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ChowChow Vesemir and his 🫵stupid pups.

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March 2025

JASKIER ❤️‍🩹

"Your knee is making some progress." The barber-surgeon notes as he massages the marred appendage with a soothing salve. He'd already given the Witcher the usual concoction to help along with healing: a distillery of mandrake and other herbs bottled into a small vial. It tasted surprisingly good. Most of the elixirs and medicines Geralt was used to tended to taste like shit.

"You'd think it would stop hurting less then." Geralt hums as he feels himself quickly relaxing into the firm yet careful touch of the vampire's cold hands. It felt good on the inflammation he suffered daily. His blood pooled into his crippled leg now that his veins had taken damage when the limb was crushed. He could taste the metal of Vilgefortz's staff when his bones ached fiercely.

"Aha, but you've broken many bones my dear witcher. You know that they are never truly the same, even with time... Or unnatural regenerative abilities." Regis chuckles. It's a pleasant sound, though as chattery as the vampire can get, Geralt often finds himself thinking of Regis as pleasant. Perhaps he's being hypnotized unknowingly, or perhaps the "humble" barber-surgeon was just that endearing to The White Wolf.

A silence falls upon them. It's not uncomfortable; far from it. Regis cares after him with a certain reverence Geralt is not used to. It's subtle... discreet. He may just be touch starved though. The witcher's golden eyes flick over to their sleeping companions. Jaskier had stolen Regis' cloak to use as an extra blanket. He claimed that the vampire had no use for it considering that he felt neither hot nor cold, and therefore it was simply a stylistic choice. Milva was curled up on her side. The usual scowl on her face was nowhere to be sen, however her exhaustion remained. Then there was Cahir. He had insisted on first watch, but Geralt told him to shut up and go to bed. The former soldier was quick to comply in order to remain in Geralt's tolerant graces. He had to begrudgingly admit that the young man was growing on him. He really was turning too damn soft.

"So much going on in that mind of yours. I wonder what's got you so worked up now?" Regis wonders aloud. As usual he was teasing the witcher. It was a trait Geralt was taken by. Though again, the vampire was charming in general. Infuriatingly so.

Geralt's eyes turn back towards Milva after giving Regis a quick glance. "Although I appreciate your discretion policy, Regis, let's not pretend we don't have enhanced senses. I was raised in a fertility goddess' temple when not at Kaer Morhen. I know what a pregnant woman smells like. Our archer's hormones have been changing along with her appetite and mood. All of which indicate towards one thing. Don't lie to me."

"Why would I lie, Geralt? You're right. Neither of us are blind to what remains unseen." Regis pulls a handkerchief from his vest and wipes his hands clean of the salve. He then hands Geralt's pants back to the Witcher. "And if I were to lie, you would be able to tell. No?"

"Not for you, bloodsucker. You have no heartbeat, no reaction to temperature. I cannot tell if you're stressed other than an innate sense of something off. Though gut instinct is not always correct. Don't look so smug." Geralt's eyes narrow when the vampire's lips curl into a familiar smirk.

"Forgive me. It's nice to be reminded that I alone astound you." The vampire clears his throat and continues. "But yes, you're correct. Milva is with child. How far along? Around twenty to twenty-two weeks."

"So a bit over halfway. I figured. I began smelling it a little before we left Brokilon..." Geralt mutters. He painstakingly pulls his pants back on.

"Fascinating." Regis remarks. His dark eyes glitter with curiosity. "So witchers can smell hormonal shifts? How are you able to pick out which is which? For a creature such as myself, it's all instinct."

"You forget that I am mutated beyond the typical Witcher. I don't know what mutations lie dormant. I'm incomplete. But yes, it's instinctual for me as well, on top of familiarity. Again, when not at Kaer Morhen I was raised in a fertility goddess' temple. Many women sought out healthcare there." Geralt settles back down on his bedroll. He rests slightly upright against his saddle. He was feeling a comforting kind of drowsiness after being so dilligantly cared for. "I assume you've been treating her for her nausea and keeping up with her nutrition?"

"Indeed. You're keen." Regis flashes him a smile. He feels pride well up.

"I'm so glad you noticed my intellect, my dear bloodsucker. Not many do." Geralt smirks in return.

"Ah yes. Though I can understand why. It's difficult to realize that there's a brain inside of that thick skull of yours." Regis retorts with that easy playfulness Geralt was used to from his kin.

"Hmmm...." He hums, the smile on his lips remain. "You take good care of your pets."

That earns a bark of laughter from the vampire. "Pets? My dear, if you were my pet I'd scarcely keep you in these conditions."

"Oh?" That piques the witcher's interest. "Are you the spoiling type, Regis?"

"That's the only true answer, is it not?" The vampire raises a thin brow inquisitively. He knows Geralt will already agree.

"In attention or riches?" He replies instead.

"Both, my dear. Are you interested? You smell excited." Ah. Damn him. Geralt huffs and looks away momentarily.

"You pamper me enough. You'll turn me into a brat if you keep it up." The Witcher mumbles and closes his eyes. "Though I'll allow you to keep watch tonight."

"How thoughtful." Regis hums. Geralt can hear the smile in the vampire's tone. Silence fills the air again; its only reprieve being the crackling of the fire and night-dwelling creatures' calls in the forest surrounding them. "Geralt?"

"Hm?" The Witcher is already half asleep at this rate.

"What did you mean by you're incomplete?" Regis cannot help his curiosity. He never has been able to, he never will be either.

Geralt debates on telling him or just keeping silent. But Regis has never wronged him. Though he cannot base his full character on the few weeks they've known each other. However... There was something there between them that the Witcher could not place. He felt it sometimes with Yennefer, mainly at Thanedd before the coup happened and everything went to shit. It all felt so natural with Regis. "I'm an experiment... An... Abomination. Anomaly. Amalgamation. Whichever word you'd like to define me as. Most just go with monster or butcher. Murderer if they're feeling nice. I took unnaturally quick to the mutations all witchers receive. Thus I was chosen for additional, experimental mutations. One after another. I lost count. I don't know what I am, other than being different. Being... Alone in what I am. Something entirely new and unnatural. They had more planned for me, but the mages were killed before they could complete their tests and trials."

"I see..." Regis murmurs after a moment. His tone was hushed, as if he were hurt on Geralt's behalf. The Witcher didn't know how to react to empathy or any of the sort. He understood that despite Regis' charismatic demeanor the man was stoic and yet deeply emotional just as Geralt was. Perhaps part of the emotional flaw in Geralt's make up came from vampiric DNA. Maybe that would also explain why he felt so comfortable with Regis. "Are there any drawbacks? Any bad results?"

"Once they were experimenting with portals. Put me through one. It threw me into the next room, crashed into a bunch of shit. Hurt myself. I've had horrible vertigo when going through portals since. Sometimes I'll get motion sick out on the sea." Geralt shrugs. He hardly counts it as a drawback. He gets disoriented enough when it comes to fighting a monster. He's had more head injuries than he can count. Comes with the territory of being a monster slayer.

"Hm... Have you had any seizures from it?" Regis asks then. He picks up his satchel and begins taking inventory. Geralt watches as he works. The clinking of bottles and tins were oddly soothing.

"No. That's one thing I have to be grateful for. The mutations heal pre-existing conditions. I was born with a heart condition, but the mutations healed it." The Witcher sighs while he scratches at the stubble shadowing his cheek and jaw.

"Interesting." The vampire notes. "I, also, am grateful for such a detail."

"How so? Does it intrigue you? I'll let you do my autopsy when I inevitably die in a swamp somewhere." Geralt grins at him. Regis doesn't seem to find it funny judging by the dry look he gives Geralt.

"You are a morbid one, my dear Witcher." He merely shakes his head. "It is fascinating, I'll admit. But my gratitude comes from a place of emotion rather than curiosity. It's been nearly two mere months since you and your collection of companions and refugees stumbled across my humble home in Fen Carn. Yet I cannot help but find myself so... drawn... Your soul is so bright. I cannot help but follow it like a moth to flame."

"Waxing poetry nearly as bad as Dandelion now?" Geralt huffs a short puff of amusement. "Souls... You believe in such a thing? What would you know of it, vampire?"

Regis grins, finding amusement in Geralt's pointed questions. "My dear, your misconceptions will never cease to amuse me. Despite your otherness akin to my own, these moments remind me that you were once human - and perhaps more human still than you'd like to acknowledge. Higher vampires are pure emotion, though carefully curated behind layers of restraint and practiced humanity. We are arguably those who know the soulfulness of the world the best."

"Dragons." Geralt says. "I'd argue dragons. Though I've yet to be proven wrong. Would you like to continue to do so?"

The vampire's grin widens. His fanged teeth glint in the low light of the campfire. Yes, that terrifying smile that Geralt finds himself smitten with. "It's my pleasure to prove you mere mortals wrong."

"Hmmm, arrogance. Typical. Yet you're not mortal. Not entirely immortal, that is." Geralt rebuts with a grin of his own. "How many times have you died again?"

"Just one." Regis raises a single finger. "And that's enough for me. I may be immortal, though I do still feel pain. Restraint, remember my dear? Layers of it."

"Yes, yes. A pious man, aren't you? Shame on us mortals." Geralt laughs. "Dying once is enough, yet you follow me on my death march to find my daughter. Why? You're enigmatic, not stupid."

"Enigmatic? You flatter me." His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles so widely. Then Regis sighs gently and folds his hand over his knee. "As I said... I cannot help myself when it comes to you. Maybe I am stupid, but I'm okay with that if it's for you. I trust you, Geralt of Rivia."

The White Wolf doesn't answer that. He may have more emotions than he's willing to admit to, but that doesn't mean he knows what to do with them. He stares at Regis for a while. The lines of wrinkles on his brow, around his eyes, the smile lines on his cheeks. He wonders if the vampire's aged look was also a choice. They were a polymorphic species, much like dopplers and dragons. He's certain Regis could appear however he chose to. He knows why, of course. Regis had explained it to them all once. He wished to be unassuming and kindly to the people of Dillingen. It certainly worked. Not for appearances, but because Regis was kind. He doubts it was a learned behavior for the vampire. Something about him just comes across as gentle. He's convinced that violence was moreso taught to him than kindness.

"Find something interesting?" Regis murmurs. He's staring at Geralt with the same quiet curiosity that the witcher has.

"Only you." He answers honestly. "Always you."

Rendering Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy was an impossible feat. Geralt was no stranger to such challenges. The vampire's dark eyes widen, his mouth slightly ajar. Geralt could swear he sees Regis' pale skin redden at his ear tips. Regis clears his throat quietly and gives Geralt a bashful look. "Is that so?"

"Mhm." Geralt hums. He can feel his drowsiness returning and quickly overtaking him. Regis' flustered expression reverts to the gentle look he always held for these quiet moments between them. He gives a small sigh and grabs his own saddle to settle under Geralt's knees.

"You must elevate this knee, dear. You suffer enough swelling during the day." He chides the Witcher, trying to regain his control.