PSL Hypnosis with Monsterbytrade

[whatupbuttercup]

The court at Cidaris was absolutely the most droll, boring court that Jaskier had ever been witness to--which was an absolute pity because the kingdom itself was rather delightful. Unfortunately, while the cities and towns of Cidaris were lovely and colorful, the court was as dull as dishwater and half as appealing. Normally, he would have declined an invitation to play at a celebration in the Cidarin court, but they had been relatively nearby and they still hadn't managed to replace Geralt's silver blade.

Playing a young Cidarin prince's birthday party was, on the whole, about the least interesting job Jaskier could imagine taking...but it paid well and was easy. So, after talking up the event, he'd asked Geralt to accompany him and the two of them made their way to coast.

The party had gone well enough, even if the night had seemed to drag on.

The boy had only turned ten, so the entertainment had been a bit on the childish side--Jaskier included. He had been specifically requested and had been hired over a whole host of Cidarin bards. He hadn't anticipated anyone wanting his head at this particular event, (not apart from those other bards, at least,) but Geralt had accompanied him nonetheless. He nearly made it through the night unnoticed but, once Jaskier had a request for Toss a Coin, Geralt's anonymity was up. After that, the Witcher had suffered a barrage of questions from the gathered gaggle of young boys. They questioned him regarding every type of monster they could recall, for near on two hours before the pomp of the celebration had forced them to disperse.

Overall, it wasn't the worst way to spend a night. The seaside chateaux they held the party at was removed, private, fairly pleasant overall. They had been granted room and board, their horses taken to the estate stables--there was even a bath waiting for them afterward. It was a firmly middling job that paid well and didn't involve murder. Jaskier called it a win.

Unfortuantely, ever since they'd arrived, Jaskier had a niggling sensation that he was forgetting something. It stuck in the back of his head like a burr caught on fine leggings, but he never could quite grasp it. All night, something about the guests, about the location prodded at him. It wasn't until he was nearly asleep, just drifting on the border of waking and slumber, that it came back to him. He heard the distant sounds of wooden and shell windchimes, the whistle of the ocean breeze, and Jaskier realized they were in terrible danger.

"Oh fuck--" he hissed as he bolted upright, eyes staring at the fine manor room around him with open suspicion. No assassins suddenly leaped out of the woodwork, nothing turned to snakes. He pawed at his chest, wondered if the drink had been poisoned, but no--he felt fine. Maybe she'd forgotten him, eh? It had been years, long years, since he'd last been in this part of Cidaris--surely the lady who owned the manor was just throwing the party for status. She might not have even noticed he was here--yes, that seemed likely.

"Geralt--Geralt--" Jaskier hissed quietly and reached behind him to grab at the Witcher's shoulder and shake him awake. The bed was wider than their usual fare and he nearly toppled over in his haste. "We have to go--"

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[monsterbytrade]

If Geralt were being honest-- which he never would, out loud-- he didn't mind the attention of the boys. It certainly didn't appear that way from the outside as he growled and barked at them, but if anyone had been paying attention to the ebb and flow of the lanky bodies circling the witcher more than their own cups and adult company, they would have noticed the trend of the motion grew gradually and gradually inward. Geralt wasn't scaring them away. He told bits of stories, answered questions with an ease that he didn't generally give to anyone, and perhaps even laughed once or twice, quietly, at a particularly cheeky comment that reminded him of another young boy ages ago. Youth didn't change even though the world did.

Also, the food had been plentiful, above middling, and free.

Cidaris, like most other cities of a large enough population and trade, was awash in magical trinkets. Even the seaside villa of royalty was not far enough away from the clamor of conflicting energies to make it less than a stew, and royalty had more money and more time to be paranoid. It had taken quite a bit of free food and beer for Geralt to finally stop eyeing each hung ward-- all of a similar design-- with a sigh and starting every time his medallion shivered and jumped against his chest. They hadn't been in a city this large in a while and witchers, for all of their mutations, still retained more than a few human foibles. Not to mention that Geralt was Geralt, and not well-built to relax.

Eventually, though, the boys and the food and the slow crash of the sea below had all conspired to put him in a decent enough humor. Jaskier had been on and on about how dull and boring the coastal city's royal breed were but, as Geralt accepted another pint from a female guest who smiled sweetly at him from behind her chestnut fringe, he decided that he didn't mind it so much. Jaskier probably would sniff at him when he said so-- but sometimes it was good to remind the bard that there were other opinions in the wide world other than his own. Ignoring the trembling of the silver snarling wolf tucked between his shirt and his jerkin, Geralt inclined his head and took a drink. He had taken two more-- with the very dark eyes of the smiling woman watching him-- and then there was a sharp clap between his ears and the sound of bees in his skull. And then.

Someone shaking him awake. Geralt grabbed Jaskier's wrist and held the bard far enough away that the onslaught would stop. His head was throbbing. He tried to remember getting to bed but couldn't. He remembered the boys. A particularly good lobster. A balcony and dark eyes--

The headache took his breath away and for a moment he squeezed Jaskier's wrist just a bit too tightly. Then he dropped his hold and sat up, letting the sheet fall to his waist. "What?" His voice was more of a rasp than normal. The shutters were open and the moon swum against the waves on the horizon, rising and falling. "What time is it?' He rubbed at his temples.

[whatupbuttercup]

Jaskier could not have been happier--well, that wasn't entirely true. He would have been far happier if they had been able to gather up the horses and ride out of Cidaris the very moment Geralt awoke from his trance. Unfortunately, waking the Witcher had required Jaskier to drop a mountain of iron and crystal on him. The cost of that desperate little maneuver was two-fold: Geralt was injured and covered in buts of broken glass, and he was in enough discomfort that he was surlier than usual.

Which, frankly, Jaskier felt was fair. He would have been a sight if someone had attempted that on him. He could hardly imagine the hell he would have raised.

So, the end result of the night's truly trying series of events was that Geralt had to put up with Jaskier extracting glass from him and trying to tend to his injuries, and both of them were stuck in their spacious, awful room until at least dawn. (At least Jaskier had torn down that stupid windchime the moment they returned. He couldn't stay the surf but they didn't have to tolerate those clattering wooden chimes.)

(Also they were terrible magical wards, or something, so tearing them down was a good idea.)

The one redeeming feature that this room included was a large, copper bathtub. They hadn't had call to use it before but, considering how they were both half soaked in whiskey and a fine layer of Geralt's blood, it seemed prudent to try it then.

Jaskier helped pick out the largest bits of crystal (and a few of that broken decanter) and then fetched a few of his own beauty supplies for the smaller bits. Geralt probably had something similar to the sticky waxy paste he applied over the scattered field of wounds, but he didnt bother asking. When it dried it would tighten up and stick to the smallest shards. (He tried to avoid areas with dense hair but that was a hurdle they would jump when they came to it.)

Once the Witcher was settled and waiting for that paste to dry, Jaskier went to fetch water. It was surprising how much easier it was to navigate when not being pursued by a bewitched Witcher hellbent on extracting a pound of flesh from him. It didnt take him long at all to find the servants' stairs or the pump, or the fireplace still smoldering after the night of revelry. By the time he returned, why, the salve on Geralt's hands and chest might not even have finished drying.