His Dreams of Memories

5

Alarms. Who the hell decided they would be a good thing in this world? Some crackhead must've thought a rooster and the sun wasn't annoying enough.

Julian opened one eye, staring at his phone's screen. The orange snooze button looked nice, but it would only set a timer for ten minutes leading to the xylophone playing once more. The stop button was his only option.

"Gods..." He groaned, stretching until his knuckles brushed against the wall. Wait- " 'Gods'?" Julian frowned at his own wording, as far as he knew, only one God existed. "The fuck..." he ran his fingers through his chestnut locks, blaming his wording on the mind-splitting headache he had.

No matter, coffee was the most important thing at the moment, as was as many tablets of ibuprofen he could take. He hated when his friend was right, it usually leads to making the bartender's head bigger, and making him more of a smart ass.

Julian picked up his phone, immediately turning down the brightness to his liking. As usual, there was a string of messages and emails, along with a few calls and voicemails.

Most of the notifications were junk. Unknown numbers asking about him, most likely family that he hadn't talked to in years- his father. Then there were emails from an old friend about his music career...

"He never listens," Julian mumbled, deleting the emails. What part of 'no' did he not understand?

BANG BANG BANG BANG

Julian flinched at each sound. Drinking all that whiskey had turned out to be a terrible idea.

BANG BANG BA-

"Stop banging on the door!" Julian shouted, hating the sound of his own voice. So loud... why couldn't people be quieter? "Give me a moment and I'll be over!"

This wasn't his worst hangover, but it was a bad one. There was one night when his boyfriend left him over a female stripper- now that night was filled with multiple beer bottles and whiskey glasses. He stayed in bed the whole day, after making sure his room was pitch black.

"Ah, thank you for answering your door, sir!" A young girl with white hair stood at the door, dressed in a Girl Scout's outfit. She wore a large, toothy grin on her face. "Would you like any Girl Scout cookies?"

"Cirilla..." Jaskier looked at the little girl with a frown. "Where did you put my lute?"

The eight-year-old only giggled and started to run around the inn's room. (Note: Yes, Ciri is eleven to twelve in the Netflix adaption, but I just wanted to make her younger, for the sake of this fic, so please don't comment asking or criticizing it.)

Jaskier scowled and put his head in his hands, flopping down onto the bed. She expected him to chase her- but he had a performance and wasn't in the mood for playtime. He can't go in empty-handed, what's a bard without their instrument?

Cirilla's giggling ceased when the door opened. She stopped running around and moved to the floor instead, going to play with a loose nail on the floorboard.

"Jask, shouldn't you be at the tavern?" A gruff voice asked from the doorway. "The innkeeper's getting impatient."

The bard nodded and stood up from the bed. "I should, yes. But Cirilla has hidden my lute from me." He looked up with pleading eyes. "Please tell her to find it, we need the money, Geralt."

The Witcher pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Ciri, give Jaskier his lute unless you'd rather go without eating tonight." The innkeeper promised a free room, but not free food.

Cirilla puffed her cheeks out but nodded. She scurried over to the bed and crouched down, reaching under to pull out the bard's lute.

"Gods, you put her under the bed?" Jaskier took his instrument from the eight-year-old, clear shock written on his expression. "You wound me, Cirilla."

Geralt rolled his eyes, "she's only a child. Ciri, apologize." She mumbled a sorry and hugged the bard. "What're you playing?"

The bard shrugged. "Whatever comes to mind, darling." He walked over to the door and kissed Geralt's jaw. "I'll be back soon."

"Mister? Are you alright?" The white-haired girl frowned. Her green eyes shined with worry. "I have some water if you need some-"

Julian shook his head. "It's quite alright, I've had a rough night." His tired azure eyes proved his statement. "I don't usually get cookies... but I'll take a box of Samoas."

The girl's grin came back. "Thank you, mister!" She reaches down and grabbed a box from her red wagon. "Six dollars please!"

"Let me grab my wallet," Julian walked away from the door to his island and picked up a leather wallet from the counter, taking out a five and a one. He ignored the vision or daydream he just experienced. Geralt and now Cirilla, or Ciri. "Sorry to keep you waiting..."

The girl took the money and exchanged it for the box. "It's alright, mister. My mom doesn't mind... I don't think..."

"Cirilla!" A raven-haired woman walked out of the elevator, pocketing her phone. "Sweetheart, we gotta go meet with your father."

Julian's mouth parted. Cirilla... just like the- "Thanks for the cookies, kiddo." He mumbled before going back into his apartment, quickly shutting the door before something else could happen.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Cirilla dragged her wagon back to the elevator, holding her mother's hand.

The woman had a ghostly expression on her face. "I-I'm... yes, sweetie, don't worry about it." She looked back at the man's apartment, reading the number on his door. Found you.

Sorry, this is super long. I'm officially a junior, so I wanted to celebrate with a long chapter- yay!