Jaskier - Julian Alfred Pancratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-28 04:49 pm
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-28 04:49 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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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He took a deep breath, ready to get up and fetch his pack, but a touch at his elbow stopped him--he waited but Geralt didn't say anything, not until he turned and looked him in the face. His heart could have stopped dead with how tender the look on the Witcher's face was. He certainly found himself holding his breath as he held that gaze. He was sure he looked a wreck, then, but there was nothing for it.
The reminder fell heavy between them and Jaskier had no idea what to say--fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how one viewed tender admissions or the sanctity of fountains, there was a commotion going on outside. Geralt, as though he'd remembered he left his stove on, jerked upright and away as he moved to the window. Jaskier watched him, dazed, and heart a high whinny of delight and a great deal of splashing outside.
Kelpie?
"Cantata?"
A moment later, Jaskier was scrambling up and dashing to meet him, crowding the window with the Witcher. There were a dozen people in the square--only about four seemed eager to put a stop to the goings on, the other eight or so were content to point and jeer. (Except for a couple of children who seemed entirely enchanted by the sight.)
Cantata, in all his golden glory, had somehow gotten out of his stall, escaped the stables altogether, and had pranced right into the center of the square. It was a hot day, to be sure, but the stables hadn't been unpleasant? Still, the golden horse had clearly decided the carved marble fountain was a far cry better than simple shade and delighted both in the full sunshine and the arcs of cold water that sprayed up from the carved spouts. It jumped through the basin, happy to splish and splash, and ducked its head under the water whenever it neared any that was tumbling downward.
"How in the world?" Jaskier asked, dazed, and tried to recall--he'd shut the stall, he knew he had. He always did, didn't he?
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No one was on the steps, unsurprisingly, because they were all gaping like beached fish at the windowpanes in order to get a look at Jaskier's new horse. Geralt put his shoulder to the door with perhaps a little too much force, spilling himself out into the early evening light. There were a few more opportunistic men closing in on the fountain with smiles on their faces and their arms out. Not one of them looked like they were upstanding citizens in even the meanest of senses. "Away from the horse," Geralt snarled out in front of him, across the square. He didn't have his swords and his fly was done up wrongly but he didn't look any less menacing for it.
Alright, perhaps he was driven on a little more forcefully by the lingering ache in his balls, but certainly the men deserved it for the attempted horse theft.
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His lute, unfortunately, had been left up in their room.
"Cantata," Jaskier sing-songed and dashed to the fountain. "My mischievous fellow, oh, how did you get out?"
His scolding, while good-natured, was tempered quite a lot by the tall, thin fellow with the knife-blade smile who looked a bare moment away from...let's say: offering to help him. The horse, as Jaskier approached, jumped and splashed in place, and immediately flipped its lovely, sopping wet mane and doused the helpful Samaritan. He must have been wearing his finest shirt because the face he made was rather frustrated.
"It's quite alright, gentlemen, I've got it, no need to fret--" Jaskier assured him at a distance and, helpful man that he must have been, he persisted on getting closer. "Geralt?"
Unfortunately, it looked like the Witcher was going to have to have a firm conversation with the slim man's two helpful friends. They, too, seemed terribly ardent in their desire to help remove the gold horse from the fountain. (And then, ideally, from Jaskier and Geralt's possession.) Why, one of them had even brought a knife--unfortunately both his mates appeared to have forgotten any apples to cut to tempt the creature.
Damn it all.
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But just what was left for another moment, because the man with the knife took Geralt's words to mean that he was distracted, and lunged at him with a knife. His lunge was too long, sloppy in its overstretch, and the witcher moved liked water. A step to the side seemed slow for its precision and as the knife and the man's arm slipped into the space that he had occupied a moment before, Geralt brought an arm down from above. The thief screamed as his ulna snapped and the knife he dropped in pain was caught off-handed before hitting the ground and launched cleanly at his gaping friend even as Geralt was using his crouch to shoulder check the injured man off his feet and onto the ground. The knife stuck into the other's hip and he too dropped with a cry.
It all took less than twenty seconds. Geralt straightened without bothering to retrieve the knife and started toward the third man who was still being very helpful.
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He'd moved in, ready to rearrange the bard's face, when Geralt had started thrashing people. Fortunately, he only got one off kilter punch off before he realized his erstwhile friends were not on the winning side. His meaty fist put a rather impressive series of wrinkles into the front of Jaskier's doublet, but he let go as soon as Geralt swung around. Indeed, the moment the Witcher had eyes on him, the fellow was more than happy to back up and let them handle the horse themselves.
"That's right! Get out of here!" Jaskier cried after the man as he bolted, terrified, from the square. Jaskier's glower was a bit cocksure--it was the adrenaline he was sure--but he felt it was earned. It wasn't every day someone took a punch to the face without so much as stumbling. His jaw barely hurt at all. (He felt rather rough and tumble, considering he hadn't done anything at all.)
The horse, in the interim, had stuck its head beneath the fall of water at the center of the fountain and was luxuriating in it. When all the kerfuffle had ended, it pulled its head out and shook it, either oblivious or uncaring of the violent scuffle that had happened in its immediate vicinity.
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The horse who shook a mane-full of water in his face.
With a dark sigh, Geralt lifted a hand to wipe his eyes and brought his fingers to his lips to give a quick and piercing whistle. The kelpie's head whipped in his direction, ears pricked (as probably had most of the horses in the neighboring barn) and Geralt held up a palm for it to look at as he turned to Jaskier. "Sing to it," he hissed. "Get it back to the barn, Jaskier. Now."
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The gold horse stared at Geralt's hand for a moment and then its head swiveled with delight as Jaskier started singing. It bounded out of the fountain and shook itself off, flinging water droplets across anyone and anything in the surrounding space, and then all but skipped after Jaskier as the bard walked back to the stables.
In a very, very odd turn of events: Jaskier found the stable doors both closed and latched. The stalls were closed properly as well. Not a single thing was amiss, apart from the golden horse being on the wrong side of the walls. Fortunately, Cantata was more than happy to listen to him sing as he opened the stable doors, led the horse in, and went about resettling it in its stall.
Roach, however, was less enthralled by the music and seemed rather annoyed on whole.
To Jaskier's shock, as he walked the stallion past her stall, Roach leaned her head out and snapped at him. (Cantata, not the bard--his heart might have broken if she'd snapped at him.) She caught some of Cantata's mane in her teeth, a bit rather close to his ear, and gave him a sharp tug. The distracted fellow didn't react quickly and his poor head clunked hard against the door to Roach's stall. She let him go then and huffed, irritably, as he gave her a dazed look.
The stallion appeared...both confused and duly chastised as he meandered back into his stall.
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He was standing and examining the latch when he heard the commotion; he caught the kelpie's head jerking back from the post and the release of Roach's teeth--
And all of a sudden, as wet as he was, Geralt was feeling much better. Hay stuck to his wet boots as he came into the barn and stopped in front of Roach's stall. She hung her head and he scratched behind her ears until he got a nudge in the chest. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice low and positively sweet.