(no subject)
Title: Brothers
Author: starshinedown
Rating: PG13 for a choice word or two
Crossover: BtVS/The Witcher (Netflix/novels)
Word Count: 891
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy the Vampire nor The Witcher
Summary: Dawn meets another Witcher
Note: I got distracted by work deadlines and a new novel, so I missed an entire week of posting. I admire you consistent writers even more now. Kudos to y’all.
Dawn was pretty sure it was the scars across the man’s face pulling his lip up into a hint of a snarl and not anger. He seemed wary, yes, but nothing about his body language said “aggressive” to her. In fact, he seemed to be moving deliberately, and broadcasting his movements to them as he slowly, but steadily crossed the clearing to the campsite.
He was intimidating, not just because of the scars, but his size. He was of a height with Jaskier and Geralt, but broader by far, and apparently all muscle. The patchwork of armor, and the two swords on his back, looked well worn and well cared for.
Jaskier shifted, putting himself between Dawn and the scarred man. His hands were up, empty, palms facing the stranger. She huffed. Honestly, after only a couple days with Geralt and Jaskier, she’d already figured out that in any kind of melee situation, she had better chances than the bard. She could just about guarantee she had both more formal training and actual experience fighting.
For his part, the other man tilted his head as if considering the two of them, glancing between them and Roach, who was apparently unbothered, head low over the grass as she ate. He frowned slightly, and turned his attention to Jaskier, though Dawn noted that he didn’t entirely dismiss her.
Points to him, then. She was discounted often because she looked softer and more harmless than she was.
They proceeded to talk rapidly in the other language - what Jaskier and Geralt said was called Common Speech - she wasn’t able to follow, though she caught a enough words in addition to “Roach, Geralt, Jaskier, Dawn” to get the gist of it. She thought. Probably.
The strange man sheathed his knife in a scabbard at his hip as he drew closer.
Jaskier angled his body so he could talk to both Dawn and the man. He gestured between the two of them. “Dawn, Eskel. Eskel, Dawn.” He had a lingering look of apprehension as he took in Eskel. Then in Elder for her benefit, “He recognized Roach. He’s a Witcher.”
“Like Geralt?” Might as well clarify. Language barriers and all.
Eskel nodded, and, in Elder, bless him, “Geralt is my brother.”
She blinked and reassessed him. It did explain the shoulders, actually. They were both ridiculously broad. Breadth of shoulder aside, though, they didn’t really look alike.
He correctly read her expression and offered, “Not brothers by birth. Claimed. We grew up together.” Here he fished out a medallion of a fierce wolf’s head from under his shirt. It was a twin to the one she’d seen Geralt wearing.
She nodded her understanding. A bit like Willow for Buffy, maybe.
***
It didn’t take long for three of them to set camp. Dawn spent the entire time pumping the two men for information while practicing her Common speech, filling in the gaps with Elder where possible.
She was happy to help relieve the small game birds of their feathers, and was grateful the others didn’t seem to expect her to dress them for the fire. She could - she’d had survival training, and had a whole lot of book knowledge to help her out - but little practical experience. But she wasn’t keen on the idea of handling bird guts, thanks. Eskel took care of that part thankfully.
Jaskier had just returned to the fire with the precious sachets of herbs and seasoning he’d liberated from Geralt’s saddle bag when Eskel’s head swung to the left. He tilted his head, as if considering something. “Geralt’s near,” he told them.
Dawn really wanted to know if Eskel heard Geralt, smelled him, or if they had some kind of bond or connection. The head tilt indicated hearing, but, if witchers were like Slayers, then sense of smell was probably enhanced, too. And they certainly all needed baths.
A few minutes later, the witcher in question came into the clearing, rabbits in hand.
Dawn was entertained to see that his resting bitch face didn’t go away, really, but his entire expression did soften.
The warm hug between the two of them seemed almost like something she shouldn’t see. They were so very pleased to see one another - it had clearly been quite some time - so she looked at Jaskier, instead. It seemed more polite.
The brightly dressed bard, though, was looking at the two witchers with a bit of a gobsmacked expression. When he noticed her watching him, he grinned and scooted closer to her on the fallen log.
In a stage whisper that required no enhanced hearing, he told her, “I knew Geralt had friends. He pretends he doesn’t. Ho! He has the,” and here he flapped his hand up and down in the general direction of the witcher, “angry lonely monster hunter” and from there she lost him. None of the words meant anything to her yet.
Jaskier paused. “Ah, sorry. He says he has no use for friends. But look! A childhood friend. Witcher brother, apparently. He does need people. Look at him.” He made a big show of sighing happily and propping his chin on a lose fist as he smiled at the two monster hunters. His eyes lost focus a bit, and Dawn realized that he was already composing in his head.
She shook her head. Musicians.
Author: starshinedown
Rating: PG13 for a choice word or two
Crossover: BtVS/The Witcher (Netflix/novels)
Word Count: 891
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy the Vampire nor The Witcher
Summary: Dawn meets another Witcher
Note: I got distracted by work deadlines and a new novel, so I missed an entire week of posting. I admire you consistent writers even more now. Kudos to y’all.
Dawn was pretty sure it was the scars across the man’s face pulling his lip up into a hint of a snarl and not anger. He seemed wary, yes, but nothing about his body language said “aggressive” to her. In fact, he seemed to be moving deliberately, and broadcasting his movements to them as he slowly, but steadily crossed the clearing to the campsite.
He was intimidating, not just because of the scars, but his size. He was of a height with Jaskier and Geralt, but broader by far, and apparently all muscle. The patchwork of armor, and the two swords on his back, looked well worn and well cared for.
Jaskier shifted, putting himself between Dawn and the scarred man. His hands were up, empty, palms facing the stranger. She huffed. Honestly, after only a couple days with Geralt and Jaskier, she’d already figured out that in any kind of melee situation, she had better chances than the bard. She could just about guarantee she had both more formal training and actual experience fighting.
For his part, the other man tilted his head as if considering the two of them, glancing between them and Roach, who was apparently unbothered, head low over the grass as she ate. He frowned slightly, and turned his attention to Jaskier, though Dawn noted that he didn’t entirely dismiss her.
Points to him, then. She was discounted often because she looked softer and more harmless than she was.
They proceeded to talk rapidly in the other language - what Jaskier and Geralt said was called Common Speech - she wasn’t able to follow, though she caught a enough words in addition to “Roach, Geralt, Jaskier, Dawn” to get the gist of it. She thought. Probably.
The strange man sheathed his knife in a scabbard at his hip as he drew closer.
Jaskier angled his body so he could talk to both Dawn and the man. He gestured between the two of them. “Dawn, Eskel. Eskel, Dawn.” He had a lingering look of apprehension as he took in Eskel. Then in Elder for her benefit, “He recognized Roach. He’s a Witcher.”
“Like Geralt?” Might as well clarify. Language barriers and all.
Eskel nodded, and, in Elder, bless him, “Geralt is my brother.”
She blinked and reassessed him. It did explain the shoulders, actually. They were both ridiculously broad. Breadth of shoulder aside, though, they didn’t really look alike.
He correctly read her expression and offered, “Not brothers by birth. Claimed. We grew up together.” Here he fished out a medallion of a fierce wolf’s head from under his shirt. It was a twin to the one she’d seen Geralt wearing.
She nodded her understanding. A bit like Willow for Buffy, maybe.
***
It didn’t take long for three of them to set camp. Dawn spent the entire time pumping the two men for information while practicing her Common speech, filling in the gaps with Elder where possible.
She was happy to help relieve the small game birds of their feathers, and was grateful the others didn’t seem to expect her to dress them for the fire. She could - she’d had survival training, and had a whole lot of book knowledge to help her out - but little practical experience. But she wasn’t keen on the idea of handling bird guts, thanks. Eskel took care of that part thankfully.
Jaskier had just returned to the fire with the precious sachets of herbs and seasoning he’d liberated from Geralt’s saddle bag when Eskel’s head swung to the left. He tilted his head, as if considering something. “Geralt’s near,” he told them.
Dawn really wanted to know if Eskel heard Geralt, smelled him, or if they had some kind of bond or connection. The head tilt indicated hearing, but, if witchers were like Slayers, then sense of smell was probably enhanced, too. And they certainly all needed baths.
A few minutes later, the witcher in question came into the clearing, rabbits in hand.
Dawn was entertained to see that his resting bitch face didn’t go away, really, but his entire expression did soften.
The warm hug between the two of them seemed almost like something she shouldn’t see. They were so very pleased to see one another - it had clearly been quite some time - so she looked at Jaskier, instead. It seemed more polite.
The brightly dressed bard, though, was looking at the two witchers with a bit of a gobsmacked expression. When he noticed her watching him, he grinned and scooted closer to her on the fallen log.
In a stage whisper that required no enhanced hearing, he told her, “I knew Geralt had friends. He pretends he doesn’t. Ho! He has the,” and here he flapped his hand up and down in the general direction of the witcher, “angry lonely monster hunter” and from there she lost him. None of the words meant anything to her yet.
Jaskier paused. “Ah, sorry. He says he has no use for friends. But look! A childhood friend. Witcher brother, apparently. He does need people. Look at him.” He made a big show of sighing happily and propping his chin on a lose fist as he smiled at the two monster hunters. His eyes lost focus a bit, and Dawn realized that he was already composing in his head.
She shook her head. Musicians.