PSL Family Obligations with Monsterbytrade

[whatupbuttercup]

"It's fine," Jaskier repeated in slight singsong to Cantata. The horse appreciated the tone but did not, unfortunately, speak any human languages and could not return the sentiment. Jaskier, far from mollified despite his pronouncement, repeated the words again and let out a slow, manic sort of huff as he sat upright in his saddle and stared dead ahead. Were they walking, he'd be gesturing and flitting about--as it was, he had to tolerate simply twitching his feet and shuffling awkwardly in place.

"This is --fine," he announced again, louder, and his voice had a reedy quality. It was up about half a register from his normal speaking tone. He reached and adjusted the collar of his finest doublet. He looked ready for a party--he looked positively regal on his beautiful horse, in fact, and nobody would fault him. (That was a lie, they would all fault him for something--no. Focus. Fuck, there was nothing to focus on.)

He glanced sidelong at Geralt and opened his mouth, ready to give his warning again, but snapped it shut. Geralt had agreed to come (with surprisingly little begging on Jaskier's part) and Jaskier had given him his frantic assurances and instructions on the spot. He wanted, very desperately, to repeat them all but he knew it would do nothing but annoy the man riding alongside him. The warnings ate at his nerves, though, and Jaskier had so very few nerves left--they frayed with truly astounding speed as they rode down the blind lane and closer to his familial home.

"Now--and, once again, I cannot stress this enough--there is absolutely no call to seek out any conversation, whatsoever," Jaskier blurted suddenly, repeating himself for what had to be the fourth time this morning. One would think that Geralt was an eager participant, ready to sample the wines and chat up the wealthy attendees, rather than...well, he was basically a hostage. Or...no. Jaskier was a hostage, Geralt was his...emotional support warrior? This situation really defied colorful metaphor.

Geralt was going to suffer with him, or at least next to him, and that counted for everything.

"You will definitely be sought out, and that will be--" the bard made a noncommittal slightly strangled noise and waved his hand. Whatever he'd omitted, his expression did not imply a pleasant conversation was an option. "Just...act naturally or, if you prefer: evade. Evasion is a perfectly viable plan. I'd do it if I could." Jaskier continued and fidgeted, his hands stroking through Cantata's lovely mane rather than keeping firm hold on the reins. Fortunately, the golden horse was more than used to following Roach by now and didn't wander.

"Honestly, you know, I won't be even the slightest bit upset if you suddenly vanish, or even if you directly offend anyone--in fact, feel encouraged. The more offensive you are, the less offensive I'll seem--oh, or perhaps not, they might blame me for it anyway--" Jaskier babbled. "I'd prefer it if you didn't stab anyone, mostly, but I can't really cast aspersions on that given how likely I am to stab someone--maybe myself. Oh! If I were stabbed I wouldn't have to attend, you wouldn't have to attend!"

"Geralt, would you mind terribly stabbing me really quickly?" Jaskier asked and there was a not insignificant part of his tone that was serious.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day.

The summer sun was up but Lettenhove was an excruciatingly temperate bit of the continent, even high summer wasn't uncomfortable here. The trees were green, lush, and swaying. The grass was inviting, dotted with wildflowers that should have died out come the end of spring, and there were little colorful birds darting above them, flitting this way and that between the dense leaves. Clearly there were no hawks to be found anywhere nearby.

The road they traveled on was paved with an even set of matching stones, interwoven into a pattern, a bit of a rarity for a place this rural, and both the road and foliage alongside it was excruciatingly well kept. The lane wound this way and that through the thick trees, but whatever dampening effect the meandering, tree-laden nature of the road was meant to have, it wasn't up to the task of keeping out the sounds of the party ahead of them.

They were close enough, then, that even Jaskier could hear particularly boisterous bursts of laughter and the sounds of the distant string quartet. Fuck.

"Just a little stabbing," Jaskier plyed, his expression a touch desperate. "Please?"

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[monsterbytrade]

Geralt noticed the sharp, considering cut of the girl's gaze, her eyes very blue-- not unlike Jaskier's-- but was not prepared for the sounds or the charge that were to follow. He drew himself up slightly as those damp, small digits clutched at the air about the end of the metal-trimmed belt that dangled against his thigh. She was... persistent.

When the rest of the children turned toward him, not unlike a pack of wolves scenting prey, Geralt very nearly stepped back. He might have were it not for that particular look from across the room, the smile that slyly exposed teeth and narrowed eyes. "You set me up," he growled in Jaskier's direction before directing his yellow gaze downward to the small band of assorted-sized children.

Children and cats-- both generally were the first things in the room to warn of witchers. Geralt was so used to children screaming or crying at the sight of him, as if the boogeyman that their parents whispered to make them behave had suddenly shown up to take them away, that this very clear... adoration? Stuck halfway between his throat and his chest as if he'd swallowed a bite of dinner wrong.

"I did let the Selkie Maw eat me," he said, his flat, uncompromising voice a rough counterpoint compared to the flushed upswell of the childrens' queries. Out of the onslaught it was the easiest of the questions to answer-- though perhaps not the one that any parent would have appreciated. "They're only vulnerable from the inside."

[whatupbuttercup]

The whole group of children listened with rapt attention as Geralt delivered his answer. (Well, except for little Isolde, who desperately wanted to hold his hand and was still perched on her tip-toes making the attempt. She was nothing if not determined.) Unfortunately, if Geralt had hoped that answering them would result in fewer questions, he was sorely mistaken.

"Did it chew you?"

"Of course it didn't chew him!"

"I don't see any teeth marks!"

"Maybe they're on his back, you don't know!"

"It must have hurt!"

"Does it hurt to get eaten?"

"He's huge, the silkyma must have been even huge-r if it ate him whole! How big was it, was it this big? This big?"

"You saved the town right! There was a town, wasn't there Julian, and he saved it?"

"You have a horse, Julian said you have a horse, where is it?"

"I want to pet the horsey!"

Jaskier watched the Witcher's expression shift from amusement to suspicion, then to keen and absolute discomfort. His reaction to the children was so obvious and open that it had the bard preening. They gathered, nearly to a man (Tristan had managed to get his arms around Julian and the young boy refused to release him, which was fair. His sister was the one trying the same ploy while softly chanting Wisher.) and crowded Geralt in the doorway, surrounding him and staring up with awe and wonder. They asked and poked and, in more than a few cases, grabbing at his pant legs or shirtsleeves and tugged politely so he might answer their questions.

"I can't believe you're all behaving like this," Jaskier lamented as he stood up, Tristan held securely against his hip. All the children went a little worried at that, paled in that same way that Jaskier had when he walked out into the party, and the Bard's crowing expression faltered for just a beat. He hadn't meant to--shit--

"I bring you a real, live Witcher and you haven't even invited him to play?" Jaskier finished and there was an instant uproar among the group. The boy who'd demanded Julian was a fair addition backpedaled and demanded Geralt join his team. The others argued emphatically that Geralt be on their team. One boy was adamant that Witchers don't pick sides so he can't be on any team. They debated, their energy redirected to each other, and only a few kept their attention on the man in the doorway.