IC INBOX

[iustise]

[AUDIO | VISUAL | TEXT | WRITTEN | ACTION]

Comments

[beautifullies]

[ Claire's name will float across John's vision before her message, interrupting whatever it is he may have been doing. ]

𝒥𝑜𝒽𝓃, 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝒹𝒶𝓅𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑒𝓉, 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔?

[iustise]

[…ah yes. The writing. He has experienced this several times now, which is disorienting given he cannot see so well out of his one eye and yet the words float there in his mind’s eye nevertheless.

It is nice to see the familiar handwriting, addressed directly to him, at least.

It takes him a moment to figure out exactly how to respond, but he manages it.]

𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓮,

𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱, 𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓭𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓳𝓾𝓻𝔂 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝔀.

𝓘𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼,
𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷

[Much used to writing long-winded letters, he is still getting the hang of this messaging thing.]

[beautifullies]

[ When he signs, she smiles, but she doesn't say anything about it. ]

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒.

[ Since she's bringing up the one thing he likely doesn't want to speak about. But at least it's good news. ]

𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎. 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒; 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑟𝑦. 𝑆𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑑, 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑦.

[ She doesn't want him to think that risk only comes with the choice to heal nearly instantly. ]

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑢𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔.

[iustise]

[Ah yes. The elephant in the room. On his face. The elephant that had punched him in the face and -- broken it, apparently.]

𝓘 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭. 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓮, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼.

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓭𝓸𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻?

[He keeps himself from signing his response, but only just.]

beginning of june~

[beautifullies]

[ For four nights now, Claire has had the unpleasant experience of waking up after dreams she can't quite remember all of, only snippets of the victims she'd helped in the square after the kidnappings mixed with the worst of what she'd seen in the war, and always ending with Josselyn sticking two pointed fingernails directly into her eyes to gouge them out. That part she remembers, almost able to swear she can feel it.

This night, she gets out of bed instead of trying to force herself to rest when she knows it won't happen again. Making her way to where she keeps her liquor, Claire pours a healthy amount for herself and stands at the window, looking out at the fields, basking in the quiet stillness as she sips.

Almost idly, her thoughts turn to John. She doesn't have anyone else, no one she could turn to for comfort, except that he knows her, and she suspects she could wake him and he wouldn't mind. ]

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

[ She has no idea what happens if he isn't. Does her message splash across his dreams? Hopefully, it won't actually disturb him if he's truly sleeping well. ]

[iustise]

[Lord John's room in the Castle is modest at best. He does not mind so much. He has spent time sleeping on cots in the army after all, and at least he has a real bed here. All the same, he does have a difficult time getting to sleep some nights as well.

It's the novelty of the place, he supposes. Not just the unfamiliarity of it, but -- the unknown. He has never known anything like it. And he is not entirely certain of his place here. It is a strange feeling, when he has known who and what he is for so very long.

So he would not say he is entirely asleep, when the message writes itself across his mind. Though -- he cannot say he is entirely awake for that matter as well. Blinking into the darkness, Lord John squints up at the message for a few hazy moments before the writing and the meaning of it becomes clear. Claire's handwriting. Claire...

He would go to her, if he were able, but he supposes this will have to do. Rolling to his feet he makes his way to his desk to hazily formulate his reply.]

𝐴𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚. 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟?

[beautifullies]

[ It isn't until he answers affirmatively that she realizes she was holding her breath, hoping that might be the case. Already she feels less alone, and she takes a sip of her drink. She finally takes a seat as if composing a letter, finding the words always come easier that way. ]

𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠?

[ That's usually Jamie's area of unrest when faced with something insidious. Claire's is typically not sleeping at all. ]

[iustise]

[Well.

John sits blinking in the darkness as he reads that question out. The vagueness of it leaves far too much open for the imagination. Everything left unsaid, the room left for him to read in between the lines.]

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑, 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.

[John sits back on his bed, wrapping himself in a blanket as he frets from afar.]

𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑒?

mid-event on the evening of the 20th

[beautifullies]

[ She really hadn't been planning on mentioning her birthday to anyone; no one knows anyway, she's never worked her date of birth into a conversation. But as the day winds down and she's sitting in the room that's shared with Michael and Sandor Clegane, she sends off a message to John when it occurs to her he might know that it's her birthday.

Claire has also, maybe, had a little to drink. Not a lot but enough to make the chatter of the birds move to the back of her mind. So much has happened, she's a little surprised she remembers. ]

𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑠𝑜 𝐼'𝑚 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑓𝑢𝑙: ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑓 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠? 𝑃𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒.

[iustise]

[John smiles as the writing appears before him. He does know the significance of the day -- they had been married, after all, the date had been there on their license -- but he had not wanted to interrupt her day. Still, if she has made the first move...]

𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒? 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠.

[beautifullies]

[ Claire laughs, she can't help it. ]

𝑂ℎ, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒. 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟? 𝐼𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐵𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔.

[ She's joking, of course. It was when Bree started talking back. ]

𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑦. 𝐼 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡? 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝐼'𝑚 spry, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑒.

[ She's glad to have this distraction, to think about anything but the birds and her time spent in the woods. ]

[iustise]

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡?

𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟? 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑖𝑓 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒?

[He smiles to himself as he moves to stand and gather up the little package he has prepared for her, on this, the event of her birthday.]

𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡? 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠, 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑖𝑡.

— nocwich; early november

[heavymetals]

[ Abraxas is not quite the place that Erik had in mind when he thought of a place to keep to himself, but he's always been adaptable, if nothing else. Solvunn is quiet enough, he feels like if he'd chosen a place to settle, it would have been something like that.

But he doesn't waste the few opportunities he has to interact with people from other factions, Nocwich being one of them. The last time he was here, he was still powerless and admittedly struggling, but now he feels more at ease, more like himself.

Stepping into the most popular tavern among the Summoned, Erik heads to the counter, plain clothes at least subduing some of the magnetic presence he often has. He's not here to draw any attention tonight, and he slips a couple of coins to the barkeep, quietly asking for a serving of one of their nicest drinks.

While he waits, he glances around the place, not fixing his gaze anywhere in particular but easily picking John out in the crowd. It's easy to spot Summoned among the locals, he's beginning to realize. He's not sure if it's the Singularity's doing or if it's just how perceptive he is, but it's useful nonetheless. ]

i'm SO SORRY for the wait, my brain needed a little vacation

[iustise]

[For better or worse, John does stand out from the others in the tavern. Perhaps it is the way that he dresses much the same as he would back home -- insists upon it, in fact, making him look oddly formal no matter where he is. Or perhaps it is the way he holds himself, which is oddly formal. All of those etiquette lessons he had been forced into over the years, it's difficult to train the nobility out of a man. Combined with the length of his hair, currently tied back in a military-style queue...

He is at least a friendly sort, and raises his glass in greeting when Erik spots him among the crowd, offering the other man something of a sheepish smile as if to say: you've got me. In truth, he knows it really is not that difficult.]

You are welcome to join me, if you care for the company?

don't worry about it ♥️

[heavymetals]

[ Well, Erik hasn't come all the way to Nocwich just to isolate himself, so when John speaks to him, he accepts the offer easily enough. Since John still has his own drink, Erik just takes his own and brings it to the table, sitting down across from him. ]

Erik Lehnsherr. Solvunn.

[ That's how most of his introductions have gone. Name, faction, just for ease of reference. He hasn't seen John before, so he's assuming that he's from either Thorne or the Free Cities. ]

Delivery!

[soothsighs]

Dear Lord John,

I hope this Dimming finds thee well. Prithee forgive my forwardness, but I happened upon this during a trip to Nocwich and thought that it would compliment thine attire most handsomely.

Warmest wishes,

Urianger Augurelt

( Lord John's package contains an elegant silk cravat. Happy Dimming! )

post event; mid-may.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt's message arrives through a different method than usual; the shimmering scribbles have always been impersonal for him, a way to reach others quickly when they haven't another option. This, he thinks, is not a pressing matter. And it does not necessitate an immediate reply.

John will instead find a folded piece of parchment pinned to the Beefsteak's door with a small dagger, a wolf's head decorating the pommel. ]

John,

I expect the transition has been a bit shit for all of us. I'm still unravelling much of it myself, but you should know I remember our extended time together. I do not regret those memories.

I hear Nocwich will reopen its gates. When it does, I'll be there after sundown—the inn by the eastern corner.

[iustise]

[John has not been expecting such a note, but to say that he is relieved to receive one would not do his emotions justice. He has been feeling... A certain mix of emotions, since they had returned from where they had been sent. As such, he did not know quite how to reach out to Geralt.

He is grateful the other knows him well enough to understand this and reach out as he has.

John's lips curl as he reads the note over, fingers tracing along the paper it was written on. Grateful for the tangible proof of his words (he too has always thought the shimmering style of the mind messages a bit too informal and peculiar for his tastes). The wolf-headed dagger laid before him on the desk, John pens his own reply, which Geralt will find slipped under the front door of the main hall of Kaer Morhen. It reads, in John's elegant hand:]

𝓖𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵𝓽,

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓯 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓪 𝓯𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓐𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭, 𝓲𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝔂 𝓪𝓭𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓲𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮. 𝓑𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓘 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱.

𝓘 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝓘 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮. 𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓫𝓲𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓼. 𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓷 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓽𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝓮. 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻, 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓯 𝓘 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝔀.

𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮, 𝓲𝓷 𝓝𝓸𝓬𝓱𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓱. 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷, 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓷 𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼,

𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷

pre-event, shortly.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt has hesitated to bring too many eyes into the fold; it is a delicate matter, especially for the Summoned in Thorne. The last thing he wants is to compromise Yennefer's escape or the messenger who delivered the warning. But there is someone he trusts thoroughly. Someone he cannot disregard, given the man's position in the city's guard. ]

I've received word there may be a play for the throne.
I do not know when, how, or whom.

Be careful.

[iustise]

[It is late. John is generally accustomed to being up at this hour, and is at present sitting in his room relaxing with a book he has found to amuse himself in the little room he has claimed for his own in the Castle quarters. They are quite minimalist, and John knows he could request more for himself if he wants, but being a soldier and an army man he doesn't see the need for much beyond the necessities: a desk and chair to sit and write, a bed, a chest to store his belongings in, and a little shelf in the corner for extra odds and ends.

John is not particularly taken to noting network activity, however the message that appears is written in a familiar hand that catches his attention in such a way he knows it is addressed to him specifically. Instantly, he is awake and alert, glancing up from his book to read the bold letters that write themselves across the desk in front of him as he reads.

A play for the throne. Geralt would not warn him of this if he did not think the threat was legitimate. A frown pinches John's brow as he sets his book aside, already considering what he should do with this information. Alert the guard? It might draw too much attention upon himself, especially with so little information to back the claim.]

𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓭, 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓽𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓹𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮.

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮?

[He would presume so, given the nature of this message, but he has to ask.]

[gynvael]

[ It is a relief to hear from John and know he has at least received the warning.

Geralt's reply is curt as usual; he could explain, but it isn't necessary with John. If he says he trusts the information, John will believe him. (There is a steadfast surety in that knowledge—the lack of doubt between them.) ]

Yes.

after claire is underground, the few hours after chaos starts

[beautifullies]

[ Knowing what Claire knows now about Thorne, every message that she's sent to John that's gone unanswered makes her feel a little more nauseous. Surly he's alright, or he didn't keep something from her that has him running. She sends an initial message, then two hours later another when she hasn't heard back. When that one receives nothing, when she hasn't heard from him after an entire half day, she secludes herself the best she can to send another note. ]

𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝑆𝑜, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼'𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝐺𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

[ She's heard there's fire, that there's been murder, but none of it confirmed to her. Claire can't even fathom what's happening, and that scares her for him. Without realizing it, she's twisting the ring on her finger that he gave her over solstice, a nervous habit. ]

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑒'𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

[iustise]

[The last few hours have been chaotic, to say the least. John had not been asleep or in his room when the fighting had broken out, thanks to the warning message from Geralt. For better or worse he had been nowhere near the danger either, not that he supposed he could have done much to prevent it either.

Immediately on alert at the sound of booted feet running down the corridor, he had intercepted the Royal Guard on their way to raise the alarm. The King was dead.

It had not taken long for chaos to ensue after that, as fighting had broken out in the East Wing, and with his orders given to help his fellow summoned to the safe room, and the shock of being sealed in after that and the fighting amongst them that had followed…

The wall shimmers with Claire’s message and John winces slightly. Understanding that he had likely ignored at least one other earlier in the chaos. Sliding down to sit against it, running a tired hand through his hair, he replies:]

𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓮. 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓼𝓸 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓴𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻. 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱, 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓘 𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽.

𝓘𝓷 𝓷𝓸 𝓲𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽. 𝓘 𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓾𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓐𝓭𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓽, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮. 𝓘 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵𝓼 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓿𝓲𝓿𝓮.

[beautifullies]

[ If anyone happens to be watching when she sees his familiar hand, they'll see Claire visibly sag in relief, needing to reach out and brace her hand against a wall for a moment simply to tell herself he's fine. ]

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡. [ Her next thought is after she realizes it's all true, there's been murder. ] 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝.

[ A breath. ] 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛—

[ She sounds like a proper scared wife and reels it in to give him details about Solvunn. ]

𝑊𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑜𝑓...𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑎𝑠, 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒.

after their nocwich meeting.

[gynvael]

[ Somewhere along the line, during their time together in Nocwich, Geralt discretely slips a small token into a pocket, a pouch—someplace John will discover later when he is returned to Thorne.

It's a hand-carved acorn, made from a spare piece of wood. No note or letter accompanies it. He knows better than to leave too much of a trace. ]