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ohmyarceus2020-11-01 12:57 pm
indigo_events) wrote in ohmyarceus2020-11-01 12:57 pm
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[He had gotten along well enough with Yarpen and his gang-- that is to say, they seemed to have no outright objection to Jaskier's presence. And they were in good moods from their success on the dragon hunt, Jaskier could have easily gone along with them and gotten the tale out of them. Safe passage and stories, what more could he need?]
[And Jaskier isn't exaggerating much, here-- he did travel alone, ostensibly, before he met Geralt at the tender age of eighteen. Not long, perhaps, but long enough to find the shittiest tavern in Posada. And, of course, there were the times that he left the bard on the road between Oxenfurt and Novigrad, when they separated for the winter and Jaskier returned to the comforts of his alma mater. A few short weeks in spring, when he was on his way south from Kaer Morhen to meet the bard somewhere along the way.]
[He has spent much of the past few decades in Jaskier's company, come to think of it.]
I nie będzie spierdalaj.
[Jaskier isn't the only one who knows a little Elder, even if Geralt's knowledge of the language has far less depth.]
It's winter, Jaskier. [Something that he didn't think he'd have to inform the bard of, but apparently he does.] When was the last time that you spent a winter on the road without me?
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There's only so much he can take - he's dropped references to what happened on the mountain over and over, letting Geralt know he's got the message and now they can carry on with their lives separately... but the witcher keeps ignoring them, keeps insisting on staying by his side for some fucking reasons. Probably trying to play hero as always, with a touch of guilt.
He's trapped, that's pretty much it. Trapped, in a new realm where he's supposed to be getting freedom from the expectations put on the witcher's bard. So can he not explode?]
THAT'S YOUR TAKEAWAY?! [Yep, here comes the angry gesturing to match the fury in his eyes and the twist of his mouth.] I'M CONFESSING YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE A BLOODY OLD DOG AND YOUR BEST ANSWER IS TO SEND ME TO THE FUCKING DWARVES?! SOME NERVE YOU HAVE, WITCHER, TO-
[Consumed by anger, Jaskier's mind is too distracted to remember he has things on his lap. So when he suddenly stands up for better dramatics, Dahlia and the Pokégear fall on the wet wood of the docks. The gear is fine, just stays there like the machine it is, but Dahlia... well, Igglybuff are known for their soft, bouncy body for a reason. She bounces off the wood and falls into the water with an indignant cry that makes Jaskier let out a string of curses as he falls on all his fours to check on his Pokémon...
Who is whimpering in fear, but otherwise fine. That bouncy body is also good at staying afloat.
Jaskier hurries to get her out, now getting the sleeves of his chemise wet as well, and proceeds to dry her up with the towel that isn't protecting his doublet while whispering apologies and comforting words to her. It isn't until she's wrapped in the towel and cradled against his chest that he turns to Geralt again, glaring.]
I hadn't spent any winters on the road with you either, and I'm not about to start now. [His hands tremble as he pets the bundle in his arms. Because of the fright he just got, but also because it hurts to say that aloud. If you had asked him just a week enough, he would've jumped on the idea of a winter with Geralt.] You asked for a blessing, and I gave it to you! And now I have a chance to start over after-- [He gulps.] After two decades of wasting my time in a friendship that was in my head after all. [His stomach twists at the admission and Jaskier thinks this proves the power of words, because his own heart is hurting because of his own words.] You had your blessing, Geralt of Rivia, now let me keep mine: a chance to start over in a new realm. For the last time: fuck off.
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[The moment is quite ruined when Jaskier stands and dumps everything off of his lap, including his little creature-- it bounces right into the water and he's forced to fish it out, wrapping it up in a towel like an infant. Cradling it all gentle and sweet and it makes something in Geralt's gut twist strangely. It was nothing, probably-- just indigestion.]
[Blessings, blessings. Geralt's tired of hearing about his fucking blessing, of having his mistakes thrown back in his face.]
It wasn't a fucking blessing! [Now they can both yell, this is fine.] I've told you to fuck off a hundred times since you started following me, and this is when you finally listen?
[In the two decades of their acquaintance, Geralt had told Jaskier to fuck off or go home or stop following me, bard at least a hundred times, if not more. It had never dissuaded him before, not to any significant amount-- when he did leave, it would be at most for weeks or maybe a few months. Their longest partings were in winter, and Jaskier would spout some bullshit about missing him-- as though he wouldn't immediately forget Geralt in the first sweet pair of tits he came across-- and Geralt would reply with something like try not to get the clap, bard.]
[He had thought that there was nothing that he could say that would ever make him leave. Not truly, not for long. Just long enough for tempers to cool, for Jaskier to burn through his anger or for Geralt to stew in his own misery until he got tired of it.]
[He had thought when he went down the mountain, that Jaskier would be standing there next to Roach like nothing had happened, ready for the next adventure while still spinning a song out of the last.]
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Y-you... [He gulps as he tries to kick his brain back into functioning, away from this numbness that he's sure is about to hurt like hell when the shock passes.] ...you thought I would still stay? After that?
[So he hadn't been a squire, after all...
He had been a training dummy.
His whole body trembling now, Jaskier moves in order to stand up, but Dahlia whimpers again. Worry takes over and Jaskier puts her down to check on her more thoroughly. She seems fine, only scared - so scared in fact that she leaves the towel cocoon to peek into Jaskier's bag and press the button of her Pokeball.
She's gone with a flash of light and Jaskier wants to scream.
He isn't sure how he manages not to. After whispering sorry, dear to the Pokéball and making sure to move his things out of the way, he stands up and looks at Geralt with raw pain in his blue eyes.
If I were a man of more merit, if I were a man of resolve, I’d leave you behind, get my fair peace of mind from a bottle of grain alcohol. Maybe he should've stuck to that version of Her Sweeet Kiss after all...]
YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE! [He finally explodes with open arms, because even when he's angry he's gotta be dramatic. Hands point at Geralt and are waved around during the whole rant.] How DARE you compare what happened to twenty years of you mumbling performative shit while still waiting for me to catch up with you! NEVER had you looked or talked to me with such vitriol! NEVER had you blamed me for your own bloody stupid decisions! NEVER had you called getting rid of me life's blessing! A SHIT SHOVELER you called me! Or shall we go farther back, mmh? At your implying that I wasn't a worthy traveler companion, no matter how many wounds I stitched and baths I got ready for you? At how you left me on that rock with a bloody grunt after I opened up to you, tried to do something to improve your fucking life that kept getting worse and worse thanks to your fucking moronic choices!
[He pauses then, because his mind thinks and you went to *her* tent instead but he doesn't want to say that aloud. He swallows, determined not to bring her up in this discussion. It would only derail things, and besides, to be fair? No matter how much Jaskier hates her and how much it hurts to admit, this time it isn't her fault.]
So that's it, isn't it?! You thought you could yell at me, insult me and degrade me with no limits, because Jaskier the fool would still stick around! That's all I was, a fool at your service! Working part-time as your maid, part-time as your squire, full time as your training dummy for you to take all your frustrations out on! [Jaskier drops his arms then, and when he talks, he sounds defeated.] I know you aren't the best at understanding social interaction and people's feelings, but not understanding how much you hurt me this time? That's a new low even for you.
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[Good. These creatures don't need to get caught in the middle of their spat. They weren't involved.]
I know what I fucking said, Jaskier! [Shit-shoveler and burden and the harbinger of all of his troubles. And the bard is many things, not all of them good, but he was not responsible for all of Geralt's problems.] I know that it was fucking cruel.
[Cruel and unfair and left Jaskier thinking that he resented him for the past twenty years. Geralt, it seems, has an issue with careless words-- the reward at the betrothal, the djinn, the mountain. If he still didn't think that destiny's horseshit, he would think that he's destined to be undone by his own words.]
You weren't a maid or whatever the fuck it is you're thinking. I walked the Path for six fucking decades before you and never brought anyone along. Just you. [Not his brothers, not Yen, though she would never have deigned to travel with him, anyway. Just Jaskier, just this one noisy bard.] You always knew when I didn't mean the shit I said. You always knew me. And you always came back.
[Better than anyone else, Jaskier knew him. Better than he knew himself, probably, considering how witchers dealt with the very concept of having emotions. And now his hands are clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails are biting into his palms, probably leaving little half-moon marks in the skin. A bard and a sorceress are the two people who can make the echoes of emotion that he has left flare up, usually for the worse.]
[Jaskier didn't come back after the mountain. Geralt hadn't even been halfway down the damned thing before he regret what he'd said, but there was no bard waiting for him at the bottom of it. He regret it when there was no bard standing next to Roach. He regret it when he started walking the Path again, alone.]
I didn't fucking mean it, Jaskier. I was miserable and angry and I wanted to be left alone, but not for good.
[He was wrong to do it that way, to get Jaskier to leave him to his misery by saying cruel things to him, but he hadn't wanted to deal with what the bard might say, either. Not the gentle things-- undeserved-- nor the I-told-you-so's-- deserved.]
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Jaskier doesn't know what to do with it.
It feels big. Important. But the reason why it feels that way it's because he knows Geralt and understands why this is different in the first place. And isn't that fucked up? Isn't he supposed to have learned he actually doesn't know Geralt? There's no arguing against fucking Geralt of Rivia admitting he was wrong, half of Jaskier thinks. You can't be a fool to fall for it again, the other half retorts.
Just you, Geralt says. And Jaskier knows he's done for.
His hands are shaking when he raises them to drag them down his face as he lets out a heartfelt-]
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
[His heart is beating so fast, Jaskier thinks it's about to tear his chest open, jump out and lay at Geralt's feet so it can continue to be messed with. Oh Destiny, you devious mistress, is this part of your daily amusement too? Jaskier feels played with, which makes no sense, because Geralt is many things, but never a player. He doesn't dance around a subject unless he knows he wants to try and be sensitive when delivering bad news (especially to kids) or-- well, when he has to admit he is wrong.
Which he just did. Kinda.
And fuck if that doesn't have an effect on Jaskier. Once again, he's analyzing Geralt as if he truly knew him and-- fuck. He just went over this. Ugh.]
You bloody bastard. [He finally replies as he throws his hands in the air, but at least he isn't yelling anymore. He sounds frustrated instead - frustrated at Geralt, at Destiny, at their current situation, at his own emotions for being little assholes and fighting against each other, because Anger doesn't want to give in but Touched-by-Geralt's-Words sure is trying its damn best to make a fool out of him again. He never tried to stop himself from being a fool before, he's always thought it was worth it for the experience - live your life at its fullest. So why now? Ah yes, because that's the effect Geralt has on him. Never has it hurt so much, not even with the Countess.] Do you have any idea how I've always craved to hear you say things like that to me? "Just you", you say? That belongs in a bloody poem! How is this fair? How is this fucking fair!
[He sighs, feeling so tired - because of the trek down the mountain, yes, but also emotionally. There's so much stuck in his throat, so much that wants to come out and no matter how much he wants to scream and finally let it all out, he can't. He just can't. Because there are certain things that must stay buried, even if they were still on better terms.
He takes a deep breath as he hugs himself and looks down at his feet, not wanting to have those golden eyes pressuring him in confessing more than he should. For such a peacock, he sure sounds and looks small right now.]
It scares me, Geralt. It scares me to know I had a reason to believe you. It scares me to hear you thought you could throw whatever the hell you want at me because I'd always be back. Is that how you see me? Do you think I have no limits or that it doesn't bother me? I stayed because like you said, I knew you - or at least, I thought I did. But that didn't mean it didn't fucking hurt, you stupid arse! It wasn't an open invitation for you to throw more!
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[Jaskier makes himself look small, arms wrapped around himself and eyes on the ground. It's contrary to everything the bard usually is-- the sheer force of his personality always takes up more space than his physical body ever could. No amount of hecklers or angry fathers could diminish him.]
I know.
[He had wounded him without ever even reaching for a sword. And he has learned that he should not have taken Jaskier's presence for granted, that he shouldn't have assumed that he would know that he didn't mean if life could give me one blessing either. It was a hard lesson to learn, one that he took over the months of lonely travel, when there was that aching, restless thing in his chest that usually only reared its head in the last few weeks of winter. He had always thought it just wanderlust, a need to get back out onto the Path.]
You were never the reason for my problems, Jaskier. [Geralt is perfectly capable of being the reason for his own problems, and frequently is. No bard necessary.] It was never a blessing to have you gone.
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Is that your way of admitting you want my company?
[Again, so fucking unfair. This isn't the way he would've wanted to hear this. And yet his lips show just a slight curving and a calloused hand reaches out to pull at the witcher's sleeve. Just you - but also no apology. It's not different from the last twenty-two years, having Geralt only give him glimpses of a bigger picture, too stubborn and emotionally constipated to dare to do more.
Jaskier wants him back, it would be stupid of him to deny he does, but this can't happen again. He may still be a fool, but he's a fool who doesn't want to get hurt.]
If I'm not your maid, then what am I to you, Geralt? What do you want? And don't you fucking dare to say you want nothing. You wouldn't still be here if it was true.
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[His hand tugs at Geralt's sleeve.]
Come with me.
[That's what he wants, without saying that he wants. Witchers do not want-- it's against their nature, against what they were made for. It shouldn't matter to him whether or not Jaskier walks with him, because witchers don't have friends and they certainly don't have loud, vibrant bards following them around.]
This can be whatever you want it to be. Just come with me.
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This- this is Geralt asking for his company, asking him to be his travel companion. It's not poetic and it's not really a question or truly expressive a want, but it's sincere. It's Geralt's, a language that Jaskier knows well. Because he does, right? Geralt is telling him he does know him, that all his guesses and not listening to Geralt's denial the past twenty-two years were right.
There's so much Geralt is saying today that Jaskier's always wanted to hear, and it's a lot to process. The words echo in his head, fighting against the little dignity he has left, when the second blow comes, hitting him on his chest and making him catch his breath.
This can be whatever you want it to be.
Jaskier finally looks up with wide blue eyes, not believing what he's hearing, searching golden suns for the truth they hide behind those words. It can't possibly be this easy, not when a few hours ago he was pining over her...
Ah. Wait.
He pulls his hand back as if it were burning (it's actually shaking a little bit) and he has to take a deep breath before he can speak again.]
DON'T! [He raises a finger in front of Geralt's face, but not for long. It's soon taken back as his hands start flailing in crazy gesturing, which is the perfect visual representation of how he feels right now: a mess.] Don't make promises that you don't even know what they would entail just to appease me! You have no idea what you're offering here.
[His voice becomes small at the end of the sentence, matching the way his heart is cowering not to be hurt again.]
I know you! You feel guilty. So you're going to do whatever it takes to make it better. And- [He gulps.] -it's not as flattering as you think it is. At least, not for someone like me, who knows you and your stupid-arse witcher logic. That's what you said, right? You said I know you. Well, I do! [He opens his arms wide.] And that means you can't buy me back with service. I want you- no, I need to know how you feel. What you actually want, not what you're willing to give up - because yes, you oaf, they're different things. I need this friendship to be reciprocal! In case you haven't noticed, I've already been making what I could out of this for the last twenty-two years, and what has put us here now is your running away from it! No more running from this friendship, witcher. No more "fuck off, bard". No more "we're not friends". No more being a dick to me! I don't mind some banter and teasing, gods know I won't stop calling you emotionally constipated, but filling-less pie? That hurts, Geralt.
[A sigh.] I want to go with you. Like burning. But only if things get better from now on. Because no matter how much I care about you- [His arms drop to his sides, feeling tired, and not precisely of gesturing.] -I don't want to go through this again.