Aug 7 - Getting to Know You
Title: Getting to Know You
Author: starshinedown
Rating: Gen
Crossover: BtVS/The Witcher (Netflix/novels)
Word Count: 1599
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy the Vampire nor The Witcher
Summary: Filler as Dawn gets to know Geralt and Jaskier a bit better. Part 1, Part 2
Their communication was still stilted - this was clearly not a first language for either man - but after another day with the two men, Dawn was delighted with how well they were able to communicate. She had some thoughts about this language - Elder, they called it. To her ear it sounded like someone had rummaged around all the Celtic languages, taken words from each, blended them together, and added a bit of Germanic for flavor. She hadn’t found a pattern for which words came from which language, and she didn’t necessarily have the breadth of knowledge for that kind of assessment, anyway. She was conversant in Irish, and could get by in Scottish and Welsh if she was in either place. Hardly an expert.
They’d mentioned worlds colliding, and when she’d prodded for more, she could practically hear the capital letters in Conjunction of the Spheres. She wasn’t clear on what had happened when the conjunction occurred, but she gathered from Geralt and Jaskier that monsters were one of the things left in this world as a result.
She was traveling with a monster hunter and a self-proclaimed famous (renowned!) bard. Geralt was a man of few words, she was learning, but the side eye he gave Jaskier as the younger man bragged about his friend’s monster-hunt exploits and then described his own professional popularity, spoke volumes and had her wondering how much was fact and how much was propaganda.
Dawn took a considering look at the white-haired man in front of them. He practically oozed “badass,” and she couldn’t help but wish she could see him spar with her sister. It’d probably be greatly entertaining. Alas. She was good as far as non-superhuman people went. She could hold her own against most humans and even a few demons. Training slayers, though, kept her humble. He’d probably kick her butt without breaking a sweat. She considered him again. That might not suck, actually. He had really nice shoulders.
She turned her attention back to Jaskier, who was walking beside her, lute in hand as he hummed to himself and seemed to idly pick out notes as he worked through whatever was in his head. Dawn was impressed that he could do so without tripping or appearing to notice his surroundings. Did he get lost in his music like this when he didn’t have a trained fighter for a travel buddy? How did he survive? It bothered her, and then it bothered her that it bothered her. Whatever his method, it seemed to work for him; he looked like he was close to her age. She should let him be. She didn’t want to interrupt his flow if he was composing, but she had questions. Time to find out if Geralt’s hearing was as acute as a slayer’s. She had her suspicions.
“Geralt,” she said, keeping her voice at a normal conversational level, “he’s composing. Can I walk with you and ask questions?” She wasn’t actually sure how much of that translated into The Celtic Soup, er, Elder. She hoped the essence of it communicated.
He'd canted his head toward her when she spoke his name. When she finished, he tilted it toward in a gesture she took to mean “come on up, then, if you must.” It irritated her that she wasn’t sure if the subtext was actually there and he was good at non-verbal communication, or if she was desperate for more info than what such a taciturn person shared, and so was reading way too much into every “hmmm” and gesture.
Whatever. She remembered Angel when Buffy first started bringing him around. He hadn’t been especially talkative then, either. She could work with it. She trotted forward so she was even with man and horse and looked up at Geralt.
“You said last night you have a friend who may be able to help?”
He looked down at her, and she couldn’t get a read on his expression. Was he contemplating her question? Was he trying to understand? Was he looking for the correct words in this language that wasn’t his primary?
She tried again, in case she’d been unclear. “Your friend. Knows magic? Can help?” She turned that over in her head, and as she contemplated subbing in a few words to see if they worked better, she caught his eye and saw the corner of his lip twitch. This was definitely amusement. Was he laughing at her? Ugh.
He tipped his head down at her in acknowledgement, and lucky for him and her temper, deigned to answer. “She does. She is powerful, learned.”
Dawn considered his statement. It was obvious he was keeping to simple sentences in deference to the language barrier. She was curious about his friend, and the potential for said friend to help her find her way home, but also about the world in general. “She,” Dawn paused. “Has power.” Here she floundered. It was a concept she could communicate in Irish, but wasn’t sure about the words that might be used in Elder. “Is her power political? Magical? Both?”
Geralt nodded. “She is,” and the string of words followed made no sense to Dawn. Before she could speak up, he correctly read her expression, stopped, and seemed to consider. “Political.” Here he brought up his hand closest to her and made a gesture that seemed to indicate ‘so-so.’ He continued, “magical? Yes. Much.”
“In this world, women can hold political power? Um,” she bit her lip in thought, “leaders?”
Geralt made that ‘so-so’ gesture again, and that was good enough for Dawn for now. Learning about the world would pass the time until they reached a village with an inn or they made camp again. Assuming Geralt would humor her while Jaskier was lost in his head and his music.
Dawn was brimming with questions. She spent the next stretch of their unhurried walk using her stilted approximation of Elder to pry answers out of Geralt.
Was Geralt born a monster hunter? No. He was made, he said. She thought. They were called Witchers. She tucked that deeper inquiry away for when communication was less stilted. (Made? Was it mystical, like Slayers? Was it physiological molding/making? A combination? She was dying to know but between the language barrier and his obvious discomfort with the topic, that line of questioning had to wait.) Did he work for one kingdom? No, he traveled and killed monsters across borders. Did he and Jaskier always travel together? Another ‘so-so’ motion to that question - she figured they were travel buddies frequently, but not always.
Eventually, Geralt seemed to lose interest in answering her. And he started scanning the area around them. He turned to Jaskier, who was only a few paces behind them, still composing, but by this time he’d slung his lute over his back and was scribbling furiously in a notebook with what looked a bit like a pencil. “Jaskier,” he all but barked, startling both Dawn and Jaskier, who both frowned at Geralt. He spoke rapidly to Jaskier in their first language, and Dawn thought she caught a few words here and there. “Fire, camp, sleep.” Geralt paused and gestured off to the right, where it looked like a proper forest was beginning. He turned to Dawn and in Elder: “We overnight here.”
Jaskier nodded as Geralt spoke, folding up his notebook and writing utensil into a belt pouch. He tipped his head at Dawn and they walked in the general direction Geralt indicated.
“Geralt hunts,” he said, “we make camp. Build fire, find water.” He looked up at the sky and seemed to stall in thought for a moment. “Shelter. Rain I think.”
Dawn thought of her bigger-on-the-inside bag, which she hadn’t really shown off to them. She had a pup tent and a four-man tent packed away in it for slayer training excursions. Did she dare drag that one out? Geralt’s friend was magical, apparently, but she was still cautious about using something as magical as that bag in front of her new travel companions. Plus, the technology of a pop-up tent made of thoroughly 21st-century Earth materials?
But. Rain. She really, really disliked being rained on. Probably the tent would be better.
She and Jaskier both paused as they reached a natural glen hidden from the path by a screen of trees. There was evidence of an old fire ring near the center with a fallen tree laid alongside it - they apparently were not the first travelers to make use of this space. There was also what looked like a leather travel pack propped up against that fallen tree. Not the first travelers to make use of this space today, it seemed.
Dawn slapped her hand against Jaskier’s forearm and pointed. “Jaskier!”
His forehead furrowed until his eyes landed on what she was trying to point out. He breathed out what she assumed was profanity under his breath. He glanced at her then pulled an expression of false cheerfulness onto his face. Was he trying to make her feel better? That was sweet, but -
A gruff voice rang out, and they both turned to find a broad man with dark hair at the opposite edge of the glen. Scars ran across one side of his face. To Dawn’s eye it looked like he’d been swiped across the face, temple to chin, by a huge clawed paw or hand. He had a couple medium birds in one hand, Dawn guessed maybe grouse or partridge, and a long knife in the other.
It looked like they’d found the owner of that travel pack.
A/N: From what I gather, the author of the Witcher novels did cobble together bits and pieces of various Celtic languages, with a bit of German, to create the Elder language used in the books. ALSO: I had “Getting to Know You” from the King and I in my head on a loop as I wrote this.
Author: starshinedown
Rating: Gen
Crossover: BtVS/The Witcher (Netflix/novels)
Word Count: 1599
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy the Vampire nor The Witcher
Summary: Filler as Dawn gets to know Geralt and Jaskier a bit better. Part 1, Part 2
Their communication was still stilted - this was clearly not a first language for either man - but after another day with the two men, Dawn was delighted with how well they were able to communicate. She had some thoughts about this language - Elder, they called it. To her ear it sounded like someone had rummaged around all the Celtic languages, taken words from each, blended them together, and added a bit of Germanic for flavor. She hadn’t found a pattern for which words came from which language, and she didn’t necessarily have the breadth of knowledge for that kind of assessment, anyway. She was conversant in Irish, and could get by in Scottish and Welsh if she was in either place. Hardly an expert.
They’d mentioned worlds colliding, and when she’d prodded for more, she could practically hear the capital letters in Conjunction of the Spheres. She wasn’t clear on what had happened when the conjunction occurred, but she gathered from Geralt and Jaskier that monsters were one of the things left in this world as a result.
She was traveling with a monster hunter and a self-proclaimed famous (renowned!) bard. Geralt was a man of few words, she was learning, but the side eye he gave Jaskier as the younger man bragged about his friend’s monster-hunt exploits and then described his own professional popularity, spoke volumes and had her wondering how much was fact and how much was propaganda.
Dawn took a considering look at the white-haired man in front of them. He practically oozed “badass,” and she couldn’t help but wish she could see him spar with her sister. It’d probably be greatly entertaining. Alas. She was good as far as non-superhuman people went. She could hold her own against most humans and even a few demons. Training slayers, though, kept her humble. He’d probably kick her butt without breaking a sweat. She considered him again. That might not suck, actually. He had really nice shoulders.
She turned her attention back to Jaskier, who was walking beside her, lute in hand as he hummed to himself and seemed to idly pick out notes as he worked through whatever was in his head. Dawn was impressed that he could do so without tripping or appearing to notice his surroundings. Did he get lost in his music like this when he didn’t have a trained fighter for a travel buddy? How did he survive? It bothered her, and then it bothered her that it bothered her. Whatever his method, it seemed to work for him; he looked like he was close to her age. She should let him be. She didn’t want to interrupt his flow if he was composing, but she had questions. Time to find out if Geralt’s hearing was as acute as a slayer’s. She had her suspicions.
“Geralt,” she said, keeping her voice at a normal conversational level, “he’s composing. Can I walk with you and ask questions?” She wasn’t actually sure how much of that translated into The Celtic Soup, er, Elder. She hoped the essence of it communicated.
He'd canted his head toward her when she spoke his name. When she finished, he tilted it toward in a gesture she took to mean “come on up, then, if you must.” It irritated her that she wasn’t sure if the subtext was actually there and he was good at non-verbal communication, or if she was desperate for more info than what such a taciturn person shared, and so was reading way too much into every “hmmm” and gesture.
Whatever. She remembered Angel when Buffy first started bringing him around. He hadn’t been especially talkative then, either. She could work with it. She trotted forward so she was even with man and horse and looked up at Geralt.
“You said last night you have a friend who may be able to help?”
He looked down at her, and she couldn’t get a read on his expression. Was he contemplating her question? Was he trying to understand? Was he looking for the correct words in this language that wasn’t his primary?
She tried again, in case she’d been unclear. “Your friend. Knows magic? Can help?” She turned that over in her head, and as she contemplated subbing in a few words to see if they worked better, she caught his eye and saw the corner of his lip twitch. This was definitely amusement. Was he laughing at her? Ugh.
He tipped his head down at her in acknowledgement, and lucky for him and her temper, deigned to answer. “She does. She is powerful, learned.”
Dawn considered his statement. It was obvious he was keeping to simple sentences in deference to the language barrier. She was curious about his friend, and the potential for said friend to help her find her way home, but also about the world in general. “She,” Dawn paused. “Has power.” Here she floundered. It was a concept she could communicate in Irish, but wasn’t sure about the words that might be used in Elder. “Is her power political? Magical? Both?”
Geralt nodded. “She is,” and the string of words followed made no sense to Dawn. Before she could speak up, he correctly read her expression, stopped, and seemed to consider. “Political.” Here he brought up his hand closest to her and made a gesture that seemed to indicate ‘so-so.’ He continued, “magical? Yes. Much.”
“In this world, women can hold political power? Um,” she bit her lip in thought, “leaders?”
Geralt made that ‘so-so’ gesture again, and that was good enough for Dawn for now. Learning about the world would pass the time until they reached a village with an inn or they made camp again. Assuming Geralt would humor her while Jaskier was lost in his head and his music.
Dawn was brimming with questions. She spent the next stretch of their unhurried walk using her stilted approximation of Elder to pry answers out of Geralt.
Was Geralt born a monster hunter? No. He was made, he said. She thought. They were called Witchers. She tucked that deeper inquiry away for when communication was less stilted. (Made? Was it mystical, like Slayers? Was it physiological molding/making? A combination? She was dying to know but between the language barrier and his obvious discomfort with the topic, that line of questioning had to wait.) Did he work for one kingdom? No, he traveled and killed monsters across borders. Did he and Jaskier always travel together? Another ‘so-so’ motion to that question - she figured they were travel buddies frequently, but not always.
Eventually, Geralt seemed to lose interest in answering her. And he started scanning the area around them. He turned to Jaskier, who was only a few paces behind them, still composing, but by this time he’d slung his lute over his back and was scribbling furiously in a notebook with what looked a bit like a pencil. “Jaskier,” he all but barked, startling both Dawn and Jaskier, who both frowned at Geralt. He spoke rapidly to Jaskier in their first language, and Dawn thought she caught a few words here and there. “Fire, camp, sleep.” Geralt paused and gestured off to the right, where it looked like a proper forest was beginning. He turned to Dawn and in Elder: “We overnight here.”
Jaskier nodded as Geralt spoke, folding up his notebook and writing utensil into a belt pouch. He tipped his head at Dawn and they walked in the general direction Geralt indicated.
“Geralt hunts,” he said, “we make camp. Build fire, find water.” He looked up at the sky and seemed to stall in thought for a moment. “Shelter. Rain I think.”
Dawn thought of her bigger-on-the-inside bag, which she hadn’t really shown off to them. She had a pup tent and a four-man tent packed away in it for slayer training excursions. Did she dare drag that one out? Geralt’s friend was magical, apparently, but she was still cautious about using something as magical as that bag in front of her new travel companions. Plus, the technology of a pop-up tent made of thoroughly 21st-century Earth materials?
But. Rain. She really, really disliked being rained on. Probably the tent would be better.
She and Jaskier both paused as they reached a natural glen hidden from the path by a screen of trees. There was evidence of an old fire ring near the center with a fallen tree laid alongside it - they apparently were not the first travelers to make use of this space. There was also what looked like a leather travel pack propped up against that fallen tree. Not the first travelers to make use of this space today, it seemed.
Dawn slapped her hand against Jaskier’s forearm and pointed. “Jaskier!”
His forehead furrowed until his eyes landed on what she was trying to point out. He breathed out what she assumed was profanity under his breath. He glanced at her then pulled an expression of false cheerfulness onto his face. Was he trying to make her feel better? That was sweet, but -
A gruff voice rang out, and they both turned to find a broad man with dark hair at the opposite edge of the glen. Scars ran across one side of his face. To Dawn’s eye it looked like he’d been swiped across the face, temple to chin, by a huge clawed paw or hand. He had a couple medium birds in one hand, Dawn guessed maybe grouse or partridge, and a long knife in the other.
It looked like they’d found the owner of that travel pack.
A/N: From what I gather, the author of the Witcher novels did cobble together bits and pieces of various Celtic languages, with a bit of German, to create the Elder language used in the books. ALSO: I had “Getting to Know You” from the King and I in my head on a loop as I wrote this.