#witchered

face lights up in a grin the moment that blue eyes spot the witcher. a course of excitement as he steadies a hand back, on the lute that hangs against his back and picks up his pace. boots attempting to avoid mud brought by early spring rain as he makes his way towards white hair. it's always thrilling when his journey brings him back to the other after time parted ways.

"Stop   looking   at   me   like   that." @ jaskier

"What? I'm not looking at you like anything." Jaskier lies, lyingly.

He is, in fact, looking at Geralt very much like he is everything, and he knows very well that he shouldn't be doing that. He should not be gazing so fondly and tenderly at the Witcher as he eats the morning meal of bread, potatoes, and sausage at the latest tavern they have stopped at on their travels. There is no good reason for him to, other than the silly and not at all serious crush he has had on his friend and traveling companion for years now. No, best to ignore it than to acknowledge its existence, which would only complicate things between them.

And what they have is fine. What they have is good. Companionship and trust and witty banter through thick and thin. So be it if nothing more comes from it. As long as he's traveling with Geralt, and not being left on the side of some mountain with sad, wet eyes and slippery boots... it's fine.

But he doesn't think Geralt is looking, and so he chances the glance only to be caught as such and now he has to pretend that he is, in fact, not looking at Geralt in any particular sort of way. Certainly not like a pining idiot who knows better.

So he looks down at his own sad meal of shriveled sausage and dry potatoes, of hard bread and cheap, perfume-y mead and picks at the plate with his fork, going on to pretend he was not, in fact, looking at Geralt at all.

"So....what's the plan?" Jaskier is unsure how they're going to get out of this situation, but trusts Geralt enough to be sure he has something brewing, if only in his head.

He is hoping they will find Ciri soon, though he is rather enjoying the journey to do so. Still, he is worried for his pocket sized princess. He hopes she is alright. He is sure with her training and intelligence she will somehow manage to survive. But she deserves more than that. She deserves to thrive. And so Jaskier hopes that somehow, she is. Even if it makes no sense to hope. Besides, he knows that Geralt would be the one to be the most upset if anything bad happened to the girl he sees as a daughter.

@witchered sent: [ TILT ]: the sender gently tilts the receiver’s chin up so that they can check to see if they’re okay. @ yenn settling dust prompts | accepting

She would normally retaliate. She should've retaliated. No matter how "close" Geralt may've thought they'd grown since they'd met, Yennefer still wasn't totally enthused by the unexpected touch, especially in regards to her face. The coarse fingers brushed against her chin gently, but that desire to reel back was still ever so present. Her ever present scowl deepened, but managed to keep herself from recoiling.

Upon further inspection of her face, she thankfully didn't have have any prominent injuries. Nothing more than a few scratches to her skin.

"Let me guess. You wished to pester me instead of giving me a break for this winter."

Corners of her lips twitch to form a smile, a teasing one, as the female witcher gazed up at Geralt. To say Brenna was surprised to see her companion at the front gates of her fortress was an understatement. The two parted, hoping to see each other the following spring, but here was the very beginning of winter with Brenna only back at Kaer Seren for a little over two weeks, and Geralt decided to join her. She'd be lying if she didn't admit feeling her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him standing there.

Main timeline, after the first year on the Path. for Geralt (@witchered / affiliated).

❝ Fuck this fucking year on that fucking Path, leading to assfuck nowhere but pricks in fancy pants, field hand fucking the farmer's ugly missus. — the fucking monsters are the smallest problem of them all. I need a fucking drink — // oi! No no, not a cup, gimme the whole fucking bottle! ❞

Eskel is already intoxicated. The one thing he learned first on the Path was how to get pissed fucking thoroughly and then get the next well rounded whore on his lap.

The safety of Kaer Morhen has been sorely missed. It's been a horrible year. Like something stretched beyond their original tolerance it felt. Only here Eskel could calm down. But he didn't.

All he wanted was to get drunk and pass out in the entry hall. Waiting. Wishing. Wishing to see his love & the only love he's ever known..sunset eyes scan the room as another brother put a tiny mead barrel on the table next to him. No thank you is spoken, no gratitude is shown. Only Eskel and his stare. How he opens the barrel and fills his cup to the brim.

The smell of snow, goat and embers Eskel only ever noticed if he turned attention away from the doors.

Why is Geralt not coming?

Eskel had searched for him on the Path and never got any news. While he found out what Gwain and Lambert were doing, there was no trace of Geralt.

A pain, the missing of his heart, the reason for Eskel to live ...just isn't here with him and it breaks him.

What if he is dead? Please don't be dead, Eskel thought, now slowly becoming dizzy and drowsy from the booze.