Chapter Text
„Okay, okay, I got it. So you somehow managed to get yourself a woman. So what? Why did you bring her HERE? Is Geralt such an idol to you that-“
„Shut up, Lambert. First, she's not 'my woman'. And second, she is NOT here so I can prove my manliness to you.“
„Point taken. But again – why did you bring her HERE?!“
„That's somewhat complicated ...“
~ ~ ~
He hadn't even fully entered the inn yet when he already heard a muffled scream.
Great.
Eskel shoved himself through the door, then made a point of standing tall and took a good look around. The inn was crowded – no wonder, since a light but annoying rain was falling outside and the air was damp and cold. Almost every table was occupied: Mostly locals, several groups of men, drinking, dicing, playing Gwynt or staring into the void, two healers, and a halfling family of four. The room smelled of beer, bacon … and a whiff of old barf that hadn't been cleaned up properly. It was warm.
The scream had probably come from the service girl whom he spotted immediately. She was tall and slender, had long blonde curles, and wore one of those fitting dresses that showed just enough cleavage to get drunk men ordering just one more mug of ale to get a chance of staring at her tits. As he was making another step into the room, the girl retreated to the far side of the room.
As far away from me as possible.
Adjusting the swords on his back with a shrug, Eskel made his way to the counter, where the owner was eyeing him suspiciously.
„A beer. Food. And a room, if you please.“
The old man grabbed a filthy rag and started to wipe down the counter. „Food, yes. A beer, too. But a room … A'hm sorry, Master Witcher, but we're full. You can't sleep here.“
Eskel grunted, which produced a stiffled giggle from the server who was still staring at his scars. „What about the stable?“
„The stable?“
He surpressed a sigh. „Listen, good man, I need a roof over my head for the night. The rain won't stop for some time, and if you do not want to give me one of your rooms-“
„All rooms are taken!“, the owner repeated stubbornly, throwing the rag after a large mouse that scurried into a nook between the barrels behind the counter. He missed by inches.
„Fine, since all of your rooms are taken, I am asking you to allow me to sleep in the stable. There is plenty of room there, and ...“
„No guest sleeps in the stable.“ The innkeep look at him in disdain, „this is a proper inn, you know?! The lord of this realm praised it two years ago!“
And apparently hasn't set foot in it since.
Eskel gritted his teeth. „Fine. Beer then, and food. I'm hungry.“
„Pay is upfront, Master Witcher.“ the old man crossed his arms and put on what he obviously considered a brave, stern face. It looked like a severe case of constipation.
The witcher's eyes gleamed, but he dug into his pocket and threw a few coins on the table. The innkeep swept them into his palm and bit into one of them. „Solid.“
„Glad to hear that“, Eskel said drily.
Trying to keep his face perfectly neutral, he turned around, automatically scanning the room for the darkest, quietest corner.
Damn.
The only spot which was a bit more private was already occupied by an elderly merchant and two whores, both snuggling against the old man. One of the girls pointed at him openly and whispered something into her client's ear – the old man's laughter boomed through the room, unnaturally loud. One look into Eskel's face brought it to an abrupt halt. The silence that followed was eerie.
Everybody stared at him, some expressions frightened, some disgusted, and some both. After a minute, Eskel moved to a bench near an empty table and as if by an unseen signal, the chatter started again, maybe a little louder than before. His boots were leaving wet marks on the floorboards. He passed the table occupied by the halfling family; one of the children shrieked as he went by, but was shushed by its mother immediately.
The Witcher sat with his back to the wall, leaned against it and closed his eyes for a second. He crossed his arms and stiffled a yawn.
A fucking ending to a fucking day.
First, his former client had cheated him out of the agreed sum for the vampire that had stalked the village, because he had brought only the vampire's sigil instead of the whole body. Pointing out that the body had to be burned to destroy the creature properly (as he had told his client before) hadn't worked. The fat lord had been stubborn, squatting in his seat which was too small for him, and had yelled at Eskel for being a shame to his profession, lazy and unwilling to work hard. Given the new slash on his upper arm from the vampire's claws, Eskel hadn't taken that too well either; in the end, he had grudgingly accepted half of the agreed price. To top everything off, Scorpion had lost a shoe an hour after their departure. Finding a smith in this forsaken part of the world had taken ages, especially when you had to go on foot, and the price had been ridiculously high, half of his coins. Eskel growled quietly.
This would never have happened to Geralt, he thought. Geralt would have met some sorceress on his way who would have summoned a new shoe for Roach and then a bed for the two of them to fuck in.
The slash itched. It wasn't deep – he had already checked – but he would need hot water to wash the wound properly, and a good night's sleep wouldn't hurt either. Apparently, he would get neither, but it couldn't be helped. Velen had been a terrible idea from the start.