Statuesque Pt. 3
Alright it’s getting a little more interesting...things are changing.
Lemme know what you’re thinking in the comments pretty please?
tw: blood mention
Previous Parts Found Here
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Geralt blinked awake unexpectedly. He hadn’t been paying attention and therefore hadn’t seen Jaskier approach.
“Hello?” the curator practically sang, waving his hand in front of the demon’s sensitive eyes. “You awake in there?”
“Hmm.”
“Oh, good. I have questions.”
“Hmm.”
“Very eloquent tonight, I see, Geralt. Charming, as usual.”
“Did you summon me...intentionally?”
“Yes. And I’m sure it won’t be the last time, either. Now, like I said, I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
“You bled for me,” the statue murmured. The statue’s only untethered hand reached out to grasp Jaskier’s. Geralt brought it to his mouth and pressed a burning, slow kiss to the scabbed tip of the human’s finger. When Jaskier pulled it away, mesmerized and blushing wildly, the wound was closed completely. Only a thin line remained where he’d pricked himself with the letter opener from his desk. “I will gladly answer your questions, Jaskier.”
Geralt heard Jaskier’s heart stutter when he said the mortal’s name and couldn’t help but smirk. Perfect.
“So, I was wondering, what’s...what’s your favorite color? I mean you’ve been alive for centuries and you’ve been in some of the most impressive churches and museums in the world, right? So what painting is your favorite? What’s your favorite color? Why do you like it so much?”
Geralt blinked. That...that wasn’t the line of questioning he’d been expecting at all. He thought Jaskier would be like the rest, curious about the afterlife. Hungry for power. Hungry for forbidden and cursed knowledge. Not - Not a demon statue’s favorite color. He frowned a little, confused as to how he should answer. Jaskier turned back to his desk and began to sort some papers, humming an unfamiliar tune very quietly as he did so.
“Hmm?”
“Take your time to answer; I woke you up first-thing after I clocked in. I figured you needed to sort through a lifetime of experience, so I planned to give you a minute to think it over. We have all night to talk, Geralt. I didn’t mean to be overwhelming and I apologize if that was too many questions at once.”
“You woke me up first-thing?” Geralt asked, feeling dumb for the first time in a millennia. He ignored the rest of the curator’s monologue, focusing only on that one detail. We have all night. He’d given Geralt all night to speak and observe and be alive.
“Of course!” The bright-eyed mortal turned to face him. “I wouldn’t want to miss a solitary minute of your company! If you ever don’t want me to wake you up again, let me know. Otherwise I rather intended to keep you company on a regular basis.”
“Oh…”
Hmm. Fuck. The only decent human being in a fucking century and I manage to befriend him of all people. Goddamnit.
“Blue. My favorite color is probably blue, like water.”
Water, and definitely not the shade of your accursedly bright irises.
“Excellent,” Jaskier beamed. “Mine is green, but yellow is a close second. I’m a sucker for a Van Gogh; his yellows are inspired.”
“The style is fascinating but I’m partial to a Monet,” Geralt argued, smiling softly. More softly than he’d intended. More softly than his planned seduction called for. Don’t lose your touch, now. You can get out of here. You can be free.
“So, is there any way to break your curse? Do your chains have a key?”
“Yes and no,” Geralt lied.
“Alright, shoot.” Jaskier’s arms were crossed over his chest and his butt was pressing against the edge of the desk as he leaned back against it. He looked adorable and so intent. Curious but not greedy.
“Would you believe me if I told you that Heaven and Hell invented True Love’s Kiss?”
“I might.”
“Well you should. The only way to be free of the curse is true love’s kiss. Second, no. These chains are meant to keep me from leaving the pedestal.”
“Too bad,” Jaskier sighed. “I’d hoped to show you around the rest of the museum. Maybe take you for coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Yeah. Can you like...eat and drink?”
“It will disappear when I turn to stone.”
“I’ll bring you some coffee tomorrow, then.”
Geralt felt something strange knock loose in his chest. Something warm and soft that seemed determined to bloom and spread as he watched Jaskier finish sorting his papers. It had reached his fingers and toes by the time they finished discussing impressionism and moved on to Jaskier’s favorite books and Geralt’s favorite eras of history.
“The Renaissance really was lovely,” he insisted. “But I wasn’t necessarily on board for the entire Enlightenment process. The art wasn’t nearly as good.”
“Jurassic Park is a fucking classic,” Jaskier explained a few long and interesting minutes later, “Jeff Goldblum is one fine piece of Daddy.”
Geralt didn’t need many context clues to understand what that meant.
The night passed happily and before it seemed entirely possible, that gut-sinking feeling appeared once again. “Fuck. See you tomorrow night, Jaskier.”
“Talk to you tomorrow, Geralt,” the curator tucked a stray white hair back behind the statue’s ear and smiled softly. “I’ll miss you in the meantime.”
Will you? Geralt wanted to ask, honestly curious about the answer. Something odd was happening. Something that was veering him far from the course of his original plan. Will you miss me? Will you think of me in the daylight hours and wish I was there with you? Will I be wishing to be with you? Do I hunger for the sun again, Jaskier?
Geralt steeled himself and let the stone take him over completely. He had to free himself. Lying about the kiss was the first and easiest step.
The rest, he realized with a strange and nearly alien twinge of guilt, would be harder.
