(no subject)
Title: The Gilded Hippogriff
Author: starshinedown
Rating: Gen
Crossover: BtVS/The Witcher (Netflix/novels)
Word Count: 888
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy the Vampire nor The Witcher
Summary: Finally, a bed and a bath. A continuation of Dawn's adventures on The Continent. Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV
Dawn folded her forearms on the table and leaned forward to rest her forehead on not-at-all comfortable pillow created by her arms.
Walking for days straight was not her idea of fun. She was never taking motorized travel for granted again. She had no idea how Jaskier’s feet weren’t a mess; his boots looked to be more fashion-conscious than practical, and yet he didn’t limp or complain of blisters.
The degree of gratitude she felt at this moment, with the warmth of the tavern’s fire seeping into her side, her feet resting on proper floor while her bottom was in an actual chair, could not be over stated. She’d just barely restrained herself from throwing her arms around Geralt in gratitude when he’d directed them toward the inn while he dealt with whatever notice he’d seen on the board at the town’s entrance.
Jaskier had led her into the inn - she couldn’t read the signage, but the image on the sign looked a bit like a poorly drawn hippogriff - and proceeded to haggle with the woman who greeted them. They’d gone back and forth so rapidly that Dawn could barely follow the overall flow of conversation.
As it turned out, Jaskier had gotten them a room - she’d have her own bed, he assured her - and arranged to provide entertainment for the evening. The way the woman’s face had lifted in recognition when Jaskier had introduced himself and sang a bar or two made Dawn regret every doubt she’d had when he’d told her of his popularity and renown. Maybe he really was that famous a troubadour.
They’d gone upstairs, where not only was there a small third cot being moved to the room, but in the corner was a large barrel that some young teens were filling with water. She looked to Jaskier, hopefully. She’d scrubbed in a stream the day before last, washing both herself and her clothes, but this seemed a luxury in comparison.
He’d grinned at her and gestured in a florid bow to the barrel. “You first, while the water is warm. And clean. We don’t want this when Geralt returns after his hunt. He’ll be covered in blood and most likely.”
So saying, he’d turned his back to her and made a production of going through this pack while not looking at her. She kept an eye on him; he hadn’t even peeked.
She granted him the same courtesy, fanning out her hair to dry as much as possible and keeping her back to him while he scrubbed off the road. Rarely content with silence, he kept up a steady stream of chatter until they were ready to go back down to the main room.
So now, pleasantly full from root vegetables and a meat she didn’t care to identify, clean, warm from fire, and thoroughly entertained by the bard - yes, you’re a delightful entertainer, Jaskier and I’m not just saying that because you let me bathe first - she was happy to just mentally coast for a bit.
Dawn had spent almost the entirety of her life around monster hunters or herself hunting monsters to completely zone out; a bit of her was well aware of her surroundings. That little bit of her pulled her out of the almost meditation she was in when the air around her seemed to change. Startled, she looked around. Nothing was overtly different. Jaskier was still commanding most of the attention in the main room. The innkeeper and the serving girls were still taking care of the customers. Nonetheless, the energy seemed to have shifted. It set her teeth on edge.
A moment later, the crowd parted and a dark figure cut through to her table. It took her a second or two to recognize Geralt under the filth and gore.
She’d seen many a Slayer return home after a hunt. She’d seen her sister’s ruined clothing, clandestinely cleaned before mom found out about the slayage. Dawn had an idea of what hunting creatures could do to your wardrobe and general state of cleanliness.
This, though.
She looked him up and down, appalled.
“Go upstairs,” she demanded. “There’s a bath drawn. I’ll ask for food and bring it up so you don’t have strangers in the room with you while you get…” she paused as something viscous dripped off of him. “While you get that off of you.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Gross,” she said in English, lacking a word in Common or Elder to describe what she was seeing and smelling.
Dawn watched him dig in his heels, literally and metaphorically, to being bossed around by her. His eyebrow arched; she could practically hear the “oh really?” And she just couldn’t help herself. She waved her arms at him in what she figured was the universal shooing motion. “Upstairs. Bathe. Now.”
She’d spent hours in front of mirrors, practicing the ‘Mom Look of Disappointment,’ had learned to weaponize it when dealing with pigheaded slayers and sisters alike. She leveled it at Geralt now.
Geralt stared at her. For a moment she thought he’d sit next to her out of sheer spite. Then, to her delight, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.
Score one for the Joyce Summers disappointed face, she thought smugly. Even grr, argh monster hunters are intimidated by it.
Author: starshinedown
Rating: Gen
Crossover: BtVS/The Witcher (Netflix/novels)
Word Count: 888
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy the Vampire nor The Witcher
Summary: Finally, a bed and a bath. A continuation of Dawn's adventures on The Continent. Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV
Dawn folded her forearms on the table and leaned forward to rest her forehead on not-at-all comfortable pillow created by her arms.
Walking for days straight was not her idea of fun. She was never taking motorized travel for granted again. She had no idea how Jaskier’s feet weren’t a mess; his boots looked to be more fashion-conscious than practical, and yet he didn’t limp or complain of blisters.
The degree of gratitude she felt at this moment, with the warmth of the tavern’s fire seeping into her side, her feet resting on proper floor while her bottom was in an actual chair, could not be over stated. She’d just barely restrained herself from throwing her arms around Geralt in gratitude when he’d directed them toward the inn while he dealt with whatever notice he’d seen on the board at the town’s entrance.
Jaskier had led her into the inn - she couldn’t read the signage, but the image on the sign looked a bit like a poorly drawn hippogriff - and proceeded to haggle with the woman who greeted them. They’d gone back and forth so rapidly that Dawn could barely follow the overall flow of conversation.
As it turned out, Jaskier had gotten them a room - she’d have her own bed, he assured her - and arranged to provide entertainment for the evening. The way the woman’s face had lifted in recognition when Jaskier had introduced himself and sang a bar or two made Dawn regret every doubt she’d had when he’d told her of his popularity and renown. Maybe he really was that famous a troubadour.
They’d gone upstairs, where not only was there a small third cot being moved to the room, but in the corner was a large barrel that some young teens were filling with water. She looked to Jaskier, hopefully. She’d scrubbed in a stream the day before last, washing both herself and her clothes, but this seemed a luxury in comparison.
He’d grinned at her and gestured in a florid bow to the barrel. “You first, while the water is warm. And clean. We don’t want this when Geralt returns after his hunt. He’ll be covered in blood and most likely.”
So saying, he’d turned his back to her and made a production of going through this pack while not looking at her. She kept an eye on him; he hadn’t even peeked.
She granted him the same courtesy, fanning out her hair to dry as much as possible and keeping her back to him while he scrubbed off the road. Rarely content with silence, he kept up a steady stream of chatter until they were ready to go back down to the main room.
So now, pleasantly full from root vegetables and a meat she didn’t care to identify, clean, warm from fire, and thoroughly entertained by the bard - yes, you’re a delightful entertainer, Jaskier and I’m not just saying that because you let me bathe first - she was happy to just mentally coast for a bit.
Dawn had spent almost the entirety of her life around monster hunters or herself hunting monsters to completely zone out; a bit of her was well aware of her surroundings. That little bit of her pulled her out of the almost meditation she was in when the air around her seemed to change. Startled, she looked around. Nothing was overtly different. Jaskier was still commanding most of the attention in the main room. The innkeeper and the serving girls were still taking care of the customers. Nonetheless, the energy seemed to have shifted. It set her teeth on edge.
A moment later, the crowd parted and a dark figure cut through to her table. It took her a second or two to recognize Geralt under the filth and gore.
She’d seen many a Slayer return home after a hunt. She’d seen her sister’s ruined clothing, clandestinely cleaned before mom found out about the slayage. Dawn had an idea of what hunting creatures could do to your wardrobe and general state of cleanliness.
This, though.
She looked him up and down, appalled.
“Go upstairs,” she demanded. “There’s a bath drawn. I’ll ask for food and bring it up so you don’t have strangers in the room with you while you get…” she paused as something viscous dripped off of him. “While you get that off of you.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Gross,” she said in English, lacking a word in Common or Elder to describe what she was seeing and smelling.
Dawn watched him dig in his heels, literally and metaphorically, to being bossed around by her. His eyebrow arched; she could practically hear the “oh really?” And she just couldn’t help herself. She waved her arms at him in what she figured was the universal shooing motion. “Upstairs. Bathe. Now.”
She’d spent hours in front of mirrors, practicing the ‘Mom Look of Disappointment,’ had learned to weaponize it when dealing with pigheaded slayers and sisters alike. She leveled it at Geralt now.
Geralt stared at her. For a moment she thought he’d sit next to her out of sheer spite. Then, to her delight, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.
Score one for the Joyce Summers disappointed face, she thought smugly. Even grr, argh monster hunters are intimidated by it.