Chapter Text
"Merciful Gods!" The innkeeper startled as a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the squalid interiors of his roadside inn. “Tis’ only good folks ‘round here, we don’t want no trouble now!” He exclaimed, having caught a momentary glimps of the Witcher's scar-ridden face as the ashen-haired hunter stood menancingly at the doorway.
A commendable effort of intimidation, you mused as the innkeeper brandished his dirty copper ladle at the Witcher, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his intimidating facade. "Get on outta here yer lousy pillock o' else I will-"
“Greetings.”
You observed silently as the Witcher interrupted, undaunted by the inkeeper's warning. “We’re here about a contract-.”
“Grandpa Grandpa! Sis dropped ‘er spoon in the soup again!” A girl, no older than five, sprinted from the kitchen with a giant grin on her face, oblivious to the situation at hand.
“Shhh, Martha.” The innkeeper cautioned as he jabbed a crooked finger in the direction of your Witcher compatriot.
“Oh ’ello mista!” The little girl smiled at the gruffy Witcher beside you while tugging at the Innkeeper's sleeves. “Got dem ‘awfuly shinny sticks there.” She pointed innocently at the two swords strapped on the Witcher's back, utterly unaffected by the scruffy stranger’s imposing countenance. “How many of them do you-”
“Shush!” The innkeeper warned once more and waved the girl hurriedly behind him. “Con…contract yer’ say?” He stammered as an elderly woman, presumably his wife, appeared from the kitchen and corralled the girl away to safety.
“Yes, something about a ghost in the old miller’s house.”
“O-Old miller.... A-are yeh that witcha they keep tellin' me about?”
"Yes."
The elderly innkeeper squinted as he pressed a boney finger upon his glasses and slid it up on the bridge of his nose.
"Y-yes I see." He nodded after taking a long hard look at the Witcher, paying particular attention to his yellow slitted eyes. "I see, I see, yeh lot all look alike wit' them eyes I suppose... hmmm, oh and you are?" He added, cranking his neck to have a better look as he finally noticed a cloaked figure behind the Witcher's much larger frame.
“Lose the hood.” You winced as the Witcher ordered and jabbed your ribs with the hilt of his dagger.
“Kaia.” You grumbled, fiddling with the hood of your rain-sodden cloak. "At your service."
“Alrigh’ alright’, forgive me wariness. Us ordinary folks are not ‘customed to seein’ you lot very oftn' 'round here.” The innkeeper smiled kindly at your unease. “Gav’ me a fright ye did.” He then gave the Witcher a rather stern scowl. “Nex’ time let the comely lass done the introductions aye? Lest you want ter frighten people ter death wit those yellow eyes of yers-.”
“The contract.” The Witcher intrrupted impatiently at the innkeeper's ramblings.
“Yes yes. No need ter rush me young man. Com' in and get yerself warmed by the fire, let me see, the contract.... ah yes, tis happened ‘bout three full moons ago, me daughter Mila went ter visit her old nan at the mill...”
Sensing that the rainstorm had ceased its incessant pounding on the mud-straw rooftop, you retreated quietly outside whist the innkeeper haggled with the Witcher over the pricing and conditions of the contract.
The momentary shelter from the pouring rain was a welcoming reprieve, but the unexpected positive remark on your appearance by the old man was an even better consolation. Despite your humanized appearance nowadays, the compulsion to shield yourself from the public has never faded; a lingering habit you had carried over from when you were tormented with the form of a hideous monster.
“The last I heard from Mila was when the neighbor’s kid Nanci went 'n brought back letter…”
The innkeeper’s story drifted in and out of earshot as he walked about his establishment in search of his sister’s last memento. The hood you had so desperately been clinging onto slumped onto your shoulders as you glanced up at the star-filled night sky, they glistened like a garden of heavenly gems as the last remnants of the storm drifted off into the distance. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath as smell of dewy, fresh air perfumed the humid air.
“Let’s go.” The jarring screech of the tavern door interrupted your reprevie as the Witcher strolled past and mounted Roach, his ever-so-affectionately named mare.
“You stay safe now pretty missus’!” The innkeeper’s grandchildren peeked over the threshold and waved as you two took to the road. You waved back, in spite of yourself, but quickly dropped your hand as your noted the Witcher darting a curious glance in your direction.
“You seem the type that would disliked children.” A flock of ravens took off into the distance as the Witcher broke the eerie silence.
“I do not resent them entirely.” You muttered, curious at his sudden remark.
"Hmmm...." He mused. “Why so?”
”For their annoyance, they are quite delicious to eat.” A statement that's both a jest and a fact.
”Hmmm... So you merely tolerate them?” He continued.
Baffled by the series of unanticipated inquires, you gave the Witcher a look of confusion but otherwise remained silent. Your traveling companion is not what one would consider talkative. His forever emotionless voice befits his usual choice of dialogue as you've only ever engaged with him about the mundane such food, sleep, coins… So what is with his sudden interest regarding children tonight?
“You smiled at them.” He continued.
“So?” You shrugged, completely baffled at his insistence to continue this discussion. “What’s it to you?”
“I thought you incapable of that emotion."
"What's there to smile about on a nomral day?"
“Forbidden human delicacies, apparently.” He gestured towards the fading torch lights from the town behind.
Exasperated by this senseless conversation, you turned your gaze ahead and ignored him as a severely dilapidated building came into view.
“This should be it.” You nodded towards the ramshackled house as you two rounded a bend near the top of the hill. “Make sure to bring the oil and potion, lest I remind you of what happened last time.” The rhythmic trotting of the horses came to a halt as you two pulled at the reins. “And bring the steel sword as well," You chattered whist dismounting your mare and retrieved your swords from the saddle. "There may be wargs hiding about-”
“You should smile more often.” The Witcher interrupted nonchalantly as he unsheathed a dagger in his thigh holster.
"What?" You halted your steps and rounded to faced him.
His persistence aside, it is the topic of his insistence that has you utterly bewildered. Not only has the man rarely engaged you in any conversation that doesn't involve some level of mocking hostility or the mundane, the thought of him being so fixated on your smile and children of all things is just bizarre to say the least.
You stared on, mouth agape, as the Witcher patted his mare and shouldered his sword.
“You heard me.” He said, leaving you behind as he tracked his way towards the mill.
Thrown off by this unforseen series of events, you fumbled with the straps of your swords and hurriedly chased after him, nearly tripping over a piece of fallen log in the process. Though to your dismay, by the time you reached the hilltop, the Witcher had already begun his summoning ritual, chanting quietly as the fire he had ignited engulfed Mila’s memento. Before you could utter another word in an effort to interrogate about his weird behavior, ghouls have already emerged from the shadows of forest and stalked toward the hill as a giant wailing wraith slithered out of the collapsing mill.
"What the hell do you mean... dammit.” You cursed as you drew your sword, wishing he had spared a few minutes to answer for his unwarranted comments before he had commenced with the summoning.
“Because-.” The Witcher, reaching for the hilt of his sword, said calmly as his eyes narrowed on the fast approaching wraith.
“-at times I also find you-” A flash of silver streaked across the grass as he slashed against a lunging creature. Cries of pain intermingled with the thud of falling corpses filled the courtyard as the ashen-haired Witcher effortlessly felled the monsters around him. "-comely."