[ It isn't often Geralt's one of the last to leave a gathering, but he's lingered in part because he has, day by day, grown tired of the crowded city out there and its dusty sand, its dry shrubs. Nothing that he cares to hasten back to. The other part is he's simply interested in catching Julie's company now that she isn't fluttering from guest to guest.
A certain two have wrangled him into something deemed suitable, and though Geralt's rid himself of the fur-collared coat Jaskier had insisted would complete the look (it's hot and overbearing), the fuzzy white ears and tail are still present, attached with Horizon magic to his otherwise typically dark attire. Some semblance of a loose braid or two remains in his hair. And—fine. Ciri's delight makes the bother worth it. Even if, thanks to Jaskier singing for the whole fucking room about the White Wolf, his look is now even less subtle than it already was.
So much for anonymity upon on a new sphere. At least it's quieter now, Jaskier having gone off someplace for the night with the others.
Julie's floral antlers are not difficult to spot from a distance. Geralt crosses the floor to her booth. She does make for a striking deer—though there isn't much, really, that'd not flatter her.
He sits on the table next to her propped up feet. A bottle of some ale or other is in one hand; in his other is a drink of the same as what she's currently getting through, which he sets down for her. (A wolf and a doe. There's a joke in there somewhere.) ] Finished for the night?
03.
A certain two have wrangled him into something deemed suitable, and though Geralt's rid himself of the fur-collared coat Jaskier had insisted would complete the look (it's hot and overbearing), the fuzzy white ears and tail are still present, attached with Horizon magic to his otherwise typically dark attire. Some semblance of a loose braid or two remains in his hair. And—fine. Ciri's delight makes the bother worth it. Even if, thanks to Jaskier singing for the whole fucking room about the White Wolf, his look is now even less subtle than it already was.
So much for anonymity upon on a new sphere. At least it's quieter now, Jaskier having gone off someplace for the night with the others.
Julie's floral antlers are not difficult to spot from a distance. Geralt crosses the floor to her booth. She does make for a striking deer—though there isn't much, really, that'd not flatter her.
He sits on the table next to her propped up feet. A bottle of some ale or other is in one hand; in his other is a drink of the same as what she's currently getting through, which he sets down for her. (A wolf and a doe. There's a joke in there somewhere.) ] Finished for the night?