whatupbuttercup | PSL Horsetrading with Monsterbytrade

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PSL Horsetrading with Monsterbytrade

To the surprise of positively no one, Jaskier was a bit discerning when it came to purchasing anything of significant value. He picked his cremes and soaps out with care, sampled and carefully balanced the perfumes he carried, gauged and tested the accouterments he kept for the care of his lute--and his clothes, the ridiculous care he took in picking fabric and trim would have driven anyone but the tailor themselves to distraction. None of this had ever been inflicted on Geralt of Rivia directly--Jaskier tended to take the day to shop, whenever they were near a major city and Geralt was suitably occupied with hunting.

This time, however, Geralt had to come with him.

Jaskier had coin enough for most trinkets and niceties--but a horse? A horse was a pricey thing and he would have to encroach into the Witcher's purse if he planned on picking out any creature that could tolerate their particularly dangerous brand of wandering.

Fortunately, for all the sound and fury of Oxenfurt, there were a wealth of horse ranches in the surrounding farmland. They had no shortage of beasts to pick from and, with the market days of the big city, it was an easy task to see the lot of them lined up and ready for sale.

Jaskier picked through the herds (literal and figurative) and examined each horse that caught his eye. He hummed, spoke to them, twined his fingers through their manes, and made clucking noises with his tongue whenever one was deemed inappropriate or unworthy. There were more than a few that he fussed over for long stretches of time, but each failed some unspoken test and was given a sad pat on their long snouts as the bard bade them farewell.

They'd started at dawn, just as the first traders had arrived, and late afternoon was creeping into evening as they wandered. A dozen dealers had their stock sorted through and found wanting and, all the while, Jaskier darted to and fro--eagerly searching for something he couldn't explain.

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"We'd be luckier if you fell on your lute," Geralt muttered, shrugging his shoulders as if missing the weight of his sword, left in the room with the rest of their things. Almost all the rest of their things.

Jaskier was going to sing to the horses.

Fuck.

The market seemed to roll out before them from out of the fog as they walked down the hill, their steps carried forward by the pluck of strings. It was only the best sleep that he'd had in weeks that kept him in a frame of mind to deal with the obvious debacle that lay in front of him. The sounds of horseflesh were muted by the the weather but once they'd gotten closer, Geralt's suspicions were confirmed. "More than yesterday," he said, in a tone that supplied thanks to anything holy as an addendum. Perhaps there would be something that Jaskier would confer his blessings upon so that they could get out of Oxenfurt and back to getting the money to get him another sword.

Though the morning wore on, the fog wore off, and Jaskier was still clucking and cooing and walking away.

Ah, except. Now the lute had been added in.

Just before lunch, Geralt had finally just leaned himself against a paddock fence and began to navel-gaze. He was sure that Jaskier would collect him when he found something. If he found something. If he ever found anything.

The new influx of horses had been a lovely, encouraging sight--more than a few ranchers had been missing the day before. Jaskier had perked up, strumming and humming as they meandered through the throng and Geralt, well, he'd been surprisingly amicable. For the first few hours, at least. To Jaskier's utter frustration, the vast majority of the horses that caught his eye seemed utterly repelled by him.

Yesterday, he'd been able to walk up to nearly any of them, cooing and clucking as he liked, and they'd either ignore him or turn a fond look his way. These horses--oh, they were not the same. When he strummed a soft chord or hummed sweetly at them, they would either wander off, flatten their ears at him, or paw at the ground nervously. He'd had one sweet-faced black horse trot up to him when he started strumming a lullaby, but it hadn't gotten within arm's reach before its ears swiveled with alarm and it bounded off.

The bard was crestfallen--crushed, even--and while Geralt begged off to watch as he wandered through the paddocks, Jaskier had an absurd moment of terror. He wanted to find a horse but, well, what was he going to do if none of these could tolerate the sound of a lute? He couldn't use that as an excuse with the Witcher, he'd been very firm about finding a horse today--but it would be a catastrophe.

Jaskier was so distraught by his sudden conundrum that he stopped playing and just stared at the poor black mare who'd run off. He stood there for a minute or two and was so consumed in the dilema that he didn't notice the horse that came up behind him--at least, not until it huffed impatiently in his hair and chewed at the shoulder of his doublet. He started as it tugged at him, and when he whirled around he actually, honestly, gasped with delight.

"Well--aren't you gorgeous!" Jaskier praised in a bright tone and the horse in front of him stared back, eyes blue as the summer sky, and waited. It huffed again and tried to chew on his arm--no on his lute strap? "Oh, were you listening? How rude of me."

Jaskier strummed a chord and the horse--well, he had rarely seen one look delighted, but it nickered and shuffled and stared at him. It was a gorgeous blonde thing--shimmered like gold in the sun--and its mane had the most delightful bit of curl to it, like the lovely locks of some fair noblewoman. It was a bit thin, and a bit smaller than Roach, but very elegant. It looked like it was the very model that posed whilst someone sculpted heraldry.

It was stunning, positively beautiful, and best yet: it liked his playing.

He sung sweetly about how pretty it was, about how it sparkled in the sunshine, and the horse delighted again, huffing at his head and swishing its lovely tail--it liked his singing as well.

"Geralt!" Jaskier called brightly--he played and meandered back toward the Witcher--the golden horse followed him at a sedate and cheerful pace, drawn after him as surely as if he'd had a lead on it. "Oh! I've found it!"

Oh, many of the horses were the same-- it was the lute that had changed things. Despite Geralt's deeply quiet praise for Jaskier's musical talents (the compositions he would never, ever agree with, though the bard would simply just tell him that he had no ear for poetry) there were just very few horse (or men for that matter) that would walk toward a man banging a lute in your general direction with purpose.

"And I haven't even gotten old yet," Geralt said with a sigh for the call and the incoming sounds of song. He levered himself off the boards and turned. "I hope that-- fuck, Jaskier, no." Because his eyes had found the thing that was walking after the bard and there were so many reasons that they were not only not taking this horse on the road with them, but not sinking any money into it. "Just no. Go find something other than that kelpie. It's not coming with us."

If Geralt hadn't known Jaskier for as long as he had he would have asked how the man had managed to attract the one horse that was as high-maintenance as he was, but this far into their relationship the question didn't even come to mind. Of course he had.

Jaskier, who was already deeply invested in plans to braid this horse's mane and systematically identify what treats it liked, came to an awkward, stumbling halt as Geralt denied it. He played a sour note as his fingers stilled on the strings and the horse seemed surprised and annoyed by it.

"What, why, it's perfe--wait," Jaskier objected, whined, and complained all at once. "Kelpie?"

His eyes widened at the idea, not in horror but in open, unashamed wonder. His head whipped back to the beautiful gold horse and then Geralt, then back again.

"I thought they only came as seals," Jaskier breathed.

The golden horse, annoyed by the sudden lack of serenading, stepped closer to the awed bard and nudged him firmly in the shoulder with its nose. It huffed and nipped at his shoulder and then nipped lightly at his hair until Jaskier started stroking it.

"Jask-- no." Geralt hopped over the paddock fence in one single motion, heading toward the idiot bard who he'd let travel with him for so long for unknown reasons. "That's a selkie. This horse is not a magical creature who will shed her skin and love you forever if you hide it from her, mostly--" he leaned down to talk a look, "because this horse is a stallion." He didn't want to examine the ridiculous thing following Jaskier but his hands took him forward anyway, down the slender limbs to the fetlocks, picking up the feet. The horse shifted weight easily (against expectation) and didn't snap. Geralt sighed and rested the hoof on his knee as spoke. "Kelpies lurk in the water and take the form of horses to come on land to hunt people. They like eating skin, pulling it off their victims piece by piece."

He stood up, dropped the hoof. Came around to pull at the high withers. Ran fingers through the mane and then handled ears, looked at eyes, stuck his thumbs in the corner of the horse's mouth so it would open. Unfortunately, the horse seemed in better-than-good condition. It head-butted his chest when he let go and he pushed it back. "Jaskier, this horse has some form of albinism. It is going to cost a fortune because a fool will pay it and then it will catch sunburn on the road. Look at his legs. He was breed for some idiot lord to prance around a garden, not to outrun griffins and climb mountains."

Though to be fair that might be untrue-- a horse as compact and slender as this one might be incredibly fast, even with Jaskier's ego on his back.

Well, Jaskier was a bit disappointed that it wasn't a magical creature that could strip that lovely fur like a coat and turn into a gorgeous woman--or rather a gorgeous man--but the description of a Kelpie had been interesting enough to distract him from his disappointment. Geralt meandered around the horse, poking and prodding, and Jaskier petted the long thin shapes of its face. It seemed content to let him, which was delightful.

"Oh, come now Geralt, it wouldn't skin people and eat them, it's a music lover," Jaskier defended in a tone that was only conversational if one were talking with a toddler. "Isn't that right? No, you're far too pretty to lurk in water all day. It would ruin your lovely mane."

Geralt petted it, checked its teeth and generally fussed about until the horse butted him in the chest. Then, to the surprise of no one but the consternation of Jaskier, he objected. The bard gave him a flat look and settled his hands on his hips.

They had been searching for a day and a half and, thus far, this was the clear front-runner.

"Geralt, if I can climb the mountain on foot, in my very nice shoes, this creature can surely bound up it like a mountain goat," Jaskier says, "and besides, this one likes my music! Would you rather I pick one that gets upset and runs off when I start playing? How well will that horse handle shrieking--oh--I don't know--harpies if we come across them?"

"How does that matter if it's standing still simply because it's too dumb to consider another option?" Geralt growled the question, looking at the horse in question again. He wished there were some obvious deformity to the thing-- a missing leg or a harelip. A shockingly golden coat was never going to ring as a problem to Jaskier. The horse shook his head, flopping his mane around his high, arched neck and for the love of Kaer Morhen, what had the rancher bred to get such a beast? Geralt fleeting considered that maybe it was a dark creature and then sighed. Unfortunately not.

"No," he said again, and walked away. They could find something else. Something less... loud.

Jaskier gaped but, as the bard went to argue, the horse at his side did the most remarkable thing. It let out a low huffing exhalation, flattened its ears, tossed its head--mockingly? Jaskier stared in open shock.

Had it--was it--did it just do a reasonable impression of Geralt? No, that couldn't be right. Horses were smart but not that smart--it had just disliked Geralt's tone, surely.

"You're not dumb, are you, my pretty?" Jaskier asked and a touch of suspicion crept into his cooing. The gold horse stared at him, ears swiveled to his voice, and its eyes sparkled in the sunshine...and it looked perfectly, absolutely innocent.

No, he had imagined it the similarities.

It was a horse for fuck's sake, not a selkie or a kelpie, or what have you.

Jaskier pouted at the lovely creature and heaved a huge sigh as he reached out and stroked its mane. His frown was dramatic and apologetic but, honestly, what could he do? He had to borrow money from the Witcher to acquire the horse, he was at least a bit beholden to Geralt's opinions on which horse he chose.

"Sorry, sweetling," Jaskier told it and scratched it fondly behind the ear. It stared and kept staring as he walked off, headed after the Witcher and toward the next paddock.

"You know, that was a perfectly lovely horse," Jaskier complained as he caught up to Geralt, his lute out and ready as they walked. "Who knows how long it will take to find another one that likes my strumming?"

Jaskier complained quietly as he strummed and absolutely didn't notice the way that gold horse watched them, nor as it plucked its way out of one paddock (with a surprisingly nimble and impressive vertical leap) and into the next. It moved slyly as it followed after them, but it was a shiny thing and didn't hide well among the horses in the next paddock either. Still, even a golden horse can meander through a herd without immediately drawing notice and Jaskier had turned his attention to the next batch.

Geralt led the way through the new herd; something about the way he moved seemed to be accepted by the horses and most didn't even bother to raise their heads as he came on. Jaskier, however, had ears stamping and tails flicking. Geralt did notice, in a herd with Jaskier rather than up and down makeshift stalls, the effect that the bard had on the horses. His eyes narrowed, considering.

"Why've you never had a horse?" He think he knew the answer, now, but he wanted to hear it from Jaskier because no matter how the average horse reacted to the man's natural energy, that didn't mean it was the human side of the answer. He'd never thought to ask before, it had simply always been the status quo, Jaskier on foot. A compact and solid mare raised her head and eyed the two men-- an appropriate yellow for a horse (dun), she had an attractive starburst that covered one eye completely in white. But a strum of the lute sent her ears back and when she moved away she took half the herd.

It left a gap in horseflesh that revealed a sandy gold coat and Geralt stopped in his tracks. He looked at the horse and the paddock they'd come from, and then the horse again. The horse looked away. "Jaskier..."

Edited 2020-04-01 16:00 (UTC)

"Oh, you know how it is--hounds dislike some people, cats others, horses just tend to dislike me for some reason," Jaskier told him, absently, and pouted as he approached the be-speckled mare. She looked like a sweet thing but, just as the rest of the horses in this paddock had, the moment he plucked out a few chords, her ears went back and she nickered and stomped off. Jaskier let his hand fall to the belly of his lute with an audible, percussive thump. Another horse moved off in the opposite direction as he did.

"Is it tempo? Timbre?" Jaskier asked, largely to himself, as his gaze tracked the herd toward the other end of the fences. He was still ruminating when Geralt called his name and drew him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Jaskier started and then, as he spied that glimmering gold, let out a small delighted gasp. "Oh! Another?"

Was this a popular breed? When had this happened?

Jaskier started toward the gold horse with eager speed and, halfway to it, realized that it was shockingly similar to the last one. So shockingly similar that there was, in fact, no way that it was not the very same horse. His awe shifted to playful scolding then, but the skip in his step didn't abate.

The gold horse peered at him, unashamed, and shuffled closer as he came alongside it--it was a terrible, childish habit, reaching out whilst approaching a horse, but he'd grown accustomed to doing it to Roach as he walked next to her for miles on end. Usually Geralt would stop him with a gruff reprimand--Don't Touch Roach--but there were times he didn't and Roach would simply huff at his touch. The fact that this horse didn't snap or startle as he combed absently through its mane made him smile.

"Clever little fellow," Jaskier reprimanded in delighted singsong. "How did you get out, hm?"

True enough-- Geralt had yet to find a cat that had less than a passing dislike for Witchers, though they seemed to feel particularly strongly about him. Still, it was a byproduct of his mutations, he was sure; Jaskier was simply Jaskier. Well. Perhaps that was enough... for all but one horse, apparently.

"It jumped." There was no hole in the paddocks, no gate even that could have been used. He and Jaskier had boosted over themselves. "That fence is five foot." A decent leap for any horse at a run, but with no space and no momentum? Roach couldn't have done it, nor many other horses Geralt had known in his life time.

From the front of the paddock came the hawking sound of spittle. "Akhal-Teke's the breed of that demon," the wiry man hanging on the boards said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the golden horse. "Comes from the southern continent, does. Fast, too smart by half, pain in my ass ever since it was foaled. Eight-hundred crowns."

Geralt's jaw only stayed hinged through superb force of will. "It's a horse," he managed, "not a dragon."

The rancher laughed in an unpleasantly phlegmy way and shrugged his shoulders before pushing the brim of his straw hat up higher on his brow. The fog had just burned off but the man was already sweating. "Comes from the southern continent," he repeated. "And he ain't been castrated so the price includes his sac, donn'it?" Geralt looked at Jaskier and shook his head. There was absolutely zero reasons to purchase this horse; even had it been on sale as a door stop he would have said no, and now?

"Find another," he said to the bard. There had to be a horse here that could tolerate Jaskier's abundant energy other than this one.

Jaskier was fawning when the rancher came over, his fingers combing through the horse's mane and his voice gone low and playful as he crooned at it. He heard the breed name, distantly, and wondered how everyone could possibly be so sour about a horse so lovely--but, oh, damn it all.

Eight hundred crowns?

Jaskier had less than a quarter of that and even with good haggling and a strong dose of terror no one was likely to back down that far. He sighed and scratched at the space behind the golden horse's ear. The gold horse, to its credit, did not mind in the slightest that he leaned and pressed and seemed fond of petting its whole face at once--indeed, it was somewhat annoyed that he hadn't figured out how to do that and also play the lute.

"In another life, lovely," Jaskier told the horse fondly and, as if it could comprehend, pointed back toward its original paddock. "You go back."

The horse didn't move but Jaskier, after a goodly amount of sighing returned to Geralt and gestured on to the next paddock. With the introduction of the gold horse, none of the others in this one seemed keen on coming near, and Jaskier had no desire to try coaxing them just yet. He plucked at his lute distractedly and, once again, failed to notice as the gold horse followed them.

"Alright, new plan, Geralt," Jaskier told him and gestured down the street. "You pick and we'll see if your choices like me any better, hm? Roach adores me, so clearly you have acceptable taste."

Geralt was now keeping an eye on the demon, despite prices. He watched how it gave the rancher the wide berth and seemed to slip into the herd-- how a horse like that could not stand out amongst the rabble he didn't know, but he saw it happen. It used it's shorter stature and actually seemed to deliberately put taller horses between it and the pockmarked man. Because of the sight he took a moment for Geralt to tune into the dejected pluck of the lute that paced at his side.

Shit.

Jaskier pouting generally was one thing, the man had a hopeless amount of daily whims and wants that were never attended to, mostly fantastical, and they would pass with the changing of the breeze. When he plucked forlorn strings as he was doing now, however. That never boded well. Geralt squared his shoulders and ignored the instrument though the misery of the man was two-fold-- because he was agreeing with Geralt instead of pushing and being annoying.

Double-shit.

Geralt knew what would happen, now, it was only a matter of if he delayed it or not. Jaskier would almost certainly buy a horse at his suggestion, could he find one that didn't openly balk... something that might be possible now that the razor-edges of happiness had been sanded off Jaskier's personality by his dejection. But that horse would skitter tomorrow, and the day after, and there would be more monotone agreements to plans, more forlorn notes tossed into the air like sighs--

No. Geralt routinely frowned on so-called-premonition but knowing someone exactly was a different sort of clairvoyance. To boot Geralt knew himself as well-- he would certainly wind up sorely tempted to feed Jaskier a monster if that sort of thing went on for the amount of time it would take to train any sort of stead-fastness into a steed.

He blinked; they'd stepped out of the end paddock and started down the cobblestones toward the smaller enclosures, Jaskier a few good steps in front of him. There was a wet curse from behind and Geralt turned to see the rancher struggling to back up the Ahkal-Teke from the gate they'd left as the horse flattened his ears and snapped at gloved hands struggling with the metal bars. Geralt swore that the horses movement were not defensive-- he wasn't trying to protect himself from the gate-- they were offensive. He was actively trying to get the rancher to move.

Melitete's tits. Geralt swallowed his pained sigh. He was going to regret every part of this. He knew it.

"Rancher!" Both the man and the horse snapped their heads around; however the horse took the split-second to drop himself back down and bull his way forward. The rancher stumbled back, cursing, and golden haunches let hooves find freedom on the cobblestones in two bunny-hopped bounds. The horse tossed its high head and looked very happy for itself. Geralt started forward, holding one flat, pacifying hand toward the beast as the rancher grunted and climbed the boards to his feet. Geralt's other hand slipped into one of the small pockets on his belt. "Jaskier," he called over his shoulder, "play something. And for fucks'sake, make it happy." Then he looked at the Rancher. "Three hundred crowns." He knew what his smile looked like-- it said that he knew the man had a problem and for a drop in price, Geralt would take it off his hands. It was not a particularly kind smile.

The rancher spit. "Even demons're worth more. Seven-fifty."

"Four-fifty."

"Six-fifty," the man hissed, and Geralt grabbed the man's hand to shake it. Then he turned their hands flat as one, to ground and sky, and pulled his own away carefully. In the rancher's gloved hand sat a small but perfect ruby-- certainly worth somewhere between six and seven hundred crowns depending on the market he sold it in. The rancher held it up to the sun, casting flecks of blood-colored light on his face before pocketing it with a nod. "I'll throw in some tack," he gruffed out. "Hold a'mo." And he walked off. Geralt was sure the tack would be shit, but that was fine.

Edited 2020-04-02 16:45 (UTC)

Jaskier started as Geralt shouted back at the rancher. His fingers slipped across the strings as he jumped and he grimaced at the sour note that issued sadly from his lute. He worried, a moment, that he'd managed to snag something and knock it out of tune--but then Geralt was yelling back at him to play something happy.

"Wha--" Jaskier looked back up and, all at once, he had a pretty, golden, equine face right next to his. The gold horse nipped at his lute strap and Jaskier stared in abject shock.

Beyond the horse, Geralt was talking with the rancher--he was bartering? For the gold horse? The gold horse that was right in front of him--

Jaskier's whole self lit up, bright and shining. His smile positively split his face and he turned his attention back to the impatient stallion trying to chew through his lute strap. Jaskier's fingers took up their basic positions and he positively crowed as he played. Geralt had asked for something happy and, by all the Gods', Jaskier played a piece that was a mirror of his delight.

"Oh, lovely, no--my lovely," Jaskier sang and the impatient horse went comfortably still and, was it preening? Yes, Jaskier was going to call that preening--it preened as he serenaded it, like it knew the song was for it specifically.

Clever, pretty boy.

Geralt completed the sale--which were four words that Jaskier had expected to dread rather than find utterly joyous--and had a slew of leather straps over his shoulder as he walked down the road to join them. The very moment the Witcher was nearby, Jaskier couldn't contain himself. Geralt wasn't given to displays of affection in private, not big ones, and Jaskier hadn't the faintest how he'd react in public. Fortunately, that lack of predictability didn't occur to him until he'd already thrown his arms wide and caught the Witcher in an open and enthusiastic embrace.

For starters, all the tack fell to the ground in a lumped mess and a jangle of metal bits against cobblestone. The damned gold horse snorted as if affronted by that-- instead of Jaskier's lyrics-- and danced back a few steps. Meanwhile Geralt simply stood and held his arms slightly out to the side as a limpet the exact size, weight, and smell of Jaskier attached to his body. Finally he moved a hand in and clapped the bard on the back a few times. The warm, slightly acidic feeling in his chest was pushed down, and away. "You're welcome. Now pull yourself together."

The rancher had said that the horse was broken but Geralt had been around horses for almost a century and one look at that horse told him that 'broken' was a loose term. Getting it back to the inn would be easy but he was sure that he'd get at least one more good night's sleep while Jaskier tried to saddle the thing properly within the confines of a stable.

It occurred to him, belatedly, that he might have gone along with this because it would provide amusement. He doubted that the Akhel-Teke would prove as amenable to Jaskier's hand as Roach was, despite the way the horse fawned over him. Whom would lead who was the real question here. "Let's get it back to the inn."

"Of course! Of course!" Jaskier replied and released the Witcher after, frankly, a rather indulgently long, extremely public hug. The Witcher looked resigned which, for Geralt, was just this side of being happy. Jaskier beamed at him and spun around to start strumming for the gold horse again.

"Geralt, I admit, I had given up hope--but isn't this the most beautiful horse you've ever seen? It's stunning and the way it loves music--" Jaskier babbled as he strummed. He alternated between literally singing the praises of the horse behind him, thanking the Witcher, and babbling about nothing and everything as he played and led the way back to the inn. His playing was plucky and upbeat, his voice was bright and delighted, and the gold horse followed him like he had actually enchanted it.

It followed Jaskier at just slightly less than arm's reach and kept that distance through the streets of Oxenfurt, through the milling mid-morning crowds, around corners and alleys, and even into the stables. It followed without hesitation or, apparently, attention to anything esle. It seemed a bit confused once he had it indoors, as if it couldn't remember how it got there, but Jaskier plied it with hay and water and its vague look of discomfort was briefly set aside. Once it was safely deposited in a stall and eating, Jaskier slid to the stall next to it and gave Roach a fond pet and a few sweet words.

"Roach! Sweet girl, we've found a new friend!" Jaskier announced to the mare and the horse, predictably, didn't seem terribly moved by his statement. She did however, stare balefully at the pretty gold horse in the next stall. "He doesn't have a name, just yet, but I'll let you know the very moment I figure one out. I promise."

"And I'm sure it will amaze us all," Geralt said, looking at the horse they'd purchased for the low price of a ruby he'd been saving for something quite different. He set the tack down on the peg outside of the Akhel-Teke's stall for that purpose and raised a hand-- the horse wuffled at it and then turned to examine the rest of his lodgings. He stuck his nose over the divider into Roach's stall and she turned until her ass was in his face-- Geralt laughed, the sound open for all that it was quick-lived. "That's my girl. I'm going inside to get lunch; I suggest that you curry him down and get to know him while you're not playing. You can use Roach's brushes until we can get you your own."

At least when they left Oxenfurt they would be moving quickly. That was something to drink to.

Geralt left him with the horses and Jaskier, still amazed by the purchase, decided to recount the tale to Roach as he moved into the golden horse's stall and brushed him down. The gold horse was, underneath Jaskier's hands, a fairly tame creature. It was unbothered by his presence, so long as he continued to chatter and coo in soft tones, and was terribly curious about Roach in the next stall over. Roach tolerated his peering but largely ignored him, which was fair, he was a stranger--

It took the bard quite some time to accomplish his task which was, on the whole, not entirely surprising. Currying down the horse was a task that Jaskier delighted in--its hair shone and sparkled so prettily as he brushed it down. Jaskier went beyond, afterward, rubbing down the gold horse's face and legs with a soft towel (and that made it shine brighter, despite how impossible that seemed) until it was a gleaming thing. He caught the stable-hands staring as he combed out its fine and pretty mane, but they scattered when he looked back.

When he went inside for lunch he was hungry, his doublet was dirtied from shuffling around a stable for an hour or so, and he was positively beaming. He found Geralt seated and eating and dropped into the space across from him.

"Cantata," Jaskier told him (he had already declared it to Roach). It was a feminine sounding name but, honestly, why bind horses to silly things like masculine or feminine word forms? The more important bit was the fit and, in Jaskier's not remotely humble opinion, nothing fit better than that. It was a testament to how ethereal the creature was, and how it delighted in music.

"I cannot express how positively alight I am at the idea of riding that lovely horse, and it is such a sweet thing, all doe eyes and patience--thank you, Geralt, thank you so very much!"

It had been very mercifully silent (without Jaskier's chatter but even quiet enough in the pub at lunchtime) that Geralt is happily complacent when the bard finally turns up. His stomach is full, the beer is still good, and there is no longer the worry about a horse. (To a point.) When Jaskier enters the room, Geralt knows before he's even looked up from the steak and kidney pie-- he can feel the energy the man throws before him as well as any horse. He washes down the food and leans back to listen.

"We'll be able to move faster," he says, sidestepping the thanks. The prolonged, awkward hug that Jaskier had given him earlier had been more than enough. That he doubted the horse would be all doe eyes and patience he didn't bother to mention. Time would tell and he'd be happy to be wrong on that account. "No doubt we'll be able to bring in a better income for it."

Geralt has always been the sort who doesn't take thanks well, no matter how effusively Jaskier gave them. A man of action, or somesuch, and while Jaskier could appreciate that, this outcome was beyond the pale, truly. Jaskier couldn't profess his thanks, for the purchase of this singular horse, for the cost of it, for Geralt's willingness to have him along and keep him near. If he started waxing poetic, the Witcher would roll his eyes and stop listening.

That was fine, Jaskier had experienced a few tough audiences in his time. He just had to change the tune he sang.

"I'm sure," Jaskier agreed and leaned forward on the table, his smile still wide and his cheeks still flushed with delight (and probably a light sunburn, if he was being honest). "But you know, Geralt, as keen as I am to ride that horse, I'd rather like to ride someone else at the moment."

Jaskier was truly a charming man, he was a master of seduction, he'd talked his way into and out of more disasters than he could count without Geralt's help. He'd fucked Countesses, Knights, Princesses, and a Marquis or two. He had absolutely no idea why every attempt at flirting went completely awry whenever Geralt was near him. It was a tragedy, frankly, and Jaskier grimaced as that miserable failure of a line fell between them.

He could have apologized for it and tried again but, frankly, nothing would spare him the mockery he had just earned, so Jaskier doubled down and held Geralt's gaze as his blush (this time from acute embarrassment, definitely) deepened.

Luckily he hadn't been trying to drink when Jaskier leaned in and suggested that he use Geralt as a mount, because he might have choked-- which would have been unflattering and probably misleading considering the way his cock gave an interested lurch despite the ill-worded entendre. There was something in the way Jaskier fumbled over his normally adroit tongue that was endearing in a way that Geralt wouldn't let himself linger on. The blush wasn't bad either.

"I'm sure," he said evenly, "whoever that lucky person is, they will be absolutely flattered to be compared to a horse. Perhaps you can compose a ballad about their long face, or thick haunches." There was no smile on his face for the tease and Geralt took a careful pull of his beer, watching Jaskier over the rim.

Geralt, predictably, had exactly no reaction to his flirting. The man would have been an absolute nightmare to play cards against.

"Bold of you to assume I haven't," Jaskier replied. He propped his elbow on the table and his face in his hand and lifted both brows at the Witcher. His flush persisted and he drummed his fingers against his temple.

"Would you like to hear it?"

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek and cleared his throat. "No, Jaskier, I don't think that I would." The very last thing that he needed was the man singing a song in dedication of a witcher's rear-end in front of the entire inn and its self-proclaimed bad acoustics. No doubt loudly. "Are you going to eat lunch?" Yes, he was trying to switch the topic-- mostly because his cock kept reminding him that he enjoyed the look of those pinked cheeks whenever his attention happen to hang on them. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone but him but he was, of course, enough.

Also, they could speak and do as they would when they were around their fire but here in the middle of a pub and its patrons... suddenly what he and Jaskier had done felt farther away and much more volatile. Geralt, of course, considered that it would change nothing about the way they traveled together-- but Jaskier was Jaskier and he had somehow failed to account for that.

"I have a leftover pie in my pack," Jaskier told him and waved his free hand in vague dismissal. He was hungry, but not urgently so, and the pies he had bought earlier in the morning would suffice whenever he was. Right now he was trying to seduce the Witcher and, as usual, it was proving far trickier than expected.

He hadn't expected Geralt to deflect, but he hadn't ever had the opportunity to do so before, not like this. Jaskier had never propositioned him so obviously in public.

Geralt nursed his drink, seemingly immune to the sly look Jaskier leveled at him--he gave it a few moments more, but the Witcher was resolute. When Jaskier gave up it was with a heavy sigh and a resigned pout. He let his head fall forward off his hand and then swept the whole of himself back in his chair.

"What is the world coming to?" Jaskier asked rhetorically. He was not quiet, but neither was he loud. He clearly wasn't bothered by the idea that someone might overhear him. "You try to thank a man with a good time and he asks what you're having for lunch? Not cock, obviously. Maybe the chebureki? Yes, that's an exceptable alternative."

It might have been more obvious how amenable Geralt had actually been up to that point when Jaskier laid in and the Witcher's face shut down into a stoney mask. He knew the man across the table from him well enough to know telling him outright to shut up would go far amiss-- instead, leaving the last few bites of his meal and a quarter tankard of beer, Geralt just stood up with an almighty scrape of chair against floor and walked away.

His boots struck quick but heavy steps against the floor as he moved toward the stairs. Idiot. What notion in Jaskier's brain could have possibly determined that it was fine to holler about any personal relations that they had while in public? Where any ears could listen. Certainly, fine, there were times in public when Geralt had been rather obvious about his feelings for Yennefer but they were mostly couched in terms of worry-- for Yen or, more likely, for the person standing in her way. But he was ever discreet before saying anything or taking any strides toward something that might seem less than professional. Yen as well. Jaskier was...

Damnit. Jaskier was no one but himself and if anyone was to blame then it was Geralt for thinking that the man could ever be discreet. The slammed the door to their room behind him, wishing they'd spent the coin to get two.

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