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I fucking hate banquets .
Geralt scowled over a large, effervescent pink punch bowl at the edge of the square. He agreed to be Triss's plus one while she was on assignment in Beauclair as the ambassador for Kovir. Geralt bristled in his too-constricting doublet as he reached across the table for a cup, feeling a flush of anger on his face when his range of motion was hindered. Triss helped him pick it out from the tailor in town, a gold and green striped number with dark green trousers and polished boots. The doublet was made to match her dress, a radiant evergreen satin gown that made her flame-colored tresses pop. Green always looked best on redheads - Geralt mused when they walked to the palace, admiring Triss’s assets on the way to the square. Geralt thought he looked like an overstuffed sofa cushion with the stuffing coming out. He had been enjoying retirement, it seems having a permanent residence adds some weight to the middle. No matter, he'd rather be fat and content than miserable and starving. He still took on the odd creature slaying job or two to keep his senses sharpened.
Sipping his punch- fermented strawberry juice mixed with Beauclair’s world renowned wine, he scanned the courtyard and it's guests. Annarietta sure knew how to throw marvelously ostentatious affairs. Ribbons and streamers from the marble columns, an elevated grandstand stage with a quartet playing stringed instruments and singing well known ballads. Candelabras twinkled in contrast to the inky blue sky overhead. A long buffet table piled high with a seemingly endless variety of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. Servers briskly collected errant glasses and small plates as they zigzagged through the crowd. The brightly costumed guests, mostly ambassadors from around the continent and other aristocrats, were making merry and deftly walking the tightrope act that was etiquette and pleasantry in the well-to-do society.
Geralt spotted Triss -it was hard not to, her hair was the beacon and he the moth- smiling and nodding with a small group of people. He thought about joining her, only her, but didn't like feeling like he was on display as the Mutant. Crowds also made him uncomfortable when he was in the middle of them and preferred to observe from the edges. Per palace policy he begrudgingly left his swords at home, only the Duchess's guards were allowed to be armed. He felt strange not having his swords strapped to his back, he'd done it for so long they felt like an extension of himself, phantom limbs.
Lilting tunes carried over the heads of the crowd from the stage. A warm breeze meandered through as well, adding some percussion in the form of rustling leaves. The sweet smell of summer's flowers trailing after it.
“Quite the shindig, eh Witcher?”
Geralt turned to his left to see Gaunter O’Dimm’s profile leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest; he was wearing his signature mustard and blue striped tunic. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he made side eye contact with Geralt first then turned his head. The dark stubble of his shaved head and beard framing his face like a dark halo.
“Why the hell are you here?” Geralt clipped, matching Gaunter’s crossed arm pose. “Don’t you have something better to do, like collecting on your silly little contracts?”
“Tsk Tsk Geralt, all work and no play makes for a dull life,” Gaunter shook his head gently, “one should allow themselves a bit of fun from time to time. I was merely passing through when I saw this delightful fête. I do love a bit of dancing, don’t you?”
“I think we have very different ideas of what constitutes fun, O’Dimm... Personally, I can’t stand huge spectacles like this; but for what it’s worth, it’s hard to say no when there’s a choice of 50 different kinds of dessert to be had. I was invited by a much more outgoing friend,” he glanced over to where Triss had been, only to find that she had moved on to a different conversational circle and couldn’t be spotted right away. He didn’t want to linger too long because he didn’t want O’Dimm to take an interest in her.
“Ah yes, your beautiful scarlet-maned sorceress friend. What was her name again? Merigold, was it not?”
Geralt was silent, although he never mentioned Triss while he was a proxy to Gaunter, he knew better than to question how he ascertained that information. Hell, Geralt still wasn’t sure if O’Dimm could read minds or not.
“Oh Geralt, are you always such a stick-in-the-mud? Perhaps you should liven up, this is a marvelous party after all, and I know just the thing-” Gaunter smirked, clapped his hands three times, immediately stopping the music, laughter, and low din of voices conversing.
“Not sure what you’re up to O’Dimm, but I’d rather you didn’t mess with time like this,” Geralt attempted to move his legs to get a better angle on O’Dimm, but found that he was frozen in place. He wasn’t even sure if he had spoken those last words or thought them, as he was sure his entire body was paralyzed. Panic crept into Geralt’s thoughts, as he was completely at the mercy of this deranged man.
“Much better. As I was saying, I will show you how one properly enjoys oneself at a party!”
Gaunter lifted his arm to shoulder height and flicked his first two fingers, as one would with a spent cigarette. Geralt's legs began to move against his will, his body walking to the dance floor, somehow deftly avoiding the other party-goers until he was solidly in the middle of the space. With another flick of his wrist, Gaunter cleared the frozen people within a 10 foot radius of Geralt, pushing them to the sides. Geralt tried again to wiggle his extremities to test his autonomy over his body, and again he stood motionless, a marionette under Gaunter's control. He tried to remain calm under the circumstances, but even he felt like a cornered mouse staring down a hungry cat.
Gaunter leisurely strode across the empty dance floor of his making to where Geralt stood motionless and at his mercy. The corner of his mouth twisted upward as he looked Geralt up and down.
"My dear Witcher, I'm sure you have been to a number of parties throughout your lifetime. I'd love to show you one of my favorite dance styles. Sadly, none of this realm have heard of it. I'll trust you to follow my lead, yes? Let's begin." Gaunter clapped his hands one time and the sound of a band began to play. The instruments Geralt was hearing didn't match the sounds of the band that was playing previously. He could hear what sounded like a horn instrument… or maybe a woodwind? Despite hanging out with Dandelion for long stretches of time, Geralt was never really good with remembering the names of instruments besides the ones Dandelion played,like the lute.
The beat of the music was peculiar to Geralt's ears as well, like nothing he'd ever heard in his travels, with a distinct 1-2-3 beat.
Gaunter placed a hand on Geralt's waist and took his hand in his and held it out to the side, Geralt's muscles copied O'Dimm's movement. Gaunter's eyes took on a devilish smoldering quality under the glow of the candelabras as he gazed into Geralt's eyes, piercing through his entire being.
Gaunter led the duo at the beginning of the next '1' beat, effortlessly sweeping Geralt in a circular motion around the dance floor. Geralt would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate Gaunter taking the lead for this dance (not that he had a choice) as in the past he'd have to lead dances with Triss and Yennefer, and being led was a nice change of pace. Especially when he didn't have control of his body and didn't have to worry about stepping on any toes.
Step, side step, close.
Step, side step, close.
Step, side step, close.
"You're a good dancer, O'Dimm," Geralt said with effort as Gaunter lifted his arm above Geralt's head to twirl Geralt, then kept up the 1-2-3 step-side step-close maneuver. Gaunter chuckled softly at the compliment. "I've had a lot of time on my hands to perfect it." they bobbed and twirled around the floor in a fluid and graceful revolution, as if they were pieces to a music box. The pair twirled again, this time when Gaunter's arm fell after the twirl, it snaked behind Geralt's back, his other arm held at a right angle behind his own. Geralt's arms were at his sides. With the closer proximity, Geralt could feel Gaunter's warm exhales on his neck, a shiver running down his spine. Geralt wanted to reach out and put his arms around Gaunter's shoulders, or maybe his hands around his throat, it was hard to tell.
The music - piped in from who knows where- slowed its tempo a bit, then crescendoed into a stringed instrument cacophony, as if an entire orchestra was playing for them. Gaunter placed a hand on the witcher's waist and the other held aloft and to the side, exactly as they started. The pair spun faster around the dance floor as the strings descrescendoed. On the very last beat, Gaunter dipped the witcher low on the dance floor, supporting Geralt's upper body with his hand and forearm against his upper back. Gaunter's face lit up into a soft smile as he returned Geralt to an upright position, still holding him close to his chest. He could smell the mix of wine and spices on Gaunter’s breath. Geralt's arms dropped to his sides and for the first time he realized that he could move on his own volition again.
"It's nice to not feel like one of your sock puppets, O'Dimm," he said as he stretched out his arms and grasped O'Dimm by the throat and squeezed. The bald man grinned as he chuckled against the false threat. Geralt could feel Gaunter’s adam's apple bobble in his grasp.
"Oh Geralt, my dear, I'd like to divulge a little secret to you… you had control of your muscles the entire dance." Gaunter lifted his arms and clapped twice behind Geralt’s back. The roar of noise from the party returned, the crowd back to their starting positions, and Gaunter vanished into thin air.
Geralt, annoyed and flustered, slunk to the sides of the party and downed a shot of vodka, then another. Shaking his head to rid himself of the dance he shared with the devil.