Send 💕 and my muse will use The Love Calculator to see how compatible they are. || ACCEPTING

"What? Bullshit, hold on."

"Fuck this."

He growls.

Jamie had tried really hard not to get involved. It's not his job anymore. And he had actively attempted to look the other way, focusing on the drunk group of men trying to get into the club. However, there was just that pricking of guilt, a desire to help that is rooted somewhere deep down where not even a therapist can reach.

bubblegum  blitz  beneath  flashing  kabuki  lights—  as  trustworthy  as  a  rigged  pachinko  machine  ...  though  hardly  as  dangerous  ,  without  the  preem  combat  routine  chip  lodged  by  his  brain  stem  anyway.  bedazzled  nails  grind  into  squeaky  latex  ,  the  cock  of  their  hip  a  dead  giveaway.  he's  fucking  annoyed  ,  is  what  he  is.

❝  stop  bein'  so  smug  ,  rockerboy.  if  you  wanna  go  in  all  guns  blazin'  pistolero  à  la  bushido  ,  be  my  fucking  guest.  or  wait—  actually  no.  ain't  gonna  pop  a  pill  so  you  can  turn  me  into  switzer  cheese  ,  or  however  that  sayin'  goes.  ❞  tossing  a  candyfloss  mane  ,  odded  lenses  refocus  ere  casting  his  gaze  to  the  littered  floor.  vitya's  been  living  on  the  streets  all  their  life  ,  but  even  that  hadn't  been  the  high  octane  edge  runner  lifestyle  he's  forced  to  live  now.  he's  nervous  ,  of  course  johnny  feels  that.  prick.

through the watery veil of clouds that promise rain in the coming hours the moon casts thin light through the window of their inn room. it is at the pattern cast upon the floor by the leaded diamonds of the pane that lazare stares, laying on his side in his bed. he does not look to his father, though he knows he has watched lazare for the better part of the evening. there has been a weighty pensiveness in the other witcher since they had awoken that morning, one that lazare had thought little about beyond marking its existence at all—it is only now that he suspects that he may be why.

silence stretches for a long few moments. in the next room over, the drunken raucous laughter of a handful of men shatters the quiet. traders from cidaris, lazare knows. they had been well on their way to inebriated before they had even made their way upstairs. separate rooms seem to have been foregone in favor of continuing their carousing.

One would think Kaz would stop bitching and moaning about the humidity and the heat--he should be as accustomed to it as John is after all, the two of them have been here for the same stretch of time, sent to as many humid-laden places as the other. Soldiers don't get to choose where they go. Complaining about it doesn't do anything but irritate your companion. Luckily for Snake, or maybe more luckily for Kaz, Snake is really, really good at tuning people out.

He sets the can opener down on the rock next to him and leans over the fire to pour the contents of said can, black beans, a soldier-staple, into the small pan, grumbling non-responses every once in a while to Kaz's comments or the occasional "yeah," at a 'right, Boss?' and it's that easy. He pokes at the beans with a long fork to make sure they don't burn. "Grab the jerky, Kaz," is the only real sentence Snake offers in between all of it, spoken at the time the beans begin to bubble and smell like, well, cooked beans--and not just cold beans in a can. Then he grabs the two small aluminum bowls and spoons their portions into them, squinting with his good eye to make sure the level is roughly even. They're lucky to have some jerky today, it's not often you get to eat something like that on the field. The salted, dried meat is practically a delicacy. Soldiers understand this, and Kaz understands this, and Snake understands this.

all of ten and still overwhelmed by the jagged edges of his new senses, lazare stares pointedly down, sat cross-legged on the floor of his father's room as he cleans his armor. he was fortunate it had been altair that noticed him missing and sought him out and not one of the other witchers or masters present in the keep - had they, his punishment would have been far harsher.

but kaer seren is full of many hidden passages and secret rooms, and he had grown overwhelmed by the scents of the elixir ingredients foisted upon he and his classmates with the instruction they were to be inspected, identified, and batched. so he sought out those passages and rooms, having watched the adults closely enough to piece together where some could approximately be found. the other boys had heard of them, but none had found any like he had. the room that he ultimately discovered had contained a selection of books kept separate from the library. he had chosen one and gotten lost in it by the time altair fund him.

still, it's pathetic, for a trainee to be affected by something so simple. he had been. only altair knows his shame for now.

there once was a time not so long ago where lazare would have never thought this a possibility. he had buried his father. he had dug his body from the snow and the rubble with his own bare hands. he had cradled him, choked with grief, as his brothers had tried to separate them.

he hadn't buried his father. he had cradled an imitation of treacherous sorcery, deceived by the very same mages that had taken him. he hadn't known then. he knows now.

leaned back against zephyr, lazare sits by the fire wrapped in a blanket altair had given him. lying on her side, his mare sleeps peacefully. he stares tiredly at their gathered pile of firewood, wondering if he should rise and gather more, before altair speaks and draws his attention. in one hand he holds a knife, the other a chunk of wood.

night has fallen. though the winds of a storm howl and batter against the windows of their keep, settled in great armchairs around the hearth, there is nought to be had but warmth and comfort. a book lies on a table beside him, open but overturned and forgotten.

they had supped especially well that night, and lazare is contented but pensive as he cradles a mug of hot cider and stares into the flames of their fire.