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Lambert's first visit to Geralt in Toussaint was heralded by angry screeching.
Geralt rather reluctantly picked his head up from Yennefer's shoulder and squinted out into the cool predawn light coming through the open window, trying muzzily to figure out if there was a monster that needed killing in the courtyard. Several moments later the screeching came a little clearer, and Geralt groaned as he recognized some of the angry cursing underneath the still somewhat-unusual sound of an outraged peacock.
Yennefer had half raised her hand already, a slight shimmer around her fingers demonstrating clear intent to curse whoever was making the racket, but Geralt caught her hand and kissed her fingertips, getting her to stop her casting.
“I recognize that screaming,” he murmured, still not quite awake.
“Mm, so do I,” Yennefer said. “I’m merely not as convinced as you are that he doesn’t deserve a curse or two.”
Geralt felt shifting at the bottom of the bed, down near his legs, and laughed, gently pulling Yennefer forward into a proper kiss to distract her.
“Please don’t turn Lambert into a frog,” he said when they parted. “I’ll feel obligated to turn him back, and then what will happen to our plans for the day?”
“They’re already ruined,” Yennefer said wryly, but she let her foot settle and dropped her hand when Geralt let go of it.
Geralt debated letting the matter sort itself out, as it were, but a moment later a knock on the door smashed that hope. He got up, grumbling, and groped around for a pair of pants, or possibly just a long-enough shirt. Pants were not at hand, so he settled for a dressy shift of Yennefer’s. It was large and loose on her, reaching at least to her knees, but on him it only just about covered everything that he shouldn’t be flashing to one of the poor people who worked for him.
“If you split any of the seams on that I’m taking it out of your hide,” Yennefer said lazily, and Geralt heard the rustle of the covers as she turned over.
“Understood,” Geralt said, and opened the bedroom door.
To his credit, Barnabas-Basil barely blinked at the sight of Geralt in a mid-thigh length black and white negligée. “Sir, I would say that I am sorry to disturb you, but given the current racket—” there was a particularly loud squawk, and both Geralt and Barnabas-Basil flinched, “—I suspected you were already, ah, disturbed.”
"Yeah," Geralt sighed, and strode out of the room, not bothering to get any more dressed. It was summer, it wasn't like it was cold out, and there wasn't likely to be anything more dangerous nearby than the peacocks themselves. Maybe if he got Lambert settled quickly Yennefer would still be in bed when he got back. Stranger things had happened.
Geralt trailed after the noises of outrage, not bothering to run. The situation would keep until he got there, given it had been going on without interruption for several minutes already.
He was half expecting to find Lambert in the middle of a brawl, or chasing one of the peacocks around the yard, but as he ventured into the olive grove he realized he'd had the wrong idea. Lambert wasn't chasing one of the peacocks at all—Narcissus, a standoffish male who had developed an unfortunate infatuation with Geralt, was strutting angrily around the bottom of one of the olives, glaring up at Lambert, who had an undignified perch up in the branches. As Geralt watched, Narcissus gave one long angry cry and leaped, flapping wildly, long, gorgeous tail feathers swaying behind him, and Lambert swore angrily and kicked at the bird, preventing him from landing in the tree.
"Geralt!" Lambert bellowed. "Call off this fucking bird!"
Narcissus turned to the side slightly, caught sight of Geralt, and rapidly strode over, head bobbing, trying to herd his beloved away from the dangerous animal in the tree.
Lambert, seeing Narcissus' distraction, started to drop, but the peacock saw the movement and dashed at Lambert again, shrieking furiously. Lambert scrambled frantically back up into the branches, cursing a blue streak as Narcissus pecked at his heels.
Geralt surveyed the scene—fully armed and armored Witcher precariously perched on the low branches of an olive tree, enraged shimmering green-and-blue bird easily only a quarter his size, discounting the tail, screeching angrily below—and burst into laughter. Lambert howled something, but Geralt couldn't tell what it was, and he didn't particularly care—the hilarity was about enough to make up for having made him get out of bed, not enough for him to feel sympathetic to Lambert's plight.
"Okay, okay," Geralt wheezed, a minute later. Lambert hadn’t thrown anything at him while he’d laughed, which was enough to edge into sympathy. "Narcissus, you featherbrain, come here."
Geralt waved, attracting the peacock's attention, and scooped the bird up as he came strutting over. Narcissus made a sound of protest but didn't wiggle too much, a stark contrast to anybody else trying to touch him.
"Lambert," Geralt said, when he had a secure grip—Narcissus in particular was unusually resistant to Axii, a trait that Yennefer had suggested might be genetic and that Geralt thought might have come from a solid knock to the bird's brain at some point in his life. They were unlikely to get a definitive answer, though, given the bird’s refusal to consider any mate other than Geralt. "Not that I want to encourage this, but why in the world didn't you just kill the damn thing?"
"That was an option?" Lambert said, outraged.
"Why the fuck did you think it wasn't?" Geralt said, a fresh spasm of laughter overtaking him. Narcissus pecked at his collarbone in protest.
"I don't know—the fucking thing looks expensive! For all I knew you need it alive for something and were going to make me pay for it if I killed it!"
Geralt could read between the lines there, that Lambert hadn't wanted to cost Geralt money that he might be relying on. He was touched, actually.
"Well, a live peacock is worth more than a dead one, so here's your official moratorium," Geralt said. "Let Narcissus and his friends live."
"Fuck you," Lambert said, although without much venom, and slid down out of the tree. Narcissus immediately started struggling, attempting to attack his newly-declared nemesis, but Geralt kept a firm grip.
"Right," Geralt said. "House is that way."
"No really," Lambert said. "It's not as if it's three fucking storeys tall, just a little vineyard the duchess of Toussaint gave you—"
Geralt trailed after Lambert as he stalked to the house, rattling off his usual sarcastic comments and brushing leaves off of his armor. Barnabas-Basil was standing in the main doorway, and although his eyebrows went up slightly at the sight, he maintained an admirably straight face.
"If the gentleman would like to come inside, so Sir Geralt could release the peacock?" he said, gesturing Lambert in.
"If you think I'm a gentleman I've got a thing or two to tell you," Lambert said, but he walked inside rapidly all the same.
Geralt turned, still holding the wiggling bird, and was just about to gently toss him down into the courtyard when he felt a warm, wet spot on Yennefer's negligée.
"Damn." It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy Yennefer's various 'punishments', but he liked this shift, and he wasn't sure if it could hold up under bird shit.
"You are more trouble than you're worth," he said quietly to Narcissus, before tossing him, a little harder than he'd originally planned to.
Barnabas-Basil was still holding the door, and he quickly shut it as Geralt dashed in.
"Thanks, BB," Geralt said.
"At your service, sir," Barnabas-Basil said. "I'll alert Marlene that we have another for breakfast. And perhaps the laundry as well."
Geralt nodded gratefully to him. Barnabas-Basil was barely out of the room when a throat being cleared drew Geralt's attention.
“Geralt, love, what exactly did I tell you about wrecking my clothing?” Yennefer asked, insouciantly leaning in the doorframe of their bedroom, clad in a long silk dressing gown. She must have conjured it, because it sure as hell hadn't been there when Geralt had been looking.
“I avoided splitting any seams?” Geralt said, faux-meek.
Yennefer hummed disapprovingly, but the corner of her mouth kept twitching upwards.
“Gross,” Lambert grumbled. “First I gotta deal with assault by a bird with more feathers than sense, and now I gotta deal with you two flirting? You’re an all-powerful sorceress, don’t tell me you’re too hoity-toity for laundry spells.”
“Lambert, the vast majority of birds have more feathers than sense. Where do you think the insult 'featherbrain' comes from?" Yennefer said, a touch condescendingly.
Geralt noticed Lambert inhale, and abruptly stepped on his foot. This was not as effective as it could have been, given Lambert was still in heavy boots and Geralt was barefoot, but it did distract him from whatever comeback he'd had lined up.
“In any case,” Yennefer continued, “Be pleased! I could take this out of your wallet, but I think I have payment enough.”
Geralt frowned a little, wondering what Yennefer meant, but in the next moment she held up a megascope crystal. He knew exactly when Lambert realized what it meant, too—he turned bright red and hissed “You get rid of that—”
Oh well, Geralt thought, putting Lambert in a headlock to keep him from trying to grab the crystal out of Yennefer’s hand. Maybe some excitement will be nice.