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im-fairly-whitty · 4 years

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The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt’s POV

It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher.

Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.

Thank you all for your lovely support and comments on [Part One]! I was going to make part two another oneshot but it keeps getting longer and it feel right to break it into two chapters so here you are, extra content for you all. :)

I wanted to try to focus on scenes that happened in between the ones in Jaskier’s POV so be sure to go back and read that one if you haven't already so you can see where the timelines weave through each other.

Chapter 1

“Good girl Roach, good girl.” Geralt said, panting as he patted the horse’s neck, leaning heavily against her side.

The mare tossed her head, ears still twitching nervously toward the massive carcass toppled in the middle of their camp. Geralt’s eyes stung as the cat elixir slowly wore off, but he could still see faint wisps of steam rising from the hot spilt blood into the cold night air.

Geralt heaved another deep breath and pushed himself off Roach, straightening his back with a crack as he tiredly made his way to the felled creature to get a closer look now that the ugly thing wasn't lunging for his jugular.

And it really was quite ugly, some twisted amalgamation that could have been part boar judging by the tusks, part griffon by the sleek winged body, perhaps even part spider by the dozens of glossy jet-black eyes scattered across its face. At first glance in the dark he’d thought it might have been a fiend, but that assumption hadn’t lasted more than an instant.

At Geralt’s age it was very rare for him to see a creature he didn’t know the name of and even rarer for it to ambush him in his own campsite. He didn’t like to think how close a call it had really been this time, he was lucky he’d already been preparing for the hunt or else it might have been him lying on the ground. Geralt had been accepting any contract he saw for the last two weeks ever since the dragon hunt, eager to get his mind off...things...but with this one he’d assumed the villager’s descriptions had been laced with exaggeration.

They quite clearly hadn’t.

“It reeks of magic.” Geralt said to Roach, placing a boot on the monster’s side and heaving it over with a hefty shove. “Whatever it is, it didn’t come about naturally, that’s for sure. But not something that’s been cursed either I think. I’d wager this was some lunatic’s pet project, magically bred from the start.”

“More pet than project, I can assure you.”

Geralt spun, his sword unsheathed and leveled in an instant, his sword tip pointed at the man who’d appeared at the edge of the clearing behind him. And he must have literally appeared out of thin air, otherwise Geralt’s heightened witcher senses would have detected him a mile off in this state, the dregs of his hunting potions still flowing through him.

“Care to elaborate?” Geralt asked warily, shifting his stance slightly as Roach wisely startled away from them, taking cover in the thick trees beyond the clearing.

The man wore what looked like two expensive outfits of very different and clashing styles mixed into one ensemble, all useless ornamentation and rich textures in swathes of periwinkle and burnt orange. Laced in between were chains dripping with bones, trinkets, and what looked suspiciously like human fingers. Geralt wasn’t sure at all how the man managed even to move in such a cluttered get-up, but his frantically humming medallion was more than enough to let him know that the man wouldn’t have to move at all in order to pose a deadly threat. That and the fact that the man’s scent matched the slain creature’s.

“I’d say the time for elaboration is far past.” The man said, something between anger and grief coloring his voice.

Geralt blinked and the man was kneeling beside the creature, stroking its bristly gold hide as if it were a beloved housecat. Geralt’s too-slow heartbeat picked up a bit at that show of speed, he hadn’t even seen the man move at all.

“You a mage?” Geralt asked, trying to cast his mind back to if he’d ever seen Yennifer display the same ability, but each mage’s favorite tricks seemed to be determined more by their personal style rather than any one curriculum.

“Don’t be crass.” The man said, squinting hatefully at Geralt. “I have far too much self respect to be counted among those political chess players. I much prefer caring for my pets, like poor Truskawka here who you’ve slaughtered. Do you have any idea how many generations it’s taken to perfect her bloodline? And now look at my poor strawberry, cut down in cold blood, just before she was about to have a litter too.”

“Your poor strawberry weighs four tons and has been disemboweling travelers for weeks now.” Geralt said dryly. “Should have kept her on a shorter leash if you really cared for her.”

“I’m not about to take advice on caring from you White Wolf.” The man said, looking Geralt right in the eyes in a way that made a sticky cold feeling drip down his spine. “Your kind only know how to harm.”

With a certain collection of songs ragingly popular across the continent it wasn’t unusual for Geralt to be recognized by his medallion and white hair alone, but he had a creeping feeling that somehow this man didn’t know his moniker because of a tavern tune. He also had the feeling that he somehow knew more about him than just his title.

“So if you’re not a mage then what are you?” Geralt asked, raising his sword a bit, quickly tiring of this increasingly unsettling conversation.

“Angry.” The man said, glaring at Geralt and snapping his fingers in a blinding flash of white light.

***

Geralt was no stranger to passing out in battle—it was something you got used to when you made a profession of competing with monsters to see who could lose the most blood last—but he had never woken up running before.

At first he thought he was dreaming as he slowly filtered back to consciousness, his senses gradually coming back to him as air whipped past him, a dirt road under his feet, but suddenly everything clicked back into place and he skidded to a stop. His chest heaved as he looked around, blinking hard to try and get the last tendrils of grogginess out of his mind.

The sorcerer. He growled as he scented the air, remembering what had knocked him unconscious.

The first rays of sunlight were starting to scrape up across the grey clouds on the horizon, signaling a dawn that meant he must have been wandering blindly for hours by now. The blasted magician must have hit him with some unusually strong spell to disorient him like that, most magic simply rolled off a witcher, but the man had seemed extremely upset at his “pet” having been dispatched. Geralt just had to hurry his way back before he-

Geralt stumbled as he took a step forward, his legs suddenly feeling strangely uncoordinated. He fell on his face, rolling onto his shoulder with a growl that suddenly sounded entirely different than his usual ones.

He looked at his hands and blinked in shock at the large white paws he found instead. He twisted around to get a look at the rest of him...

...only to see the massive white furred body of a wolf.

Geralt sat frozen in the middle of the dirt road, feeling his ears swivel back in canine shock as he struggled to process his discovery.

Well. He’d been right about it being a strong spell he’d been hit with.

A very strong spell.

Geralt got to his (four) feet and shook himself, wincing only momentarily at how disarmingly full bodied the shake was. He was a witcher, he’d seen hundreds of transformations far more gruesome and unsettling than this. He could handle a sorcerer with a sense of irony, he just had to find him and either barter or threaten his way to a cure.

He sniffed the air, nose...er...snout scrunching at how different it felt. He seemed to still have his unnaturally sharp witcher senses, which was a relief, but it still felt different. Somehow. Like...like when he had to buy a new riding saddle. It was still technically a saddle, but different feeling all the same.

He snorted at his own metaphor, the noise coming out in a huffing sneeze. He could practically feel Jaskier’s laughter at both his metaphor clumsiness and at him discovering in that moment that wolves did not roll their eyes, his head instead tipping up and to the side a bit when he tried.

Leave the metaphors to me Geralt, can’t have you putting me out of business with your unprecedented lexical brilliance.

Geralt huffed again, ears flicking back at imaginary Jaskier’s teasing. He scented the air again, searching for the sorcerer’s scent as he did his best not to think about the bard, where he was, or if he was safe. Something he’d gotten in the habit of trying very hard not to think about for the last two weeks.

Besides, he told himself yet again as he trotted down the road, following his own scent trail back the way he’d come, in the end it really was for the best that they’d split up. Jaskier was always annoying him and getting in the way, and...playing that lute incessantly...and...and getting hurt...and...

Geralt’s ear flicked as he heard footsteps approach and he lifted his head to see several men emerge from the woods. They were laughing and chatting amongst themselves, armed with bows and arrows, one had a brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder. An early morning hunting party returning from a successful forage no doubt.

They seemed harmless enough. Being a witcher meant Geralt had built up a sense for what people would end up causing him trouble or not, and with these men he could easily just-

Wait. No.

Geralt remembered the vitally important and brand-new piece of his daily social puzzle an instant too late, and one of the men spotted him.

“Wolf!” The man shouted, knocking an arrow at his bow with expert speed.

Geralt threw himself sideways into the bushes, hearing the whistling hiss and thwack of an arrow lancing into the dirt where he’d stood. He gathered up his limbs as quickly as he could and dashed into the undergrowth, pelting away from the road and the hunters.

He bared his teeth at himself as he ran. Stupid stupid stupid. He was a wolf, an animal. Had he really subconsciously assumed the men might simply ignore him with uneasy sideways glances like they did normally?

People barely tolerated him when he could speak, there was going to be no thin mercy or stiff civility extended to him in this state. He didn’t even have weapons to fight back with. No elixirs or magic signs or even opposable thumbs to save him now. If he didn’t find the sorcerer soon he was going to-

A white hot pain slammed into his shoulder, sending him tumbling into the bushes and sliding haphazardly down a rocky embankment. He gritted down a yelp of pain as he slammed against boulders at the bottom of the dry streambed, decades of training pushing him down and close to the deepest shadows of the boulders as he forced his frantic breathing quieter.

“I think I hit ‘em!” A voice shouted from above. “Dunno where the bastard went, but I swear I hit ‘em.”

“You? Hitting a running wolf?” Another voice guffawed, the bushes rustling. “Your head’s gotten too big from your flask.”

“Shove off, didn’t I get two rabbits this morning?”

“Only because one was old enough to practically roll over on your boots.”

Geralt’s ears twitched as the laughing voices slowly moved away, the sound of crashing brush receding as the hunters took their conversation back to the main road.

As his adrenaline started to ebb Geralt could feel the pain in his shoulder far more clearly, the burning ache creeping across him as he turned to get his first look at it in the growing light of the morning. He knew it was an arrow, had had arrows in him before, but it still didn’t make it much easier to see the blasted thing sprouting from his shoulder.

Especially since he was realizing with a sinking feeling that he had no idea how he was going to get it out.

He could feel a doggish whine spring to his lips as he pushed himself to his feet and accidentally put weight on his bad foreleg, but he choked it back out of habit. He was still in the middle of nowhere with enemies nearby, he couldn’t do anything to further expose himself to danger until he was somewhere safe.

Geralt felt his tail tuck between his legs a little as he looked around, scenting the unfamiliar air. There was certainly no chance of him getting back up the steep embankment, it was going to be enough of a chore to even walk at all across even the uneven rocky stream bed.

He had no way to get back to the sorcerer, no medical supplies, no equipment or way to get to a town where he would be able to find any of those things. Not in this state.

He grit his teeth as he forced himself to take an unsteady step forward. He was a witcher, he could do this. He’d survived this long, hadn’t he? All he had to do was focus on surviving one more hour, and then one more hour after that. That’s how he was going to get through this.

It took some doing to figure out walking on three legs after only having just managed with four, but soon Geralt had picked up an unsteady pace that was getting him across the riverbed in search of cover. He was going to survive this, he was going to be fine.

***

Geralt had now gone three days with that bloody arrow in his shoulder and had long since stopped pretending that things were going to be fine.

He’d managed to wander his way out of the stream bed, had managed to narrowly avoid some drowners he normally could have dispatched without breaking a sweat, and had managed to chew off half the arrow shaft in his exhausted frustration at not being able to treat his own stupid wound which had definitely only made things worse for himself.

Not that he really cared too much anymore though, because at this point he’d logically thought through his situation and had begun coming to terms with the fact that this was was how it ended for Geralt of Rivia. As a wolf he was completely cut off from both outside help and being able to help himself. No one would come looking for a witcher who had last been seen two weeks ago, he’d gone long months before without seeing acquaintances.

He curled up a little tighter in the clearing he’d settled in a few hours ago, the never-ending pain in his shoulder dully pulsing along with his heartbeat. He knew his witcher mutagens were valiantly fighting back infection as well as they could, but he wasn’t invincible. After three days with a wound that kept opening and bleeding around the arrow shaft he knew it was probably only a matter of hours before something deep and deadly finally set in, and that would be the end of it.

The only silver lining he’d been able to find was that as a wolf four days without food or water hadn’t taken the same toll it normally would have. Not that it kept him from forlornly scenting the prey animals that trailed through the brush around him, maddeningly close and completely out of reach.

Geralt stared at the ground, head resting on his useless wolf paws.

He missed Roach, having been unable to stop worrying about her being left alone in the woods with the psychopath who’d cursed him. Hopefully she’d at least stayed far enough away that he’d ignored her.

And he missed Jaskier.

Geralt let out a long whine, having given up being quiet a day or two ago. He never liked to admit it to himself, but as the years had gone by Geralt had come to enjoy his times traveling alone less and less.

As gruffly as he treated his bard sometimes he always felt more lonely than usual whenever they parted ways, somehow missing the man’s incessant prattling and singing and bothering and smiling and interfering. There was no way to count how many wounds Jaskier had stitched up for Geralt over the last twenty-two years too. His careful, even stitching and gentle chastising left far less of a scar than Geralt’s rough and hasty work always did.

And now the last time he ever saw his bard would be that awful day on the mountain, something that still made his stomach sour whenever he accidentally forgot not to think about it. Of the way Jaskier’s face had fallen. Of the immediate regret Geralt had felt, but that he’d smothered down under his anger. Of the way he hadn’t immediately tracked Jaskier back down the mountain when the bard hadn’t returned by the next morning.

Because for the first time Jaskier had actually left after Geralt had snapped at him. And how could Geralt follow after him if he’d really left?

But it didn’t matter anymore, because-

Geralt startled into a surprised snarl as his flagging senses warned him of danger too late, his attacker already nearly falling on top of him. He lurched painfully to the side, a shot of adrenaline coursing through him as he spun to see...

...Jaskier?

Geralt blinked in shock as Jaskier tumbled to the ground across the small clearing from him, yelling and clutching at his lute like a shield, looking as surprised at Geralt was.

“Sorry, very terribly sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said weakly, smelling of fear. “I was trying to find someplace to camp and I was wandering and wasn’t looking where I was going and I didn’t mean- Really that arrow business looks like it hurts, how long have you had that nasty thing stuck in you?”

Geralt’s brain scrambled to process what was happening. Jaskier was here and talking to him normally, did he recognize him despite his canine form? Had Yennifer somehow sensed what had happened and sent Jaskier to fetch him?

But no, it couldn’t be, not with the fear he could smell on Jaskier. Jaskier was frightened all the time, but Geralt had never smelled Jaskier’s fear directed at him before. It made him feel sick. Jaskier must really think he was just a regular wolf.

Perhaps it was the fact that Geralt had just resigned himself to death only to be shocked back to hope, or the fact he’d gone four days without food or water, or just the surreal feeling of it all, but instead of reacting intelligently he found himself just watching the bard, tucking his aching wounded leg closer.

“Say you’re not bad for a wolf.” Jaskier said, his voice getting softer as he started to edge closer. “What if I took a look at-”

Geralt’s habitual annoyance with the bard resurfaced all at once, resulting in a growl that stopped Jaskier’s approach. What on earth was he doing? If Geralt really was a wild injured animal then his current behavior would be the perfect way to get his face bitten off. How Jaskier survived when Geralt wasn’t around to yank him back from poor choices was truly beyond his comprehension. If Geralt could speak right now he’d be getting the lecture of his life.

But Jaskier, being Jaskier, was of course stupidly undeterred, instead keeping his voice puppy soft and high pitched as he rambled on, even digging some dried rabbit meat out of his pouch and tossing it to Geralt.

For a moment Geralt was tempted to mock lunge at the bard, give him a bit of a scare to try and teach him some badly needed self-preservation. Teach him to stay away from things that would only harm him.

…just like he’d done on the mountain?

The uncomfortable realization jolted enough common sense into him that he ate the rabbit jerky without protest and lay still, allowing Jaskier to approach. Larger concerns about Jaskier’s sense of danger aside, Geralt was not a real wolf, and he did very badly need help. If Jaskier had found him and was willing to provide that, then Geralt would be a fool not to shut up and accept it.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” Jaskier said gently, getting close enough to pet him, which Geralt endured long-sufferingly. “You know I’m not sure you’re much of a wolf at all. There’s no way I’d still have both my hands at this point if you were really wild. For which I thank you by the way, playing the lute one-handed isn’t a skill I have much interest in picking up. You act more like some kind of massive dog, did you have a human family that raised you? Have you been abandoned by your person?”

Geralt still smelled fear, but not nearly as strong as Jaskier’s curiosity and excitement now. The fool was probably already planning a song about this.

Geralt growled at him. Just get on with it already.

“You know you remind me very much of a friend of mine.” Jaskier said with a wry smile that quickly dropped away. “Or, acquaintance I suppose, he never did anything but growl either. In fact you’re probably much more in tune with your emotions than he is I’ll bet, although most rocks probably are if I’m being strictly honest. The man’s really a complete imbecile.”

Geralt snarled, tired and insulted. Did Jaskier bad mouth him behind his back to every woodland creature he met? It was no secret Geralt wasn’t as outwardly emotional or articulate as some people, gods knew Jaskier had never hesitated to tell him so. Albeit in far more teasing terms than this.

“Alright, so here’s my terrible plan.” Jaskier said, ignoring his snarl entirely. As usual. “I’m going to try and remove this arrow, which is going to hurt terribly, and then I’m going to patch you up. I’d be extremely grateful if you didn’t dismember me in any way while I do, but if you can’t help yourself I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a very self-preserving mood at the moment, so I suppose a final act of misguided heroism isn’t the worst way to go. The last white wolf I hung around mauled me emotionally, so actually it would be terribly poetic if you did finish the job physically.”

Geralt’s growl trailed off at that. “Mauled” was a bit harsh... Geralt had gotten angry, had taken out his anger on Jaskier unfairly yes, after two weeks of regret Geralt was willing to admit that. But Jaskier’s wry tone of voice wasn’t the kind he used when he was exaggerating for dramatic effect.

Had Geralt been able to speak he probably still wouldn’t have, choosing to sidestep the uncomfortable emotion. Thankfully as a wolf he didn’t have to choose, instead focusing on sitting still and quiet as Jaskier finally finally set to work removing the arrow from his shoulder and treating it, rambling the entire time as he always did when he helped patch up Geralt. Geralt was too focused on gritting his teeth against the pain to hear most of what Jaskier was saying, but found himself grateful for the familiar chatter nonetheless.

“There we go.” Jaskier said as he finished wrapping the wound. “Nothing like impromptu feral veterinary care to get the old heart pumping, eh?”

Geralt sighed quietly, exhaustion and relief sweeping through him to finally have the wound cared for. He wished he could mutter his customary “thanks.”

“You’re sulking.” Jaskier accused, petting his head.

Geralt huffed, shaking off the patronizing hand. He was not sulking, he was tired. And a wolf.

“Yes you are,” Jaskier insisted with a smile. “I know that look anywhere. Probably terribly embarrassing to be the king of the forest and have to accept help from a lowly human bard eh? Well I suppose wolves aren’t really the king, not if there’s griffins or something about.”

Geralt stared at him, all kinds of blunt corrections about biologically correct monster food chain structures running uselessly through his head. Instead his annoyance had to be communicated by shifting himself to face away from the bard and his obnoxious declarations.

“That settles it.” Jaskier declared as he started to gather sticks, evidently unbothered by Geralt’s huffing. “I’m calling you Geralt Junior. The both of you would get along splendidly in your stubborn grumpiness.”

Geralt looked up. He was Geralt, if he could just get Jaskier to realize that.

“Geralt Junior? You like that name?” Jaskier asked with a grin, seeing his reaction.

Geralt hauled himself to his feet. His shoulder was already feeling better as it started to mend in earnest, but not fast enough, making him stumble when he tried walking toward Jaskier.

“Whoa whoa hey, settle.” Jaskier said quickly, dropping his armful of sticks and kneeling beside him, carefully pushing him back down. “Lay down, stay. You shouldn’t be walking any more tonight, you’ve got to heal alright? Lay down boy, do you know commands?”

Geralt stayed down with a growl, hiding his nose under his paws in frustration.

“That’s right, you go back to sulking, Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said happily, evidently none the wiser as he tried to pet Geralt’s head again.

Geralt shook his hand off, trying to focus on said sulking. If he was going to get Jaskier to realize it was really him he was going to have to try harder.

***

Geralt woke up long before Jaskier did and decided to celebrate his shoulder already feeling far better by scratching around in the ashes of the fire. It was messy, but by the time Jaskier woke up he’d managed to scratch out a decently legible “Geralt” in charcoal across the ground.

Not legible enough though apparently, since the bard of course barely even glanced at his work as he cheerfully greeted him upon waking. Geralt felt fully justified in his sulking after that, sticking around only long enough for his bandages to be removed before trotting off into the trees to find a stream for a much needed swim, not having bathed since before slaying the beast that started this whole mess nearly a week ago.

The bath ended up lifting his spirits far more than anticipated, the ashes and blood finally gone and his fur coat drying to an ivory shine in the summer sun. His upswing in mood definitely also had to do with the fact that the pain in his shoulder was quickly fading and that he was no longer hopeless and alone.

It was easy to keep tabs on Jaskier’s noisy progress down the road throughout the day, making it simple enough for Geralt to keep nearby as he wandered the woods. Now that he was finally able to move freely again it only made sense that he take a day on his own to really get used to how this new body worked.

By the time evening arrived Geralt was capable enough to hunt down a couple rabbits with no weapon but his teeth on his way back to Jaskier for the night, and the look of delighted surprise he got for it nearly made the last four days of pain worth it.

“So you’re not sick of me after all, huh?” Jaskier grinned. “I’m truly flattered you know.”

Geralt allowed himself a single tail wag in place of a smile as he dropped the rabbits at the bard’s feet. Had Jaskier actually thought he’d gone? That he wasn’t going to come back for him?

The silly bard.

***

Geralt was used to entering towns and villages with a sense of cautious unease, a lifetime of being a Witcher having taught him the hard way to be on guard around humans, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been afraid like he was as he went into town with Jaskier the next day.

Perhaps it was some element of animal caution that came with his new form that had him so on edge as he stuck to his bard’s side, but mostly it was the knowledge that he was literally helpless if something went wrong.

As a Witcher he could bully his way through most trouble with a stern look at best and his twin swords at worst, but as a wolf the only defense he had against the wary eyes of the villagers around him was Jaskier’s reassuring presence and the “collar” around his neck. If something went wrong Geralt wouldn’t even be able to defend himself without putting Jaskier in danger of retaliation. There would be no galloping off on Roach this time, whatever happened would result in Jaskier taking the full consequences.

And yet Jaskier still pressed on, letting Geralt even come into the inn with him and vouching for his character despite not at all knowing that Geralt wasn’t really a wild animal after all. All in all the bard’s behavior was reckless and stupid, this kind of thing never would have been allowed had Geralt been a person, but as it was he could only be grateful for it. He’d die before admitting that the thought of being left out in the yard where any number of humans could take another shot at him while defenseless terrified him. The least he could do to show his gratitude was to shoulder his pride and play along with Jaskier’s plan, acting as tame and doggish as he knew how in order to gain the innkeeper's approval.

And it worked, the innkeeper handed over a room key and Jaskier was soon leading them to their room, dumping their things on the low bed and smelling of as much relief as Geralt felt.

“Well it’ll be supper time soon, so I’d better head downstairs to earn some coin.” Jaskier said, unpacking his lute from its case and tuning a few strings. “It might be best for you to stay up here since I don’t know how many people will be around tonight.”

Geralt got to his feet from where he’d been lying by the fireplace, leaning against Jaskier’s leg and looking up at him as pleadingly as he knew how. He’d noticed himself becoming far more outwardly expressive than normal, but with no other form of communication available to him he had no other choice. Monosyllabic grunts giving way to overstated body language to get his point across in ways Jaskier would hopefully understand.

“...or you can come down with me.” Jaskier said with a wry smile at his behavior, petting his head. “Really Geralt Junior, I had no idea wolves were so clingy. I certainly wouldn’t mind the company though.”

Geralt shook himself with a whine. He wasn’t being clingy, he just didn’t want to be left alone locked in a room all night. Could he really be blamed for that?

As they descended the stairs to the main area Geralt looked around at the evening crowd of patrons, scenting the busy evening air. Normally at this point he’d leave Jaskier to set up shop in the center of the tavern area and head to the back of the room. Somewhere out of the way that he could keep an eye on the bard’s performance while being left alone to his own meal and drink in relative peace. As popular as Jaskier’s witcher-themed songs were, he knew that having a real witcher sitting beside him would only hurt his chances at getting coin. No, much better for both of them if Geralt minded his own business in the back of the room.

Besides, he didn’t mind the frequent moments he’d catch Jaskier looking for him in the crowd during his performances, meeting his eye with a smile and a wink.

But tonight was different, and as Jaskier settled on a stool and cheerily began playing his lute Geralt found himself curling up at the bard’s feet. Jaskier started off with a jaunty tune that soon got the crowd’s attention, people looking up from their conversations and meals with smiles to get a look at who was performing tonight. That didn’t surprise Geralt one bit, in his (very) private opinion Jaskier was the most talented performer he’d seen or heard in all his decades of travel, especially as the years had gone on to sharpen his talents.

What did surprise Geralt was how long the audience’s gazes lingered not on the bard but on him. Specifically kind, surprised and intrigued expressions.

Geralt fought to keep from ducking his head, forcing himself to remain stoic as onlookers started to gather as Jaskier’s performance went on, but it was starting to get downright unnerving.

Because no matter where Geralt looked in the crowd he couldn’t find a single look of disgust, annoyance, or fear. Not even a nervous attempt at casualness, the expression he was most used to seeing directed at him. It almost made Geralt wonder if he’d become invisible on top of becoming a wolf, it made far more sense for these kinds of expressions to be directed at Jaskier.

“Doggie!”

Geralt’s ears pricked and his head tilted a bit as he heard an excited young voice in the crowd, small enough that likely only he could hear it over the noise. He peered through the legs of the audience to see a little girl straining to get away from her mother, pulling toward him.

“Sarah no, you don’t know that dog and his owner is performing, you stay right here.” came the hushed voice of her mother from the back of the crowd.

“But I want to pet him!” The girl cried. “He’s nice!”

Geralt saw the moment that the little girl squirmed out of her mother's grip and as she slipped through the crowd. His eyes were still wide in shock as she threw herself right at him with a delighted giggle. Geralt sat stock still for a long moment.

He had...never...been hugged by a child...

Never.

He’d saved hundreds over the years of course, from all kinds of dangers. Had even carried them, screaming, crying, and all too often silent with death back to their parents to be handed off as quickly as possible. Sometimes in exchange for a hurried thanks, sometimes a gruff dispute over coin, sometimes for nothing more than a frightened slur thrown back in his face to get away from them.

Because everyone knew that witchers stole children, all the important bedtime stories and old wives tales said so. Children and cats always knew a Witcher was coming before adults did too, their simple natures sensing something unnatural approaching, sending them scrambling out of the way with instinctive fear. Geralt had never thought to resent children for being frightened of him, they were vulnerable and needed to be cautious in this world. This was just the way things were. It was no blow to him.

But as the little girl hugged his neck and whispered delighted childish praise in his ear he felt something inside him give way, opening an empty, hollow place in his heart he hadn’t even realized was there. But one that must have been there this whole time.

A happy whine escaped him and his tail swished across the floor as he nosed at the little girl’s ear, making her laugh. Had he ever made a child laugh?

He found himself thinking, not for the first time, about his child surprise. The promised child bound to him by an ill-worded agreement and supposedly destiny. The young prince or princess would probably be about the same age as the little girl by now, wouldn’t they?

But then all too soon her mother was there, yanking her away from him crossly, apologizing to Jaskier as she hauled her daughter back.

“Not a problem ma’am, as you can see he’s quite tame.” Jaskier said with a dazzling smile.

As Geralt came back to himself and looked up at the bard he realized the poor man reeked of well-hidden fear. If Geralt could have laughed he would have, instead panting happily. Because of course Jaskier had only seen a young girl fall on a wolf of unknown character that he’d stupidly brought into a tavern, trying to pass it off as an old pet. Geralt was glad he had, and the bard of course had had nothing to worry about, but just the same he was aching to be able to tease Jaskier for the scare he’d gotten.

Jaskier quickly picked up the rest of his song, ending his performance well enough to get a hearty round of applause that ended in a more than decent offering of coin before the crowd happily dispersed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so tame.” Jaskier said in a hushed tone, dropping to one knee in front of him and stroking his head. “Gods above, I thought we were finished for a moment there, you’re truly a magnificently patient beast.”

Geralt ducked his head away from the attention, but really only on principle at this point. His tail was still wagging as he followed the bard to the table where the innkeeper had set out a meal of stew for Jaskier, and a wooden bowl of scraps for Geralt.

Had Geralt not been in an excellent mood he might have managed to become gruff at having been reduced to eating his meals on the floor. As it was he didn’t mind terribly, and really it certainly beat some miserable excuses for meals he’d endured out in the wilds in his time.

“Can I pet your dog?” Asked the man eating across the table from Jaskier.

Geralt looked up, glancing at the man who smelled of ink and parchment, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

“He reminds me of a hound my father owned and he seems agreeable enough,” the man continued with a smile. “But I’d rather ask first than be bit second.”

“I...of course.” Jaskier said, pulling on a smile through a mouthful of stew. “I wouldn’t have brought him in if he weren’t friendly.” Geralt could smell a bit of nervousness from him.

“Well he certainly is a magnificent beast.” The man said, reaching over to scruff the fur between Geralt’s ears. “I bet he puts some fine catches on the table after hunts.”

Geralt accepted the petting with a stoic look, not so much as shaking off the man’s hand. He could smell the relief and happiness on Jaskier.

“Oh Geralt Junior’s not much of a hunter.” Jaskier laughed, relaxing as he launched into his fiction. “He can take care of himself well enough I suppose, but really he thinks he’s a lapdog. You know my sister used to read him bedtime stories when she was young, it’s a miracle I was able to steal him away to travel with me instead of her keeping him.”

Geralt sneezed in amusement at the tale of Jaskier’s invented sister.

“Geralt Junior?” Another man at the table said with a guffaw. “I get it now, after the witcher you sing about? That’s a clever joke if I ever heard one, white wolf indeed.”

“Well where’s his silver sword then?” A woman said cheerfully, coming up from behind Geralt and stroking his back without so much as a warning. “Such a handsome witcher wolf needs his tools of trade don’t he?”

“I’m afraid all he’s slain are the hearts of those who offer him treats. And the occasional rabbit.” Jaskier laughed, warmed up to his audience. “His silver coat is far more useful than a silver sword in his line of work.”

“Well he’s excellent at his trade.” The woman laughed, slipping Geralt a bit of sweetbread from her pocket. “Consider me slain by the mighty white wolf. Oh and look at him taking the bread all dainty-like with his teeth. Afraid he’ll bite my fingers? What a gentleman.”

If Geralt properly considered the positive attention he was currently drowning in he was going to become dizzy with it. Instead he focused on eating the sweetbread, which was followed by a bit of ham from another admirer, and a bit of jerky afterward by another.

The little girl had been one thing, but this much attention was downright mystifying. It was beginning to border on actually terrifying even, sending his heart beating faster than it did when he faced down griffins.

What Geralt was used to was people being careful not to even brush fingers as coin was exchanged, afraid they’d catch mange or worse from touching a Witcher. Aside from a hearty pat on the shoulder once in a blue moon from a particularly gutsy short-term adventuring partner, Geralt was used to only getting affection at brothels where he paid extra to girls who managed to hide their discomfort from their expressions. (But never their scents.)

But now it seemed like the entire village was trying to get their hands on him, and not even to try and drive him out.

Geralt found himself pressing against Jaskier’s leg under the table as the attention really began to become overwhelming, but luckily the bard seemed to pick up on it, looking down at him with concern and resting a calming hand on his flank. Jaskier may not realize that his wolf was enchanted, but nonetheless the bard had always had an uncanny knack for picking up on Geralt’s moods without a single word spoken.

“Well you’ve all been perfectly lovely, but I’m afraid we must take our leave for the night.” Jaskier said, getting up from his seat and bowing grandly to the table. “We wish you all a lovely evening and hope to see you tomorrow for our next performance.”

Geralt kept close to Jaskier as they climbed the stairs to their room for the night, already feeling better once they were out of sight.

“So not a huge fan of people for too long. That’s alright, we can be more careful in the future, no sense in you hanging around people if you aren’t enjoying it anymore.” Jaskier said with a smile, rubbing Geralt’s head.

Geralt tail wagged slow in gratitude as the bard looked through his pockets for the room key.

“Well tonight’s over my friend and you’ve done magnificently.” Jaskier yawned as he unlocked their door. “We’ll curl up in bed and that’ll be the end of it. I can’t tell you how excited I am for a real bed. I can only assume you’ve slept on one before, I highly recommend them.”

Geralt’s tail kept wagging as they entered the room, greeted by a warm fire and a clean smelling mattress. Over the years he and Jaskier had shared a bed dozens of times when inns were small or coin was short, even sleeping rolls out in the wilds when the weather was too cold for the bard to safely sleep alone. That was a warm and familiar kind of touch that Geralt never tired of, even though he’d never admit it.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t exactly been as starved for touch as he’d thought. Jaskier was forever touching him whoever they were together: grabbing his arm, leaning against him, helping shuck off his armor at night, sharing a bed, stitching him up, even helping him bathe when he was particularly incapacitated, or they were to attend an important social event.

Jaskier’s touch had never felt overwhelming like the villager’s had. In fact Geralt had perhaps taken it for granted, so comfortable with it and expecting it to the point of no longer appreciating it properly.

He’d never once thanked Jaskier for making him feel like a real person who could be so casually touched.

That...seemed unfair of him...

“You perfect thing.” Jaskier said with a yawn, closing the room door behind them. He scratched between Geralt’s ears.

Geralt nearly ducked away in guilt but didn’t. After all, it seemed very likely that there wouldn’t be any other possible way than this that he could use to apologize to the bard for a long time.

[Read Chapter 2]

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #wit writes #the witcher wolf

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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New Horror and Sci-Fi Movies Break Out at Fantasia Fest

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The Fantasia International Film Festival has been serving up fresh and often visionary new voices in sci-fi, horror and other genres for nearly a quarter of a century, and this year’s 24th edition was no different — except, of course, it was all different.

Fantasia, which under normal circumstances physically takes place in Montreal in mid-summer, went online in 2020 for an all-digital edition that kicked off on August 20 and concluded on September 2. The event was a mix of films that were either available on demand at any time throughout the fest (up until a maximum ticket capacity was reached) or were designated to stream “live,” as it were, on one or two certain dates at specific times (also with a maximum ticket capacity).

Although press from around the world was invited to cover the festival, the entire program was geoblocked to Canadian ticket buyers only — which means that as a fan you would have to live in Canada to watch the festival offerings online (this was due to exhibition and distribution restrictions for other parts of the world). In addition, a handful of films — including The Descent director Neil Marshall’s new one, The Reckoning — were available only to a limited list of select guests.

Whether these kinds of restrictions helped or hindered the festival’s transition to an online format remains to be seen. On the other hand, our experience watching films was flawless, with no buffering or other technical problems during a single screening. That aspect of holding a digital festival was handled perfectly.

Less perfect, to be frank, was our personal experience. Being at a film festival or any large event or conference is like being in a bubble where all you do is focus on what you’re there to do; trying to do the same on your couch or at your kitchen table, with all the distractions of home, family, work and other elements of everyday life was way more challenging.

We didn’t watch as many films as we wanted to, but the highlights only proved that Fantasia’s longstanding reputation as a breeding ground for provocative, groundbreaking new talent will stay intact for this year and beyond.

HBO Max

Class Action Park (USA)

Our favorite film of the fest — which you can see right now if you’re lucky enough to have HBO Max — is this wild look back at a New Jersey water/amusement park where there were no rules, anything could happen and the lunatics (i.e. severely underqualified teenagers) were literally running the asylum. It was all fun and games… until it wasn’t, as the injuries, lawsuits and tragic deaths began to pile up.

The documentary delves into the history of the park, which was hatched by the insane/genial Eugene Mulvihill, the unsafe rides that he developed, the crazy atmosphere of the place and the tragedies that brought it down. But like all great docs, Class Action Park is also about an era — a snapshot of a time (the late ‘80s and early ‘90s) when kids were allowed way more freedom than they are now, with results that one could view as both good and bad. It’s a sobering, thoughtful and, yes, hilarious film. (****½)

The Department of Special Projects

Fried Barry (South Africa)

Think of this as the hard-R version of E.T. A heroin addict named Barry (stuntman Gary Green in an astonishing first-time performance) is airlifted from a Cape Town street into an alien spacecraft, painfully probed and dropped back down — only his body is inhabited by an extra-terrestrial explorer. The next few days are a wild, often gruesome yet oddly poignant journey in which the alien/Barry trips on drugs, dances the night away at a club, is brutally tortured, has sex with multiple women, becomes an instant father, rescues children from a predator and even reconciles with Barry’s own family.

Writer/director Ryan Kruger adapted this from his own short film and, as with several other movies we saw, occasionally has trouble stretching it to feature length. But what could have been a nihilistic mess becomes something alternately funny, shocking and moving, in a story about loss, addiction and love anchored by Green’s fearless performance and Kruger’s gorgeous, stylized direction. (****)

Magnolia

12 Hour Shift (USA)

12 Hour Shift was like a refreshing cool drink after watching some of the darker entries at Fantasia. We haven’t seen Angela Bettis (May) in a few years so she is a welcome and sensational presence as a night nurse in a Texas hospital running a side business in organ harvesting with her supervisor. Chloe Farnworth is equally great as her beyond-dumb cousin who delivers the organs to the gangsters running the black market, while David Arquette shows up as a dim bulb cop-killer who’s stuck in the ER.

Grisly mayhem and gooey twists ensue, and while it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Bettis’ implacable calm keeps it all grounded and grimly hilarious. Writer/director Brea Grant allows herself a few self-indulgent moments, but overall this is a lot of fun. A faux-bombastic score heightens the humor. Watch for this on October 2 from Magnolia Pictures. (****)

Ben Hozie

PVT CHAT (USA)

From writer/director Ben Hozie (frontman of the band Bodega), this is a smart, erotic psychodrama about who we think people are and who they really are, against the backdrop of live sex chats and relationships via screen (the latter all too relevant in these shelter-in-place times). Peter Vack is great as Jack, who gambles online by day and spends his winnings at night on those aforementioned chats. His object of desire is cam girl Scarlet (Julia Fox, alluring in what was technically her first role before Uncut Gems), who seems to enjoy her work while tentatively exploring a deeper connection with Jack.

Hozie captures a pre-pandemic lower Manhattan vividly, and while the movie evokes an undercurrent of dread it never resorts to the predictable idea of making Jack a straight-up incel. The plot’s turns are clever and true to the characters, who gradually reveal their vulnerabilities and yearnings. It’s a small film, but it says a lot about love, loneliness and sex in the age of virtual life. (****)

Unstable Ground

Clapboard Jungle: Surviving the Independent Film Business (Canada)

Justin McConnell is a Canadian filmmaker who has directed two low-budget features but finds it as hard as ever to get a single one of his next potential projects (his “slate,” as he hopefully calls it) financed and produced. This documentary, which McConnell assembled over five years, charts the ups and downs of his quest while offering insight from dozens of artists — including Guillermo Del Toro, the late George A. Romero, Mick Garris (director, 1994’s The Stand), Larry Fessenden (director, Wendigo), John McNaughton (director, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer) and others — about the difficulties of independent filmmaking.

McConnell’s saga is a fascinating one and his resiliency in the face of defeat after defeat is at times inspiring. Some of the film plays like a checklist as he tackles various aspects of the business (to his credit, he even offers a clearly late-breaking section on the even more challenging environment facing women and filmmakers of color), but it’s still a worthy guide for anyone who dares to travel this path. (***½)

RLJE Films/Shudder

The Dark and the Wicked (USA)

Writer/director Bryan Bertino scared the living hell out of audiences back in 2008 with The Strangers, and while his pictures since then are few and far between and somewhat hard to see, his latest will benefit from a release through Shudder later this year.

In the meantime, we can tell you that Bertino has not lost a step when it comes to crafting utterly skin-freezing imagery and sequences. Siblings Louise (Marin Ireland) and Michael (Michael Abbot Jr.) return to their family’s rural farmhouse to help their mother as their comatose father enters his last days, despite their mother’s entreaties to stay away. Brother and sister learn all too soon that something has come for their family and will not stop.

Movies

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By Rosie Fletcher

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Bertino works economically with both his direction and script, sketching in just enough about this family to create the necessary empathy and aided greatly by sterling work from Ireland and Abbot. The atmosphere is thick with dread from start to finish, and the images shocking and nightmarish. If The Dark and the Wicked leaves you with a few more questions than you’d like, that’s okay…this is still a genuinely unsettling watch. (***½)

Film Movement

Lapsis (USA)

Filmmaker Noah Hutton — who wrote, directed, edited and composed the score — sets his full-length feature debut in a sort of alternate universe that’s very similar to ours but sitting perhaps a few more minutes in the future. The excellent Dean Imperial (who has a James Gandolfini vibe about him) stars as delivery man Ray Tincelli, whose ailing brother’s mystery ailment forces Ray to join the gig economy. He becomes a “cabler,” one of a growing legion of freelancers who are literally laying cable across miles of rugged terrain for a quantum computing network that will revolutionize the financial markets.

Everything about the company and tech is enigmatic, as are many of the people that Ray meets along the way, and he discovers that the cabling “medallion” or permit he’s purchased may have previously belonged to an unsavory figure. Lapsis uses its subtle sci-fi trappings to tell a tale about real life, with workers fighting for whatever scraps they can get and wealthy oligarchs literally stringing them along. Lapsis is a slow burn, with a final scene that’s a bit of a head-scratcher, but Hutton has crafted a very distinct, pertinent vision. (***½)

Epic Pictures/Shudder

Lucky (USA)

Brea Grant also wrote and stars in Lucky, an allegory about a self-help author named May who is stalked — every night — by a masked killer who she keeps mortally injuring yet who keeps reappearing. Reality itself begins to fracture around her as she confronts events from her past and begins to realize what is happening to her and the other women in her life.

Lucky stretches a bit too much to sustain itself effectively over its relatively brief 80 minutes, but this is still a movie with vision and guts from director Natasha Kermani. Its central metaphor for the unending assaults faced by women every day is an unquestionably powerful one, driven home by an extended third act sequence in a parking garage that’s hard to shake. Shudder will stream it at a date TBA. (***)

Relic Pictures

Minor Premise (USA)

This intimate sci-fi thriller is steeped in neurophilosophy — and be warned, there’s a lot to keep up with here. Sathya Sridharan stars as Ethan, a brilliant young scientist who’s obsessed with living up to his father’s legacy while forging his own path. He creates a device that maps out memories and emotions in the brain, but his attempt to try it on himself shatters his psyche into 10 different emotional states, each surfacing for six minutes per hour.

Ethan and his ex-girlfriend (Paton Ashbrook), an ambitious researcher herself, try to piece his mind back together while avoiding the states of rage and psychosis that emerge once every cycle. The repetitive nature of the film and some stylistic choices by director and co-writer Eric Schultz drag its pacing down, but the two main performances are strong and the concept is fascinating and at times frightening. Minor Premise is ambitious and cerebral, if a little too dense, and still an intriguing trip. (***)

Global Screen

Sleep (Germany)

A woman (Sandra Huller) plagued with mysterious nightmares begins to piece together the visions she’s having, a puzzle that leads her to a secluded hotel in a small, desolate town in the German countryside. Once there, she has a nervous breakdown, landing her in the hospital and leaving her daughter (Gro Swantje Kohlhof) to discover the dark secrets hidden in the hotel and the town.

A feature debut from director Michael Venus, Sleep is assured in its vision and imagery even if it’s derivative of David Lynch and other practitioners of the macabre. The movie moves at a leisurely pace and Venus transitions seamlessly from reality to dream, but there is a sense of ambiguity at the end that leaves one both unsettled and vaguely unsatisfied. (***)

Hood River Entertainment

The Block Island Sound (USA)

The Block Island Sound, the new film from Kevin and Matthew McManus (Cobra Kai), would actually make a good pairing with The Dark and the Wicked in that they are both about families besieged by forces beyond their understanding. In this case, the Lynch family, who live on Block Island off the coast of Rhode Island, seem to be the target of an assault from above — an attack that is also doing macabre things to the local wildlife.

As with Bryan Bertino’s film, the family patriarch is the first to succumb, while his marine biologist daughter (Michaela McManus) and troubled son (Chris Sheffield) must contend with the fallout. The Block Island Sound has great cinematography, sound design and music, but is hampered by uneven acting and a somewhat undercooked script that shows its cards early and doesn’t really go anywhere from there. (**½)

Rivertop

Monster Seafood Wars (Japan)

A light, trifling satire of kaiju flicks, Monster Seafood Wars plays off the idea that the Japanese people are accustomed to having their cities leveled by giant monsters on a regular basis. Thus the latest siege by a giant octopus, squid and crab is business as usual, with restaurants even obtaining chunks of “monster meat” and serving it up in gourmet dishes as the latest culinary craze.

The film also pokes fun at youth culture, with the film’s three main scientists not just somewhere in their early 20s but sharing a romantic conflict as well. The movie’s kaiju costumes and green screen effects are deliberately cheesy and you’re meant to relax and have fun, but the movie labors hard to be truly funny and not just an oddity. (**½)

Trapdoor Pictures

The Mortuary Collection (USA)

“The world is not made of atoms, it is made of stories.” Too bad the stories in this anthology film don’t live up to those opening lines. Writer/director Ryan Spindell clearly loves the old Amicus portmanteau films, Creepshow, Tales from the Crypt and others, but his beautifully shot and handsomely designed tribute rarely comes off as more than a surface homage.

The framing device stars Clancy Brown (The Flash) in heavy prosthetics as a mortician who welcomes a cynical young woman (Caitlin Custer) into his funeral parlor and shares stories about some recent clients. There is some attempt at atmospherics and lots of gore, but the scares are non-existent and the stories just sort of sputter out without the punchy endings often associated with this subgenre. (**½)

Copperheart Entertainment

Come True (USA)

For Come True, writer/director/editor/cinematographer Anthony Scott Burns has come up with some truly eerie dream imagery, but the story he built around it is tedious and incoherent. Sarah (Julia Sarah Stone) desperately craves sleep and participates in a dream study that unleashes…what?

The movie never really fleshes out what is happening, while both its script and characters remain maddeningly vague. Throw in a sketchy love story between the very young Sarah and the lead scientist and it gets even creepier in the wrong ways. A misfire all around that sent us quickly into dreamland. (**)

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