wiedzminka | ❧ IC INBOX: Abraxas

[When he enters, he has the look of a man who's spent the evening wandering the desert. Even his own fastidious nature cannot shield him from the sand gumming up in thin layers across his uniform, the way it dusts his cheekbones. Even his hair shows strands out of place, illuminated faintly in the light emanating from the fire.

Sephiroth casts his gaze about, finds Ciri nearby first, tending to her sword. The quaint spread of food is noted next, and he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that he is hungry. He has had only one meal today, early this morning — and while he can sustain himself on even less than that, it isn't ideal.

He shuts the door gently behind him, stepping further in.]

…Thank you for the offer to help.

You've helped me before.

[ She answers simply -- because it is that simple, in the end. He's been a trustworthy ally (friend, even), and she can repay the same in kind. Even if she's not confident they have anyone to search for, if the man from his home world is really gone.

It's company Ciri can provide instead, though. And a reminder to eat something, rather than pushing himself on nothing at all. ]

Sit at the table. I'll join you in a moment.

Wine or ale?

[He supposes it’s as simple as that. Offered aid is returned in kind, though he does not think to expect it — in some way, it surprises him, even if it is transactional. Though maybe that’s not giving it enough credit. He considers her a friend, and though he doesn’t like to rely too overtly on others, it’s comforting to know that Ciri is someone he can trust with more personal worries.

He crosses over to the table, pulling out a chair to sit. Sephiroth pulls at the fingers of his dark gloves, just as marred with sand in their leather creases. Best to remove them before a meal.]

Ale sounds good.

[ She finishes what she is doing, puts away her supplies and her blade, letting him eat some in the meantime and giving him some time to rest. He doesn't say anything else yet, so she does not ask. The silence is filled with the sound of Ciri moving around, washing her hands and grabbing a bottle of ale from the ice box (cold ale has been a revelation to those from her world). She joins him after a minute, along with two pewter mugs, in which the ale is poured and handed over. ]

We have stronger stuff too.

[ Depending on how he's feeling. ]

And more bread. Eat as much as you want.

[He nods, taking the mug, though he doesn’t feel the need to request anything stronger. It would be a moot point, considering he’d have to bleed their whole supply dry were Sephiroth to feel any effect, but the offer is appreciated all the same.

Again, he fills the air with silence, knowing that it’s better suited to conversation, but he’s sorting through his words, not completely sure how to enunciate how he’s feeling about the whole matter. In the interim, he eats what she’s laid out for him—whatever is closest—allowing for some time to fill his stomach before, finally:]

Do you think it’s realistic to expect to find him? Out in the desert.

[Sephiroth is pragmatic, sometimes unforgivingly so. Even now, holding out a little hope, he knows the answer is not as kind.]

[ So he doesn't eat alone, Ciri picks at some of the fruit, more for something to do with her hands other than the occasional drink than anything else. It gives her, at least, a moment to consider her answer. ]

You ask me something like that, I'm going to reply honestly.

[ She tells him steadily, leveling a serious look at Sephiroth and meeting his eyes. Some part of her might want to spare his feelings, but that part has long since learned nothing good ever comes of that in the end. ]

I don't know enough to say anything definitively. Could be he's out there. Could be he's gone. But realistically speaking, one of these has a higher likelihood, all things considered.

You should check his domain in the Horizon. Should find your answer there.

[He prefers honesty. Expecting the worst is the more practical option; and it means that should he be pleasantly surprised, all the better for it. Sephiroth looks at her evenly, about as steadily as she replies to his question. Having forgotten about his food for now, he shakes his head, his brows slanting.]

No. I can't.

[For as unlikely as that sounds, it requires explanation.]

Cloud and I were never... close. In fact, we did not see eye-to-eye ever since my arrival to this planet. He had changed in ways I did not expect. [To say the least.] And I don't know where his domain would have been, or if he even created one to start.

I realize that's odd, coming from a man invested in seeking out his whereabouts now.

Mm. I see.

[ Ciri nods, not questioning it. There is a certain camaraderie that comes from being of the same world; even if he and Cloud aren't close, or even hold opposing views, she can understand why Sephiroth would at least want to know whether or not he's disappeared. ]

I've heard the name. Surely he had friends among the Summoned-- at least acquaintances. Let me ask around.

[He doubts even that. Cloud had not made friends among the Free Cities' army. He was churlish and bristly and ill-tempered; so far departed from the fresh-faced recruit he had known as they traveled to Nibelheim together.]

I wouldn't be too certain. But maybe you'll get lucky.

[And Ciri is likely better at scenting out information and rumor better than him. There is something about being dressed as a city guard that makes spines stiffen, makes a citizen's lips not nearly as loose.

He is beset, suddenly, by a vague feeling of frustration.]

I should have been more patient with him.

It wouldn't have mattered. [ She says plainly, but not unkindly. ]

If he's gone, he's gone. You could have done nothing about it.

[ Just as none of them had been able to predict or prevent Rinwell's disappearance. Her room in the loft upstairs stands empty, no matter how much effort and care had been put into it by several pairs of hands. Hector is gone, too. People just... do that. They vanish. They leave.

Ciri reaches for the ale, considering something stronger. The urge comes suddenly to rescind her offer of help, to shut down this relationship too before it grows too painful. She swallows. ]

Don't bother with regrets. We'll look and ask around. There's nothing more to do.

[She's right. Of course she is. He has much he should've asked Cloud while he was here, but he didn't, plain and simple, and perhaps there's no point in ruminating. In assuming he could have wrung out answers from the man when he was so unwilling to speak to him, anyway.

So he just nods, tends to his food for a minute or two more in silence. Takes that time to set his frustration aside, box it up and ignore it.

Eventually—]

I need to wash up. Do you mind?

[He is still gritty and unpresentable (in his estimation) from his trek in the desert. He won't be able to sleep like this.]

[ The silence feels heavy, a bit oppressive, but Ciri's not really sure what to fill it with that won't sound... trite. And she's not the sort to give him empty words of comfort any more than Sephiroth is the sort to appreciate them. She's not going to say they'll find Cloud for sure, or that it's going to be okay. She's said her piece: it is what it is, and now they have to make do with the reality of whatever has happened. Just like she's had to make do with the reality of Rinwell's absence, the empty space of her room, slowly being transformed into a library both for practical and sentimental reasons. The same as Jaskier has to keep going every day without Hector.

So Ciri is quiet, and they eat together in silence, and when the ale runs out she refills his cup.

Eventually, Sephiroth speaks. Ciri nods. ]

Not at all.

[ The chair legs scrape against the wooden floor when Ciri moves to stand. ]

I'll run the bath for you.

[ A much easier and more convenient task here than it ever ways back on the Continent, even in the royal palace. Cadens has its comforts. The water's even hot. ]

[He stands once she does, too, pushing his chair back. His mostly-empty cup of ale stares back up at him.]

I appreciate it, Ciri. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot just because I’m a guest in your home.

[Despite himself, and the lingering, serious mood left at the table, he does sound appreciative, forcing a note something easier into his words.]

Is that what you think I'm doing?

[ Ciri snorts. ]

Don't worry. I'll make you wash the dishes.

[ But she leads him to the bathroom anyway, gets the water running and offers him a towel. ]

You can probably borrow something of Jaskier's. Doubt my clothes would fit, though you're welcome to try.

[He follows, and takes the towel without thinking, holding it with both hands. Flatly-]

Jaskier's will have to do.

[If the man doesn't mind it; well, it's fine, probably.]

Things will spill out in places they shouldn't if I wear anything of yours.

[ His deadpan delivery might make it difficult to tell if he's joking for some, but Ciri's rather used to this style of humor. She laughs. Maybe he's feeling a little better already, if he's making quips like that. ]

Don't worry. All of Jaskier's clothes are designed to let things spill out as they should.

I'll go find you something. Shout if you need me.

[Jaskier's clothing? Sephiroth's mind briefly wanders to his short acquaintance with the man, and specifically his mode of dress. He cannot say that it… suits him, particularly, but he's also keenly aware that beggars cannot be choosers. They will be clean, sweat and sand-free, and that is all that he will need for tonight.]

I will.

[Shout if he needs her. Doubtful, though — he glances over to the tub, filling up with warm water. After Ciri leaves, Sephiroth sets the towel aside and begins unbuttoning his uniform. At the very least, he's eager to get out of these clothes, and will have already peeled off his officer's jacket by the time she returns, working at his undershirt instead.]

[ Ciri returns with a folded set of trousers -- purple, but otherwise thankfully fairly plain, and loose enough to be comfortable -- and an off-white chemise with only a bit of frill, with a deep V for a neckline. She leaves them on the towel rack nearby, lingering a moment, ostensibly to see if Sephiroth needs anything but perhaps also a tiny bit to watch him undress. Not that she's staring too obviously. ]

...I'll leave you to it, then.

[He glances at her, fingers still working at his shirt idly. Jaskier’s soon-to-be-borrowed clothes are too neatly folded for him to remark on their style, and so he only nods.]

I won’t be long.

[When Ciri takes her leave, and after the bath has filled with steaming water, he’s conscious enough to be fairly expedient (if not very through) where removing dirt and grime is concerned, soaking in the tub just long enough to reflect on the day and not terribly longer.

Getting out, drying off, and getting dressed is just as straightforward, though when he catches his reflection in the mirror, he finds himself pausing for a moment in a surreal sort of assessment. Purple trousers. Any kind of frill at all.

(He reminds himself, again, that beggars can’t be choosers.)

Sephiroth returns to the common area, seeking out Ciri, a hand tugging at the length of his sleeve.]

…don’t laugh.

[ Unfortunately, his request (warning?) comes too late. Ciri is already laughing. ]

Oooh, no. Purple is not your color, is it?

[ Ciri giggles, already up from the couch to come over and examine his outfit close up. ]

...the shirt looks rather nice though.

[He closes his eyes under her scrutiny, not quite like a petulant child, but... almost.]

The shirt is ridiculous. [Flatly. The color, the frills. (He does not seem to mind how much of his chest it shows off, though.)

...But maybe it is just a tad bit embarrassing, having Ciri laugh at his expense. He opens his eyes to look at her, even if she's still trying to get a gander of his new outfit up-close.]

How is it that Jaskier can stand to walk around like this?

[ She's even closer when he opens his eyes. Ciri reaches out to straighten some of the ruffles down the wide V in the front, pressing them down to lay flat against his chest. (And, consequently, definitely also touching his chest. Totally not the intent here, of course.)

She laughs. ]

Confidence, my good fellow. In abundance.

[She is close, and though he had not planned to move away, Sephiroth consciously remains stock-still as her hands roam over his borrowed shirt's ridiculous frills. As her fingers linger, he casts his gaze to fix somewhere over her shoulder, suddenly very aware of their close proximity in a way he had not truly ever considered before.]

I prefer black.

[He says, uselessly, regarding the preference of color. Is it warm in here, suddenly?]

[ Ciri pulls back, just a little. Her lips quirk, eyebrows up, as she surveys him. ]

Are you sulking?

[He crosses his arms, disarranging the ruffles sewn into his garment.]

No.

[Yes.]

But you think I look ridiculous.

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