Geralt of Rivia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovelybottom) wrote2020-12-22 09:17 pm
lovelybottom) wrote2020-12-22 09:17 pm
IC Inbox - VR
Hm.
[Silence. In the background, a faint, admonishing Geralt! can be heard.]
Call the bard.
[ VOICE | VIDEO | TEXT | RANDOM ACTION ]
Hm.
[Silence. In the background, a faint, admonishing Geralt! can be heard.]
Call the bard.
[ VOICE | VIDEO | TEXT | RANDOM ACTION ]
no subject
[Geralt went to the fighting club for two things-- to keep himself sharp and to make coin. The latter is a matter of necessity, of putting his skills to good use to keep both himself and Jaskier fed, clothed, and reasonably comfortable while staying in cities or on the road. The former, as a means of exercise. And, when the bout is against someone who's actually good? There's some enjoyment to be had. He could have sparred without the pit and the rules and the shirtlessness, but like this, he can also get paid for it.]
[It's for the best that Jaskier doesn't know. He'd get upset, and--]
[And there he is, cursing and stomping up to Geralt as he leaves the building. His fingers brush against his aching face for a moment before he launches into his tirade. Geralt weathers it, as he always weathers the bard's histrionics.]
About how much coin I made, mostly.
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[It's impossible to talk to him face to face without noticing the wounds - and they are the worst kind of wounds, too: the ones not made by monsters, but by fellow men. Jaskier would love nothing more than to enter that so-called "club" and give everyone a piece of his mind, but there's something more important to take care of right now.
Calloused fingers grab Geralt's wrist and pull, intending to stomp his way back to the inn while dragging the witcher with him.]
We're going to need ice and a whole new bottle of balm. [Huff, huff.] Any bleeding? Broken bones? Do we need to stop by the healer's before I sit you down to let you know in how many different ways you've fucked up? And don't tell me you haven't, because you know you did! That's why you've been hiding this from me!
[And if his voice cracks a bit then, well... it's because it hurts. He thought they were finally doing better...]
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[Jaskier is fussing. Granted, he always fusses, but he's rarely so angry about it.]
The black eye is courtesy of Felix, but I choked him out for it, so we're even.
[There's no malice to it. He's not even bothered by the fact that Felix got a decent hit in on him-- the boy improves every time he steps into the pit with Geralt, and there's some gratification to be had in that. He's a quick learner, diligent, determined. He might have made a good witcher, assuming that he survived.]
[Jaskier starts tugging him off towards the inn where they're staying, and that's where Geralt was headed anyway, so why resist? He'd just get his ear talked off by the bard either way, so he ought to at least take the path of least resistance.]
Not bleeding. Nothing's broken. [Overreacting. Jaskier's making it seem as though he'd gotten gutted again or something equally severe. His injuries are nothing for a witcher, and not even much for a human. What's it matter?] I'm fine.
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[...wait a second.]
No! Don't try to distract me with a good story! [Jaskier, what.] What you've done is execrable! Getting hurt for no good reason! Lying to your best friend about it! What the fuck were you thinking!
[Jaskier, you're repeating yourself...
But okay, back to tugging Geralt towards the inn again, still huffing and stomping like a brat throwing a tantrum - it's either that or crying. And he doesn't want to cry, no matter how much Geralt has hurt him by hiding this from him, or how awful it is to hear that damn witcher logic coming into their lives again.]
You are not fine, you're hurt! When will you understand that you don't need to be in pain? You're free from the shackles of the Path, yet you continue to search for torture as if you deserved it! And don't you bloody dare to say you do, you thick witcher!
[His free hand still wags a finger during the whole speech, even if it's pointing at the-- well, air.]
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[Geralt follows where the bard leads, letting him tug and wrangle him towards the inn because resisting would simply prolong this ordeal. There are times when it's best to simply follow the path of least resistance.]
I wasn't being tortured. [Not until now, anyway. This might qualify, depending on how long Jaskier decides that he's going to overreact.] Fighting is one of my skills, Jaskier. I can make more in a night here than I can in a week of honest work. It would be foolish not to take advantage.
[And even if coin's easier to come by in this realm, it's still a necessity. Having more of it, a safety net in the event of lean times, is appealing. Between repairs for armor and weapons, potion ingredients, the cost of feeding Roach, and the cost of keeping himself alive, Geralt rarely had ever had money left over. Now, he can have enough to ensure that they stay fed and sheltered for weeks, even if they can't take work.]
It's just a black eye. If I came back from a hunt like this, you'd call it a boring night.
[Besides, he'll heal up in, what, a few days? It's just a bruise, how long could it possibly take?]
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[His voice is starting to break - he hates it when Geralt gets like this, when he can't see how fucked up the logic they imparted to him is. Some times he feels like no progress has been done at all the past twenty-two years - it's not like he expects the witcher to instantly get over his issues and have a happy ever after overnight, but is it truly such an impossible task to get him to understand at least a little bit? Jaskier is a master of words, yet he's running out of ways to explain this to the witcher's deaf ears.
That won't stop him from trying, though. So here comes the open arms.]
A hunt has a purpose, Geralt! You get hurt to protect people! It's a necessity, a moral obligation if you will! But you hate fighting. You hate hurting others. You hate feeling sore yourself! I know this, probably better than any other person on the bloody Continent except for your fellow wolves. So why do it here? For coin? Don't make me laugh! [An ironic comment when he's actually on the verge of tears.] We weren't in need of coin, and even if we had been, I'd rather go back to eating squirrels than seeing wounds on your body! [And now for the poking of that mighty chest, Jaskier's voice losing the high pitch to get more serious.] No amount of coin is worth your bloody health.
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[Jaskier pokes him a few times in the chest, to emphasize his points. His voice drops a little, losing some of its hysterical edge. There is part of his argument, though, that gives him some confusion-- we weren't in need of coin, he says.]
We are in need of coin. That's why you've been sharing a room with me.
[To save on coin. And when Geralt had arrived, he hadn't thought much of it-- they did it often enough back home, splitting a room and a bed to keep costs low. Besides, he'd been a bit low on funds when he'd arrived anyway, after having spent a bit beyond his means to get that Yule present for the bard. And Jaskier bought more things than he had, as well, his more active social life likely meaning more people to buy things for, so it would make sense that he'd be less than flush with cash as well.]
no subject
Wh-what?
[Bollocks. This can't be happening. Jaskier feels his stomach turning and a bad taste in his mouth, fingers already rubbing together in his usual nervous tic. Geralt has been sharing the bed with him for a completely different reason -one that used to be true at home, but still- and Jaskier feels like he's abused his friend's trust.
But what about the cuddling? He hasn't been imagining that, has he? It hasn't always been him the one starting it... he thinks. Sleepy memories aren't always clear, and Geralt is always out of bed in the morning, because just like it happened at home, he likes waking up too damn early.]
Fuck, Geralt, no. We are not in need of coin. We've been eating and shopping freely, haven't we? [He sighs as he looks down, not meeting those intense golden eyes. Which is rare - he usually doesn't have any trouble looking at Geralt in the eye.] Back in Violet, during New Year's-- [While you were sick, he doesn't say.] You told me you couldn't hear my heartbeat anymore, and it bothered you. And then you fell asleep on my chest. It was sweet and-- I know it could've been the medicine kicking in or the fever making you extra tired, but it seemed to me that you did rest better knowing I was fine and nearby. So I wanted to continue giving you that.
[A pause as he worries his lower lip. If he doesn't want to abuse his friend's trust then better say it all.]
And... I like it, too. It's warm, and cozy, and I feel safe when you're next to me. I love cuddling in general but I especially love cuddling you because you don't have enough affection in your life and you need it, Geralt, don't even try to deny it. [He suddenly looks up, hands open in front of him to indicate innocence.] I thought you had caught on, I swear! You never said anything! But if you want it to stop then- [His hands drop again.] We can go back and change rooms after I take care of your wounds.
[Because yes, that's still the number one priority here!]
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[But Jaskier brings up the Incident That Is Not To Be Named, the thing that happened that Geralt had assumed they had both come to the mutual conclusion not to ever talk about. He had been miserable and feverish at the time, and the medicine that the bard had given him had made him strange in the head, and he'd... said things. Things that he oughtn't to have said, things that would have been best kept to himself. Jaskier had dealt with the lack of privacy and other such oddities that came with living in close quarters with a witcher well enough, he didn't need to know that he didn't even have privacy when Geralt wasn't nearby. That Geralt could, and had, searched him out like a bloodhound, or kept track of him through walls. To say nothing of what other conclusions could be drawn about the other things that Geralt had heard.]
[It doesn't matter if it made Geralt more comfortable to hear Jaskier's heart. Like any man, the bard deserved privacy. He didn't need to know that Geralt had memorized the steady beat in his chest, like some creature that could stalk him by night. Are witchers not monstrous enough?]
[And as for their continued habit of sharing bedspace, well-- Geralt could have simply let it be, continued on as they were without examining it. Stuck to the usual explanations that they had used for two fucking decades for Jaskier sleeping next to him, that it was cheaper to share and that the bard got cold easily. There would be no acknowledgment of need, at least not on Geralt's side, no examination of the way that his skin sometimes hungered for touch. Geralt isn't certain if he felt the hunger more acutely now that he lacked his mutations, or if it had always cut this sharp and he's just become weak. In the past, he had become quite competent at preventing this urge from surfacing; meditation no longer provides the solace it once did, and there are no brothels in this world that he can spend all of his coin in.]
The arrangement was fine. It doesn't merit discussion. [As with most things, Geralt thinks the situation would be much improved if they never talked about it and continued to never talk about it. Jaskier is a tactile man who prefers a warm body in bed with him, and it's one thing to know this and another to find out that he's been... indulging him over some perceived lack. And over something that isn't a need-- Geralt needs food and water. He does not need the sound of a heartbeat and warm skin under his hands.] Stay if you want to stay. Go if you want to go. I am fine regardless.
[He'll just have to show greater restraint.]
no subject
"You are fine regardless"? And you call ME dramatic? You can bet your arse it does merit bloody discussion, since not talking about has obviously been working so fucking well for us so far!
[They've been on completely different pages, and Jaskier hates that feeling. However different he and Geralt may be, it hasn't been an issue in their daily lives. They have a routine, a ritual if you will - perfectly synchronized in a way only two friends that have known each other and shared their domesticity for so long can achieve.
Watch out, Geralt. Here comes the poking of your chest again... in the middle of the street? How come their arguments always end up being in public? Is this "their thing" now? Jaskier loves attention, but this crosses even his own line.
That doesn't stop him, though. Too lost in his own indignation to notice.]
Go if I want to go? What EXACTLY do you think will happen if we don't share a bed anymore, pray tell? That I'll sleep five rooms down the hall? What the fuck, Geralt! Have you forgotten about this little thing called a twin room? How many times do I need to remind you I like your company, you hardheaded fool of a wolf? I said being your travel companion is what pleases me! You said I have it for as long as I like! Well, my likes haven't changed. What about yours?
[A sigh. The poking of Geralt chest transforms into Jaskier's hand resting above his heart, feeling the (now human) beating under it. He wants to take care of it, to protect it, to heal it. He thought cuddling was a step to that, but Geralt always must make everything ten times more difficult.]
You'd never impose yourself on someone, [He comments with a softer voice.] So don't put me in the same position. Your wants are as important as mine and don't even fucking try to argue against that. [Serious blue eyes say he means it.] We are friends. That means we must be comfortable around each other, reach an agreement we're both okay with - or a compromise, at the very least. So I shall make a question, old friend, and in the name of our friendship, I want you to answer honestly. Do you want us to keep sharing a bed? Is it as good for you as it is for me or have I been making you uncomfortable?
[It hurts, having to make that question. But Jaskier knows it's sadly necessary, because his witcher will put up with shit just because he thinks that's how things are for his kind. And that's a huge pile of crap, as far as Jaskier is concerned.]
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[The bard's hand goes from poking him to simply resting on his chest, roughly in the vicinity of his heart. In reality, it's slightly more to the left, but Jaskier's a bard, not a physician. Geralt doesn't expect him to know all that much about anatomy, except for his thorough and in-depth studies of the intimates of both sexes.]
[He asks about whether their sleeping arrangement has been uncomfortable for Geralt, and there's some irony in him asking this now-- earlier in their acquaintance, Jaskier had done a great many things that had made Geralt uncomfortable, and he hadn't cared nearly as much. Practically everything that he had done, in fact, had been a discomfort to Geralt in some form or another. His songs, his restless fidgeting, the way he wouldn't shut up, even when he was asleep. He had eventually adapted to it, as he had adapted to all aspects of having the bard in his life.]
No. Of all the things that you've done, this doesn't make me uncomfortable.
[Not anymore, anyway. It had been awkward the first few times, in those first few years of their acquaintance. Back when Jaskier had been a gangly youth and never was quite well prepared enough for the autumn chill, and needed to share a bedroll with Geralt to avoid freezing in the night. Geralt had found it disconcerting that Jaskier was a clingy sleeper, rolling towards him in the night to leach as much heat from him as possible. Over the years, he had come to accept that these behaviors are just Jaskier being Jaskier, a product of his naturally outgoing and physically demonstrative nature.]
I didn't plan on telling you about your heartbeat. I assumed we weren't going to discuss it.
[Y'know, do what adults do and just ignore the awkward thing in the room and hope that it goes away.]
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[It should be obvious, yet hearing it hits him harder than he expects. It's not like he thinks things have always been smooth between them, it took them a while to get where they are now. But there's a difference between annoying or awkward and actually uncomfortable. Jaskier has always wanted to push Geralt out of his brooding and enjoy himself more, but not crossing the line into distressful.
There are so many details he knows that and always makes sure to pay attention to, how many did he break as a teen?
But those are thoughts for later - here is Geralt thinking they shouldn't talk about things again. That he shouldn't share them with Jaskier.]
That's not-- [He sighs as his hand leaves Geralt's chest to rub his forehead instead. This is going to be a long evening.] When I said this merits discussion after all, I meant the arragement - since we obviously weren't on the same page, my friend. You are correct, I wasn't going to bring up the matter of the heartbeat - but that's not because it bothers me or whatever the hell you're thinking, you big oaf. I said it already, did I not? I think it's sweet. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and I wish you did plan on sharing these things with me! I like them!
[He can't stop his voice from raising at the end as he throws his hands in the air, some frustration slipping back into his mood. Geralt's witchering qualities aren't monstrous in his eyes - quite the opposite, in fact. Jaskier thinks they're marvelous. If only Geralt wasn't ashamed of them.]
So. [There goes his hands to his hips like the worried housewife he is.] Do you want to keep the arregement? Yes or no, I won't take any other of your dodging answers!
[EXPRESS A WANT, GERALT, DAMMIT!]
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[It had been more than that, though. More than just the bard being in danger-- it was that Jaskier was the complete opposite of everything that Geralt was used to on the Path. He was uncomfortable with how much Jaskier cared.]
[The bard's hands perch themselves on his hips. The image is very much that of an upset housewife scolding her husband.]
It doesn't bother me. You hate being cold. Why change what works?
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[It's meant to be scolding, but it's only half of that and half amusement. Putting aside the fact this thickheaded witcher can't understand Jaskier does this because he likes it and not because he's cold (well, not only because he's cold - Geralt is a wonderful furnace after all), Geralt is saying -in his own way- that he does want this. That it works out for him.
That they should continue to bloody cuddle.
A smile finally appears on his face tonight and hey, maybe it's a good thing Geralt can't hear his heart at the moment, because it's close to bursting.]
Right. Good. That's- Great then. [He nods along with his words as he rubs his fingers together in his usual tick.] We shall keep the one bed.
[There's a pause as Jaskier comes down from his emotional high and takes in their surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Right, they're in the middle of the streets of Goldenrod. Awkward. How did get here again? One look at Geralt is enough to remind him, and Jaskier dramatically gasps.]
Your wounds! We need to take care of your wounds! [He grabs Geralt's wrist again, but after such a heart-to-heart? Jaskier is kinder. Softer. It's less dragging and more a gentle pull to keep him walking by his side.] I still can't believe you did this. Well, you stubborn oaf, now you know coin isn't lacking. And hopefully you've at least started to believe me when I say you don't have to experience pain merely because you can. Are you planning to go back to that dreadful place?
[The tone he uses to make that question says YOU BETTER THINK TWICE BEFORE ANSWERING, MISTER!]
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[He's back to name calling, though it's the gentler sort that he uses when Geralt is being exasperating, not when he's truly angry. He's been mollified for the moment, though the witcher is aware that his temper could easily flare again. He'd rather not have to deal with more histrionics, especially since Jaskier is adamant about playing nursemaid to his bumps and scrapes.]
I don't dislike having a place to spar. [He can't just go around asking people in the streets, after all. The fighting club is a useful place to go to find people who would both be inclined to fight him and also have some skill at it. There is, perhaps, a path of least resistance that they can find-- something that both appeases Jaskier's desire to not see him walk around with bruises on his face but still allows him to get his exercise.] Will it satisfy you if I no longer fight for coin?
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Is that what this "fight club" truly is though? Jaskier glances at Geralt, takes a good look at that awful black eye and worries his lip a little longer while thinking about the right way to approach the subject without coming off as "punishing" Geralt for his want.]
Coin isn't the actual issue, my friend. I just pointed it out because I thought you joined such club only for economic reasons. You don't enjoy hurting people after all! And your witchering, as harsh as it is on you, you enjoy because you like helping people. I've never found fault in charging for that, have I? In fact, I sing for you to get paid what you actually deserve.
[A pause. His free hand continues to rub its fingers until he can't take it anymore. Just like he did when he arrived, he reaches out and gently brushes the bruise with calloused fingertips.]
Is this what sparring actually looks like, however? The way Claude explained it to me... that bruises you're carrying... it all sounds rather barbaric. Wouldn't sparring with Dimitri or Felix in a more relaxed environment be as satisfying?
[And you know Jaskier is seriously worried when he brings up Felix as someone Geralt should spend time with.]
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[And then someone could attempt to intervene, which would be awkward and potentially dangerous for the would-be Good Samaritan, or someone could call for the police. A gym of the more conventional sort might have the facilities for this kind of sparring, but it's a specialized thing that can't be expected in all of them. So going to an already established club, even if it's technically underground, was simpler.]
[The bard's fingers are gentle against his face again. He touches it as though it's a terrible injury, rather than just a bruise. There is something endearing about it-- as though Geralt didn't regularly get worse injuries when he was a boy in training, before he'd gone through any of the Trials.]
A few scrapes and bruises aren't unusual in sparring, either, Jaskier. [Not that Jaskier had ever really had to spar with his fists. He'd only ever had a nobleman's training, fencing with padding and blunted weapons and where the fight was stopped at first touch.] Usually Felix is the one training with me, and he doesn't often leave marks. He's improved.
[There is something almost like pride in his voice there, at the improvement. Though Jaskier undoubtedly has many things to say about Felix's personality, his stubbornness and determination make him an excellent student, and Geralt can't find fault with that.]
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[Oh yes, he's stolen that from Geralt. How does it feel to have it used back at you? Weird of Jaskier not to have an opinion on a particular subject, that's for sure - especially after all the screaming he did just a couple of moments ago that showed he did have tons of thoughts about this. The truth is, he's feeling rather torn at the moment: Geralt's reasoning is hard to argue with, it makes perfect sense. Most importantly, though, there's the fact Geralt seems to like the place. He can't even get annoyed at Felix when he hears that pride in the witcher's voice! It's something so rare, so precious.
Jaskier can't bring himself to discourage this - but he worries about the possible consequences that would come with encouraging it, too.
He sighs.] A black eye is more than a scrape... [It's reluctantly mumbled, though, because he knows he's losing this battle.] I don't have the heart to take this away from you, but Geralt, old friend, you must promise me you will be careful. [The hand on the witcher's wrist squeezes.] That you won't do anything stupid like you usually do to protect people. That you'll keep on doing it because you enjoy it and you'll stop if it becomes a burden. That you won't do it only for the coin.