There was little to do but follow along like a mule tied to a completely terrified lead horse, being spurred on by an idiot.
Geralt only grunted at the idiot-- dressed ostentatiously enough to offend-- as he was given no real acknowledgement at all. A fine representation of a class that should have already died out due to inbreeding. He reminded himself that these were Jaskier's people before a metaphor he'd been seeking all day long to describe Jaskier's actions finally leapt to the tip of his tongue. A soldier returning to war. Geralt swallowed the thought as his eyes narrowed at the broad-shouldered man who pulled them both outside, the witcher's knuckles paling slightly under his sudden tight grip on his glass. He forced himself to relax it, lest he break it the delicate flute into pieces.
In the sea of guests that gleamed across the lawn like the sun falling on ocean foam, Jaskier in his deep golden doublet (it was Cintra fashion, and Cintra was a powerhouse of the Continent) and Geralt in his habitual dark colors stood out like the sorest of thumbs. As the barrage of welcomes were thrown at Jaskier like darts at a board there was a small mental itch at the back of the witcher's mind-- had Jaskier been so worried that he'd forgotten the dress code? Such details were normally far enough within the bard's wheelhouse that it felt strange that he should have missed something so large. They were both used to standing out, certainly, but only Geralt understood how to be an outsider.
Each dart landed and Geralt watched Jaskier's smile grow, his laugh easy enough to sound pornographic. Geralt realized that his fingers had tightened again and he swallowed the glass down just to get it out of his hand-- he turned to the plump woman who had called Jaskier a vagabond and pushed it at her chest, savoring the shocked look on her face even while his own face remained passive. He looked to Jaskier. "You promised you'd introduce me to--" ah. Fuck. "--him," Geralt finished, nodding his chin in a direction at random as he hooked fingers into Jaskier's elbow and pulled him away. Anywhere but there. Obviously there was no one at all that he'd been promised to be introduced to.
He stopped them in the shade of a large tree. "Why are we here? The truth, Jaskier."
no subject
Geralt only grunted at the idiot-- dressed ostentatiously enough to offend-- as he was given no real acknowledgement at all. A fine representation of a class that should have already died out due to inbreeding. He reminded himself that these were Jaskier's people before a metaphor he'd been seeking all day long to describe Jaskier's actions finally leapt to the tip of his tongue. A soldier returning to war. Geralt swallowed the thought as his eyes narrowed at the broad-shouldered man who pulled them both outside, the witcher's knuckles paling slightly under his sudden tight grip on his glass. He forced himself to relax it, lest he break it the delicate flute into pieces.
In the sea of guests that gleamed across the lawn like the sun falling on ocean foam, Jaskier in his deep golden doublet (it was Cintra fashion, and Cintra was a powerhouse of the Continent) and Geralt in his habitual dark colors stood out like the sorest of thumbs. As the barrage of welcomes were thrown at Jaskier like darts at a board there was a small mental itch at the back of the witcher's mind-- had Jaskier been so worried that he'd forgotten the dress code? Such details were normally far enough within the bard's wheelhouse that it felt strange that he should have missed something so large. They were both used to standing out, certainly, but only Geralt understood how to be an outsider.
Each dart landed and Geralt watched Jaskier's smile grow, his laugh easy enough to sound pornographic. Geralt realized that his fingers had tightened again and he swallowed the glass down just to get it out of his hand-- he turned to the plump woman who had called Jaskier a vagabond and pushed it at her chest, savoring the shocked look on her face even while his own face remained passive. He looked to Jaskier. "You promised you'd introduce me to--" ah. Fuck. "--him," Geralt finished, nodding his chin in a direction at random as he hooked fingers into Jaskier's elbow and pulled him away. Anywhere but there. Obviously there was no one at all that he'd been promised to be introduced to.
He stopped them in the shade of a large tree. "Why are we here? The truth, Jaskier."