HEART | Geralt

10

(pls comment and vote)

~

The walk seemed to be frivolous in Azalea's mind. Her boot was kicking up dust and stone whilst her stallion seemed to forever be huffing with annoyance. She tried her best to whisper, to soothe and to get her own annoyance across, but she wasn't sure if her horse was actually listening to her.

"Are you alright, Geralt?" She asked her friend, the dark waves of her hair acted like a wall as she glanced over to her right, just about able to see his face in the small gaps. He didn't seem pleased.

Geralt grunted in response, once more his mind was wrapped up in its thoughts. He wondered on if Azalea trusted him as much as he trusted her, and if not, what had he done to deserve the small amount of mis-trust?

"Is this about-"

"Ah. Need a hand?" The questioned and slight gasp for air cut Azalea off as the bard from before sauntered his way between the two friends. "I've got two." All he carried was his lute. How anyone survives on the road with such little in the way of provisions surprise Azalea, especially for the young bard. "One for each of the, uh, devil's horns."

"Go away." Geralt spoke gruffly, rolling his golden eyes in exasperation. He was eager to hear Azalea's excuse for not telling him about her past, although at the same time he knew she had no reason to tell him. Apart from the recurring nightmares and all that.

"I won't be but silent back-up."

"You're not quiet, though." Azalea bit back, her own annoyance at the bard being evident by her low yet venomous tone. She wanted to fix things between herself and Geralt, but with the bard here, she probably won't be able to. It was rather infuriating.

"Look, i heard your note, and, yes, you're right. Maybe real adventures would make better stories." The bard continued to speak after a moment of silence, and so Azalea sighed and kept her head facing forwards, she hoped the chatter would stop soon. "And you, sir and ma'am, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak." When it came to the bard's last words, Azalea's brows pinched together before her scarlett eyes glanced towards Geralt once more.

Every time the man slept with a whore just for a good time, whether he accomplished that or not, she felt a piece of her tear. She loved him, dearly may she say, and so it hurt to think that he didn't feel the same.

"It's onion." Geralt glanced towards Azalea, wishing she was looking at him so he could roll his eyes at the bard's theatrics and have her chuckle along, but she was refusing to look at anyone, it seemed.

"Right, yeah. Yeah." A moment of peace, silence and- "Ooh! I could be your barker, speading the tales of Geralt of Rivia and his mistress, Azalea of Venger-" a swift elbow to the face was dealt on Azalea's side, her face twisted into a sharp scowl.

"I'm no mistress, bard. I'm a Witcher, just like him, and if you don't believe that i dare you to cross swords with me." Her eyes seemed to flare with the fires of hell, her lips curled in disdain whilst her whole mannerism screamed anger. The bard, of whom clutched his sore nose, nodded frantically before groaning in pain, a headache more than present, it was soul shattering as it continuously pounded against his skull. 

Azalea, for the first time in a couple minutes, glanced at Geralt. She slightly smiled after witnessing the proud look her friend had to give.  The two Witchers began to walk ahead, leaving the bard there to get his bearings and find the will to continue the dangerous path of pissing off Witchers.