Chapter Text
»Lambert, I really don't think I-«
»Stop whining Eskel! I'm picking you up at nine! It's high time you stop feeling sorry for yourself, so get your arse outside and do some real partying!« With that, Lambert hangs up.
Eskel sighs and puts the phone on the coffee table, then leans back on the couch.
Fuck.
Not that he hasn't seen this coming – Geralt has been nagging him to meet at their favourite bar or join him at the gym ever since his doctor has been giving her okay. Him declining every single invite is not only due to his face still burning like hell every time he moves a muscle there – the fresh scars make him look like a monster out of a horror movie. He knows how lucky he is not to have lost his right eye, and he is thankful for it, mostly, but every look in the mirror still is a nasty shock to the system. Eating is no fun either, and the notch on his upper lip still makes him dribble water on his shirt front whenever he isn't absolutely one-hundred-percent careful.
And now a night out at the club. Just what I needed.
He sighs once more and then gets up from the couch. The clock above the TV – which Lambert finds utterly ridiculous and outdated – shows half past seven, so there is ample time to shower and change into something that his brother might find at least halfway acceptable.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
»You're wearing THAT?!« Lambert's voice rings with surprise and disapproval, »are you serious? On a night out?!?«
»Could ask you just the same. What the fuck are you wearing, Lambert?«
»THIS, my dear brother«, the younger Witcher draws himself up to full height, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest. »is my pirate shirt! Chicks dig it!«
Eskel raises his eyebrows. »Looks like that shirt is the only thing that's gonna get dicked tonight«, he says, producing an approving chuckle from Geralt, who leans in the doorway with his hands shoved into the pockets of his red leather jacket.
»Glad I'm not the only one who thinks that«, his white-haired brother remarks. »Been telling him that he's dressed for a carnival, not a night at the club.«
»It's still better than anything he's wearing!« Lambert replies, pointing at Eskel's black jeans. »Black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt? Do you really think this is appropriate?«
»Yes.« Eskel takes his jacket off the hook, »and I don't see a problem with it, personally. What do you want me to wear – a white dress? To go with your pirate shirt?«
»At least you could wear something that shows off your arse! You gotta play your strengths, man, how do you think the ladies-«
»The ladies-« Eskel interrupts him, noticing the sharp edge his voice is taking, »- are gonna get running the moment they see my face. You wanted me to join the two of you, so be happy if I make myself as invisible as possible.«
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
»I can't believe you have rented a Maserati for this«, Eskel says as he finally manages to fasten his seatbelt and tries to pull his legs into a somewhat comfortable position, »You do know that this is a small town and not Novigrad or something?«
Next to him, on the other back seat, Geralt is nodding in agreement. »Eskel's right. Does reek of 'small dick energy' if you ask me. 'specially with the blood red colour.«
»Well, I'm not asking. None of you.« Lambert darts them a warning look in the back mirror and then puts on a pair of sunglasses, »'Go big or go home', that's my motto for partying.«
»Nothing wrong with that. I like being home.«, Eskel mutters softly, glancing at his trusted pick-up truck. Lambert had confiscated his keys as soon as Eskel gestured to unlock it, deeming it »absolutely unacceptable and pathetic for tonight«.
»And that is exactly why you haven't gotten laid in so long!« Lambert shoots back, starting the engine and bringing the car to life. She purrs, Eskel has to give her that.
»No, I haven't gotten laid in so long because I spent the past months in the hospital, trying not to die and to keep my face from falling apart.«
Silence rings for a moment while Lambert tries to use the city's lanes and bigger streets to bring up the car to some speed, albeit unsuccessful.
»Well-« Lambert's expression is smooth, but Eskel has spotted a pang of something (guilt?) in the mirror for a second, »all the more important that you go out now and get yourself some pussy. Or … ass, or … whatever you want, really. Can't let you become gun shy.«
Eskel huffs, regretting it instantly – the pain that shoots through his nose canal and temple is short, but sharp enough to make his eyes water for a moment. He turns his face to the window and carefully takes a few deep breaths, like his physical therapist has told him to.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
»Don't think they're gonna let me in«, Eskel remarks as he is finally able to unfold his legs and gets out of the car, »they'd want the ladies to stay, not clear the dance floor in a minute.« Seeing his brothers' stern faces, he chuckles to soften the joke.
»Hey – you're gonna be fine.« Geralt puts an arm on his shoulder, looking at him earnestly. »They like having us there. Fewer fights and less groping going on when we're around. Fuckers are scared of us.«
»Yeah«, Lambert nods, »just show them your medallion, and everything's gonna be smooth.«
»Don't think I brought my-« Eskel reaches for his chest, only to feel the soft humming under his skin as the chain touches his fingertips. Frowning, he pulls it out and takes a look at the wolf's head. »... huh. Can't remember putting it on.«
»Would be a crying shame if you had broken your habit of wearing it all the time«, Geralt answers, and this time, the grin on his white-haired brother's face is real.
The white-haired Witcher gives Eskel's shoulder a short, but firm squeeze. »Come on. Let's have some fun!«
Together, they made their way to the front of the queue.