Meet Death Sitting update
Mar. 8th, 2020 03:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/32YjgnP
So uhhh I was just going over MDS and making minor typo fixes and things while I was ruminating on edits for the next Little Fishie chapter etc., and I realized abruptly that somehow, an entire almost-2000-word scene in the middle of that first story just… got left out??? It was supposed to happen between chapter 7 and 8 and just. I just didn’t include it. I thought it had been in chapter 7, I think, and when i posted 8 I didn’t include it.
So the opening of 8 didn’t even make sense and nobody mentioned it???
Anyway.
I’ve fixed it, so if you liked that story, especially if right after the Fat Baby song you were like wait how is it the next morning already, then here it is.
I’ll also paste it right in here because I thought it was rather a good scene, and kind of had been surprised nobody had commented on what I thought was a rather hilarious bit where Geralt woke up from meditating and Jaskier and Ciri were watching him and whispering to each other about how creepy it was that his eyes were open and he scared the shit out of both of them by saying “my eyes are open because I’m awake”. HA.
So. Here’s the whole missing bit, and here’s the link to the revised chapter where it’s in context.
Geralt was too nervous to sleep. These people were far too kind. Ridiculously too kind. There had to be something– they were hiding something, surely. He couldn’t scent anything out of the ordinary, couldn’t come up with anything to justify his suspicion, which just made him the more suspicious.
It was just as well; in order to properly do alchemy, he needed to meditate. He took the collection of jars with him into the room they’d been given, which had two beds and a table and chair in it, and set them all up on the table, and arrayed them into the correct logical orders, and waited until both Jaskier and Ciri’s breathing had steadied out into sleep. There was a blanket chest at the foot of one bed, and so he took the sole chair, wedged it under the door handle, and sat on the chest instead.
Then he focused in turn on each of the jars, and slipped sideways into the place where things made sense.
He was trying to brew half of the jars to human-suitable strength, and the other half, he’d separated out and had slipped in the few things he could still scrape together out of his carefully-hoarded collection of magical creature components. He really didn’t have much, but he could get probably one vision-in-the-dark potion, maybe two or three of varying constitutions for quick healing or at least blood-clotting, and another two or three that would help with reflex speed and endurance and the like. He’d have to rely on human-strength stuff for the rest, but that was fine. What he was making for these people would be better than anything their cunning-woman could brew, unless she had mage powers.
Not that he expected them to be grateful. They were being kind now, maybe because Ciri was cute, more likely because Jaskier was cute. But they would find a reason, soon enough, to be afraid of Geralt, and in his experience, that kind of fear always manifested in violence, and the more intensely the longer it was delayed.
There was only a tiny window in this room, not big enough to escape out of, but he’d already tested the wall; he could break out of it with just his normal strength. If they came for him, he could get Ciri and Jaskier out, provided Ciri listened to him– he could only carry one of them at once, at his normal strength, and it might be hairy, getting to the horses– but he could do it, he could get out. It’d be easiest to get through the palisade if he had the strength to cast an Aard at it but they might fare all right even without. He could come up with something.
So he sank deeper into meditation, into the place beyond where things made sense– into the place where there was nothing, and he breathed, and felt everything, and felt nothing, and felt everything, and made himself into a conduit.
He came out of it a great deal less anxious and more serene, and he could feel that he was inwardly in much better condition as well. He needed to sleep too, but that would have to wait; he could heal without it. He wasn’t feeling quite in control of himself enough to share a bed with Jaskier while Ciri was in the room. That was an awkwardness he earnestly wanted to avoid.
He opened his eyes. It was dark in the room, but he could see. Good; he’d managed to heal himself from the toxicity enough that his normal night vision had come back. Without potions, he still needed some light to see, but a lot less than a human would. He breathed deeply in relief. His head felt better, his joints felt better, he felt sharper and stronger. He was just tired, but that would have to wait.
He rolled his head on his neck, shook out his arms, stood up and stretched his back, and then he set to sorting the jars, and decanting the potions he’d made for himself into the tiny bottles he preferred to carry. Most of his store of them were lost or broken, but the girl here had found some. He wasn’t sure what they’d be doing with them here, but they’d scrounged enough for his tastes, and he had enough leather scraps left in his inventory to wrap them all securely.
“Hey,” Jaskier whispered suddenly, and he startled slightly, then turned to look. Jaskier’s eyes gleamed from the edge of the bed. “Come to bed. It’s safe and I won’t molest you. Not with the kid in the room.”
Geralt hesitated, then shook his head, then remembered Jaskier couldn’t see in the dark. “I won’t sleep,” he said.
“Just lie down and rest,” Jaskier said.
“I can’t,” Geralt said.
Jaskier sighed, and tried to turn over, then paused with a sharp catch in his breath. Pain; his leg was troubling him. Geralt came and sat on the bed, and put his hand on Jaskier’s leg. “Let me look,” he said.
“It’s dark,” Jaskier said.
“I can see in the dark,” Geralt reminded him. He began by holding Jaskier’s leg between his hands. It was warm, a bit warmer than a human should be, but not by much; he put the back of his hand against Jaskier’s cheek briefly to check. No fever, or not noticeably; Geralt ran hot, so a human with a fever might still register as cool to him, but he thought he’d be able to tell.
Jaskier grabbed his hand, blindly in the dark, and held it between both of his for a moment. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s not throbbing much, I know that’s a sign of infection. It just hurts. I’m all right.”
Geralt sat still for a moment. “If I trusted these people, I’d leave you here,” he confessed. “I don’t want to take you on the road with an injury like that. You can’t ride. But I don’t–”
“Don’t leave me,” Jaskier said. “I can keep up.”
“You can’t,” Geralt said. “But it’s not safe here.”
“These people are lovely,” Jaskier said. “We could stay one more day.”
“One,” Geralt said, “maybe.” But his instincts were telling him no. Still, it wasn’t worth fighting. He reached down to touch Jaskier’s bandage, and the bard grabbed his other hand as well.
“Leave it,” he said. “It’s all right. Let it be for now.”
“Fine,” Geralt said. He thought about it; he could kiss Jaskier, in the dark, and no one would see, and it would reassure him. So he stood up, but then bent over the bed and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier was so startled he let go of Geralt’s hands, and Geralt straightened up and went back over to the table.
He dug out his notebook and worked on making his notes for a while– his last few encounters with monsters, which potions he’d used, what he’d observed of events– until dawn began to lighten the window. Jaskier watched him for a while, but when he glanced over, the bard was asleep, pink-cheeked and innocent-looking.
So was Ciri, who had her hands folded under one cheek like a painting of a cherub. It made Geralt feel strange in his chest, to look at each of them in turn. He didn’t know what the feeling was, and it was uncomfortable, and it made him want to run away from it.
But he couldn’t run. He’d found his destiny, and it was this kid, and the only thing that seemed to make her really feel safe was that bard, and how he felt about it was immaterial. He breathed deep, centered himself, and pushed everything down again, slipping back into meditation– this time for his own sake, not for the potions.
Time gapped and when he blinked again the sun was up, and Ciri was sitting on one bed and Jaskier on the other, and they were whispering to one another.
“– meditating,” Jaskier was saying. “It’s like he’s asleep, but he’s not, and it’s creepy. Look, sometimes his eyes are open.”
“His eyes are open,” Ciri answered, staring at him in fascination. “Oh creepy!”
“That’s because I’m awake,” Geralt said, and both of the others startled backwards.
“Gahh,” Jaskier said. “Then why were you just sitting there like that?”
“Because I just woke up,” Geralt said. He rubbed his face. He felt better. He’d rather have slept, but he did feel a lot calmer. No howling mob had come for them in the middle of the night, though that didn’t mean one wasn’t awaiting them outside.
Jaskier was putting a brave face on it, but he was in a lot of pain this morning; he smelled distressed and his heartbeat was thrumming with the stress of it, cold sweat down the back of his neck. Geralt made him lie down and submit to having the bandage changed on his leg, and picked his leg up to examine both openings of the wound. It was inflamed, but didn’t smell sceptic; he was good at picking out that scent, among others. This kind of deep, enclosed wound was the most dangerous; it could easily form an abscess down deep inside and fester and fester, and kill Jaskier after enormous suffering. Geralt doused it in anti-sceptic herb tincture, making sure the liquid flowed down all the way into the depths of the wound, which made Jaskier gasp and shove the edge of the pillow into his mouth. Then he re-packed the outer parts with anti-sceptic lichen so it wouldn’t heal shut before the interior had finished draining, bandaged it, and poured a healthy pain-killing dose down Jaskier’s throat.
“I’ll have to teach you all I know of herb-craft,” Geralt said to Ciri, who was watching it all in disgust and fascination. Whatever the future held for her, she’d need to know how to put a body back together, if only her own; that was just how the world worked.
“I think so,” she agreed.
“Herb-craft by day,” Jaskier said tightly, looking horribly pale and wrung-out as he lay on the bed, “music theory in the evenings, you’ll be an unstoppable hero.” He visibly gathered himself and sat up, grimacing. “Oh, love, let me fix your hair so the hat fits.”
Ciri sat down on the bed next to Jaskier and he expertly took out her braid, combed her hair with his fingers, and put it back up again with practiced ease. Geralt had never asked, ever, whether the man had siblings, or even if he had a wife he left behind when he traveled, or anything like that. It had seemed like too much, like it wasn’t his business, like exhibiting curiosity would indicate too much interest on his part and make it harder to disentangle when it became necessary.
He didn’t ask now, either.
So uhhh I was just going over MDS and making minor typo fixes and things while I was ruminating on edits for the next Little Fishie chapter etc., and I realized abruptly that somehow, an entire almost-2000-word scene in the middle of that first story just… got left out??? It was supposed to happen between chapter 7 and 8 and just. I just didn’t include it. I thought it had been in chapter 7, I think, and when i posted 8 I didn’t include it.
So the opening of 8 didn’t even make sense and nobody mentioned it???
Anyway.
I’ve fixed it, so if you liked that story, especially if right after the Fat Baby song you were like wait how is it the next morning already, then here it is.
I’ll also paste it right in here because I thought it was rather a good scene, and kind of had been surprised nobody had commented on what I thought was a rather hilarious bit where Geralt woke up from meditating and Jaskier and Ciri were watching him and whispering to each other about how creepy it was that his eyes were open and he scared the shit out of both of them by saying “my eyes are open because I’m awake”. HA.
So. Here’s the whole missing bit, and here’s the link to the revised chapter where it’s in context.
Geralt was too nervous to sleep. These people were far too kind. Ridiculously too kind. There had to be something– they were hiding something, surely. He couldn’t scent anything out of the ordinary, couldn’t come up with anything to justify his suspicion, which just made him the more suspicious.
It was just as well; in order to properly do alchemy, he needed to meditate. He took the collection of jars with him into the room they’d been given, which had two beds and a table and chair in it, and set them all up on the table, and arrayed them into the correct logical orders, and waited until both Jaskier and Ciri’s breathing had steadied out into sleep. There was a blanket chest at the foot of one bed, and so he took the sole chair, wedged it under the door handle, and sat on the chest instead.
Then he focused in turn on each of the jars, and slipped sideways into the place where things made sense.
He was trying to brew half of the jars to human-suitable strength, and the other half, he’d separated out and had slipped in the few things he could still scrape together out of his carefully-hoarded collection of magical creature components. He really didn’t have much, but he could get probably one vision-in-the-dark potion, maybe two or three of varying constitutions for quick healing or at least blood-clotting, and another two or three that would help with reflex speed and endurance and the like. He’d have to rely on human-strength stuff for the rest, but that was fine. What he was making for these people would be better than anything their cunning-woman could brew, unless she had mage powers.
Not that he expected them to be grateful. They were being kind now, maybe because Ciri was cute, more likely because Jaskier was cute. But they would find a reason, soon enough, to be afraid of Geralt, and in his experience, that kind of fear always manifested in violence, and the more intensely the longer it was delayed.
There was only a tiny window in this room, not big enough to escape out of, but he’d already tested the wall; he could break out of it with just his normal strength. If they came for him, he could get Ciri and Jaskier out, provided Ciri listened to him– he could only carry one of them at once, at his normal strength, and it might be hairy, getting to the horses– but he could do it, he could get out. It’d be easiest to get through the palisade if he had the strength to cast an Aard at it but they might fare all right even without. He could come up with something.
So he sank deeper into meditation, into the place beyond where things made sense– into the place where there was nothing, and he breathed, and felt everything, and felt nothing, and felt everything, and made himself into a conduit.
He came out of it a great deal less anxious and more serene, and he could feel that he was inwardly in much better condition as well. He needed to sleep too, but that would have to wait; he could heal without it. He wasn’t feeling quite in control of himself enough to share a bed with Jaskier while Ciri was in the room. That was an awkwardness he earnestly wanted to avoid.
He opened his eyes. It was dark in the room, but he could see. Good; he’d managed to heal himself from the toxicity enough that his normal night vision had come back. Without potions, he still needed some light to see, but a lot less than a human would. He breathed deeply in relief. His head felt better, his joints felt better, he felt sharper and stronger. He was just tired, but that would have to wait.
He rolled his head on his neck, shook out his arms, stood up and stretched his back, and then he set to sorting the jars, and decanting the potions he’d made for himself into the tiny bottles he preferred to carry. Most of his store of them were lost or broken, but the girl here had found some. He wasn’t sure what they’d be doing with them here, but they’d scrounged enough for his tastes, and he had enough leather scraps left in his inventory to wrap them all securely.
“Hey,” Jaskier whispered suddenly, and he startled slightly, then turned to look. Jaskier’s eyes gleamed from the edge of the bed. “Come to bed. It’s safe and I won’t molest you. Not with the kid in the room.”
Geralt hesitated, then shook his head, then remembered Jaskier couldn’t see in the dark. “I won’t sleep,” he said.
“Just lie down and rest,” Jaskier said.
“I can’t,” Geralt said.
Jaskier sighed, and tried to turn over, then paused with a sharp catch in his breath. Pain; his leg was troubling him. Geralt came and sat on the bed, and put his hand on Jaskier’s leg. “Let me look,” he said.
“It’s dark,” Jaskier said.
“I can see in the dark,” Geralt reminded him. He began by holding Jaskier’s leg between his hands. It was warm, a bit warmer than a human should be, but not by much; he put the back of his hand against Jaskier’s cheek briefly to check. No fever, or not noticeably; Geralt ran hot, so a human with a fever might still register as cool to him, but he thought he’d be able to tell.
Jaskier grabbed his hand, blindly in the dark, and held it between both of his for a moment. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s not throbbing much, I know that’s a sign of infection. It just hurts. I’m all right.”
Geralt sat still for a moment. “If I trusted these people, I’d leave you here,” he confessed. “I don’t want to take you on the road with an injury like that. You can’t ride. But I don’t–”
“Don’t leave me,” Jaskier said. “I can keep up.”
“You can’t,” Geralt said. “But it’s not safe here.”
“These people are lovely,” Jaskier said. “We could stay one more day.”
“One,” Geralt said, “maybe.” But his instincts were telling him no. Still, it wasn’t worth fighting. He reached down to touch Jaskier’s bandage, and the bard grabbed his other hand as well.
“Leave it,” he said. “It’s all right. Let it be for now.”
“Fine,” Geralt said. He thought about it; he could kiss Jaskier, in the dark, and no one would see, and it would reassure him. So he stood up, but then bent over the bed and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier was so startled he let go of Geralt’s hands, and Geralt straightened up and went back over to the table.
He dug out his notebook and worked on making his notes for a while– his last few encounters with monsters, which potions he’d used, what he’d observed of events– until dawn began to lighten the window. Jaskier watched him for a while, but when he glanced over, the bard was asleep, pink-cheeked and innocent-looking.
So was Ciri, who had her hands folded under one cheek like a painting of a cherub. It made Geralt feel strange in his chest, to look at each of them in turn. He didn’t know what the feeling was, and it was uncomfortable, and it made him want to run away from it.
But he couldn’t run. He’d found his destiny, and it was this kid, and the only thing that seemed to make her really feel safe was that bard, and how he felt about it was immaterial. He breathed deep, centered himself, and pushed everything down again, slipping back into meditation– this time for his own sake, not for the potions.
Time gapped and when he blinked again the sun was up, and Ciri was sitting on one bed and Jaskier on the other, and they were whispering to one another.
“– meditating,” Jaskier was saying. “It’s like he’s asleep, but he’s not, and it’s creepy. Look, sometimes his eyes are open.”
“His eyes are open,” Ciri answered, staring at him in fascination. “Oh creepy!”
“That’s because I’m awake,” Geralt said, and both of the others startled backwards.
“Gahh,” Jaskier said. “Then why were you just sitting there like that?”
“Because I just woke up,” Geralt said. He rubbed his face. He felt better. He’d rather have slept, but he did feel a lot calmer. No howling mob had come for them in the middle of the night, though that didn’t mean one wasn’t awaiting them outside.
Jaskier was putting a brave face on it, but he was in a lot of pain this morning; he smelled distressed and his heartbeat was thrumming with the stress of it, cold sweat down the back of his neck. Geralt made him lie down and submit to having the bandage changed on his leg, and picked his leg up to examine both openings of the wound. It was inflamed, but didn’t smell sceptic; he was good at picking out that scent, among others. This kind of deep, enclosed wound was the most dangerous; it could easily form an abscess down deep inside and fester and fester, and kill Jaskier after enormous suffering. Geralt doused it in anti-sceptic herb tincture, making sure the liquid flowed down all the way into the depths of the wound, which made Jaskier gasp and shove the edge of the pillow into his mouth. Then he re-packed the outer parts with anti-sceptic lichen so it wouldn’t heal shut before the interior had finished draining, bandaged it, and poured a healthy pain-killing dose down Jaskier’s throat.
“I’ll have to teach you all I know of herb-craft,” Geralt said to Ciri, who was watching it all in disgust and fascination. Whatever the future held for her, she’d need to know how to put a body back together, if only her own; that was just how the world worked.
“I think so,” she agreed.
“Herb-craft by day,” Jaskier said tightly, looking horribly pale and wrung-out as he lay on the bed, “music theory in the evenings, you’ll be an unstoppable hero.” He visibly gathered himself and sat up, grimacing. “Oh, love, let me fix your hair so the hat fits.”
Ciri sat down on the bed next to Jaskier and he expertly took out her braid, combed her hair with his fingers, and put it back up again with practiced ease. Geralt had never asked, ever, whether the man had siblings, or even if he had a wife he left behind when he traveled, or anything like that. It had seemed like too much, like it wasn’t his business, like exhibiting curiosity would indicate too much interest on his part and make it harder to disentangle when it became necessary.
He didn’t ask now, either.
