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[niespodzianka]

( any format, go nuts. might be nsfw peppered thru. )

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[niespodzianka]

It does help. Though he doesn't do that, anymore. [ Dandelion had joked around about it, particularly when they were running with the Scoia'tael, but none have never come to fruition. Geralt knows why. ]

He wishes he hadn't, but he won't say so, because saying so would be worse, probably.

[ Geralt, what the fuck. Seemingly aware of not making any sense, he pulls a brief grimaced expression before taking a drink. ]

[whattaprick]

Been sitting on that one for a while, have you? [ Lambert quips, finally stopping playing with his drink to take another gulp himself.

He doesn't know Dandelion, not really, but through secondhand stories he knows enough-- ]

He didn't sound like the type who liked admitting having any regrets. Then again, neither is most anyone else.

[ Present company and self included. ]

[niespodzianka]

He mourned and moved on.

[ Geralt was, after all, definitively dead, and gone for years. Not everyone held on obsessively like Triss. (Thank the gods.) Witchers might be used to weird shit and difficult to emotionally disturb, but Geralt's friends have had a rougher time with it.

Dandelion was his best friend. They are still friends, and always will be, but they're both different people and there are no seamless transitions. ]

The eulogies people have written are based on his works, and his word that Yennefer and I died. Someone sang one in a tavern we were stopped at, in Vizima. It's just a different world for both of us.

[whattaprick]

[ Even by witcher standards, coming back from the dead is a little outside the realm of normal. They're trained from boyhood to accept death as part of the job; nobody ever bothered training them for what to do if they might come back.

Lambert doesn't really have a frame of reference for it, but then again? It's probably highly unlikely that anyone does, except maybe Yennefer. In this, as in a lot of other things, Geralt is yet another exception.

The younger witcher rocks back a little, studying Geralt's expression from under half-lidded eyes. ]

Do you wish it wasn't? [ And then, as though to breeze over the uncharacteristically serious question, he goes on with. ] Well, if we ever make it back, at least you'll have a hell of a story to tell him.

[niespodzianka]

This isn't the first time I've lived in another world. At this point I'm not sure he'd believe me.

[ He drains the cup, thankfully sparkle-free. He'd probably choke down an awful enchanted cocktail if a pretty girl offered it to him, but not Lambert, who he can comfortably tell to sod off about it. This is better. ]

I don't wish anything. Things are what they are.

[whattaprick]

He should believe you. You don't have enough imagination to make up something this stupid. [ Lambert says cheerily. ] Besides, everyone wants something. If you really didn't care how things are, why bother getting your hair cut? Or building a fancy tub out here when you've already got a fancy bathroom upstairs?

[ Which is worlds away from figuring out repairing a relationship that isn't exactly broken, and a bit of a nonsense answer in itself besides. Maybe it's the magic and the alcohol together to blame, the flush already high on Lambert's cheeks as he snickers and quaffs the last of his mug. He reaches for the bottle again, thankfully still steady enough to pour himself a measure without further mishap, before setting it down and beckoning a hand at Geralt. ]

Good, right? [ Good by witcher standards meaning probably strong enough to sear paint and stomachs for anyone else, but just enough to hurtle them briskly along the road to pleasantly tipsy (and later, inevitably regretful). ] Want another?

[niespodzianka]

What do you know about it? You don't give a shit about anything, as you keep reminding everyone as loud as fucking possible.

[ Only slightly cranky. Yeah, yeah, he holds his cup out. It's fine. ]

I've made two wishes on a djin. But all anyone remembers the last one. [ Two is worlds more than most; the concept of wishing thus holds a different weight for Geralt. ]

The first one was for Dandelion. And the last was for Yen. [ He takes a drink. ] I'm done with wishes.

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert takes it, waggling it sternly at Geralt. ]

Ah, but not giving a shit about anything and wanting things are not mutually exclusive. [ He proclaims, before topping Geralt's drink off and handing it back over. Drink up, buddy, you look like you could use one. He turns back to his own cocktail mixing, filling it up the rest of the way with the same sparkly stuff. ]

If it helps, I'm pretty sure the third wish isn't what the djinn remembers. [ That's certainly the funniest part of the story to Lambert, anyway, and he sniggers very maturely into his drink. The conversation's rolled back around to where it was before, but Lambert doesn't poke his fingers further into the sore spot, for once. Geralt did tell him to knock it off once this conversation already, and that's enough of a personal victory. ]

[niespodzianka]

[ It's a conversation that shifts like choppy ocean waters, something that Geralt has come to associate with Lambert. An effort to navigate but, usually, not a catastrophe. He'll just never have smooth sailing. Sometimes he has patience for that, sometimes he doesn't.

Hovering somewhere on the edge between, tonight. ]

You know, someday all the monsters and Elder races will be gone, but the djinn will remain. Just them and humans with no idea how to wrangle them.

[whattaprick]

Lucky them. [ Lambert raises his mug in a lazy toast. Every witcher's probably going to be dead by then, too, present company included, but that seems obvious enough not to need stating out loud. ]

Personally, I'd bet on the humans coming out on top.

[niespodzianka]

Mm. Something will come along and wipe them out. It's inevitable. Maybe the human homeworld, wherever it is, will hold up better, but our world. [ Geralt shakes his head. ] I think it's just ... something that will always change.

[ Gnomes and vrans and elves and dwarves and humans, monsters raining from the sky, portals constantly being ripped open. They don't even know who the first inhabitants were. But eventually, something will crawl up on the shores of the Continent and do to the humans what they've done to the Elder races, what the elves did to the vrans. ]

Nothing is unmovable.