doesn't hit the same as a fine liquor or a smooth wine, but there's plenty to appreciate in its taste --
He chokes on the last swallow, setting the mug down.] W-what? What makes you think anything is? [He looks at her, and she looks back, her green eyes unsettling bright. Keen. She's keen like Geralt, but unlike Geralt, she asks. Which is far more dangerous than anything being noticed at all.
Not that there's. Anything to notice.] You know, nevermind, I was thinking of something. [Jaskier moves on as if he's gone to master classes of spurring conversations onward, hopping over potholes in its path he wishes to avoid.] There's a bloody festival outside and we're in here. I don't agree with all their, er, quirks, so to speak, but I think what we need is something... nice. Like this drink. Warm, and comforting, with good company. What do you think? I bet we could drag Geralt out somewhere tomorrow night, once he's returned. There's not a chance he can say no to both of us.
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But Jaskier pushes forth and stamps it out before the feeling can grow. Ciri tucks the rest of her thoughts away for later. She does not know how to tell him. She isn't sure what to say. She doesn't know how to explain the way his words had pricked at her with hidden thorns when he'd said that, days ago.
Not everyone is destined to be a hero. Or a villain.
Or both.
Ciri envies the little raven in his nest. Jaskier wouldn't understand. And then, the conversation moves on, and the moment becomes the past, and she finds herself nodding and smiling and going along with Jaskier's grand new plans. ]
Not a chance. [ She agrees. ]
That sounds like fun. [ And she means it. ]
You want another cup? Nadine suggested adding cinnamon. We can try it.
[ It is enough to be here, sitting quietly, enjoying something together. Something she made. Something he likes.
It is enough that his smile draws out her own. He's good at that. It's worth more than he thinks. ]
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[This is a first: despite his moving on, he feels a twinge. A twinge like guilt, which is far from something Jaskier frequently experiences. He sees how Ciri smiles back, how it's real, but --]
I'd love one. I'll make them this time. [He slides off his chair, grabbing both mugs. He only pauses by her for a moment, leaning down to kiss her cheek. An explanation. Or an apology. Or a thank you. It could be all of them. If anyone deserves to know, to ask him and get a real answer, it's Ciri. She... she notices him in a way that few do. In a way he does trust this time she holds ahead of him, where they were more than acquainted. Perhaps he could even be called family.
He returns to the pot of heating milk and chocolate, dusting it with a bit of cinnamon.
Jaskier is quiet. And then:] My magic has gone erratic. [He begins pouring the milk, now spiced, into the mugs, but doesn't turn to her yet. His shoulders tighten.] I'm sure it's nothing serious, and it isn't dangerous, but... it's put some things into perspective for me.
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[ Neither of them mentions the Dimming, but Ciri is aware they both know. Something will be happening around the Singularity tomorrow night. Thorne and its magic. The Free Cities, Marlo's request for the summoned. Ciri is aware, and she wants to stay as far away from it as possible, even as the need to know keeps tugging uncomfortably at the back of her mind. (Yennefer will be there. It's a certain thing. She would not pass up the chance--)
Jaskier interrupts her spiraling thoughts with a kiss, and Ciri blinks, watching after him as he sweeps back into the kitchen. Her fingers touch her cheek. Her eyes follow his back, the muscles pulling taught across his shoulders. ]
What do you mean... 'gone erratic'?
[ She urges gently, when it seems he's decided to share what's on his mind, after all. Ciri won't hold the hesitation against him, focusing instead on what he says. And what he doesn't. ]
Did something happen?
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Though to Jaskier, honestly, it's hardly about that.
He sighs. Now the topic has been broached, he... well, he actually would like to pursue it. Ciri, he trusts now, is someone who will actually listen. Who can offer more than silence or advice. She's quite perceptive, too; perhaps better than all of them.]
I don't blame you for not noticing. Plants die far too easily, after all. [He finally turns, lifting his mug to indicate the potted plants in the window. It could easily have been a lack of light, or a temperamental response to the cooler nights. The plants are dying, though. They have been, despite his efforts, though the rot always stars at the roots. When he walks by, they no longer shiver and reach for him.] No, nothing has happened. Not in particular.
[I simply have nightmares of waking up alone. To find blood spilled across the pillow, the floors. That I will be the one taken next. He returns to his seat and slides her newly filled mug across the table.] My writing has come back to me, and the muses sing once more. While that has improved, it... it feels like I'm going backwards. Like the magic is pulling away from me. Is it too strange to say I feel like it's dissatisfied with me? Far be it from me to personify any force I come into contact with, and yet. The bread molds, the plants die. And I can't get a good night of sleep.
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But Geralt is fine now. (Mostly. Right?) And Jaskier is sleepless and melancholy, and keeps making comments about his own uselessness that are starting to get on her nerves.
Ciri reaches out to take the mug, lifting it to her face to inhale the steam now laced with the sharp warmth of the cinnamon. She takes a careful sip, just dipping her tongue against the liquid to check the temperature. ]
Jaskier...
[ Setting the cup back down, Ciri leans forward across the table on an elbow, meeting his gaze. Serious, but not unkind. ]
If you ask me, I think it's far more likely that your lack of rest and the burdens that you put upon yourself are more the culprit than your magic. I've told you before I am no sorceress, but I know a thing or two about the way chaos mixes poorly with unpleasant emotions.
[ Ciri reaches out across the table, resting her hand on Jaskier's arm (the scar beneath his sleeve). She gives his wrist a gentle squeeze. ]
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He doesn't meet her gaze, which says more than words will. At least he doesn't pull back from her touch. A warm hand has never been something he's shied away from, even one covered in callouses and scars.
He chokes a little, swallowing.]
Yes, well. I certainly did give myself these burdens, didn't I? They're not even mine to bear. [His lips twitch in an attempt to smile, to reassure her he'll be fine. He will. He always is. This is just a trifle. An annoyance. When he doesn't quite make it, he gives a nod instead.
It helps. It does. He's had the same fear that all of this, as much as it frustrates him, is his own fault. Which, honestly, makes it all the more frustrating.] Besides, you're far more sorceress than I am. I could never fit into all of those grandiose dresses with this chest.
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She pulls back, fingers curling around her cup again, eyes falling to its contents. It feels like everything she says is the wrong fucking thing. Like she's just... messed this all up. What she'd wanted was to do something for Jaskier, to thank him for his kindness, and instead she's pushed him -- both of them -- into this uncomfortable place, and she doesn't know how to untwist it all.
Jaskier's joke doesn't land. It doesn't feel sincere, and she doesn't feel like laughing. ]
I'm sorry. I hope you're able to sleep better soon. The rest should help your magic.
[ He's right. The burdens that have been put upon him recently aren't his to bear. Maybe she's relied on him too much. Been callous, when she wasn't paying attention. She should have noticed sooner. ]
I can get some herbs for a calming tea when I'm at market tomorrow. I'll ask at the apothecary.
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