Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Caira entered a local ale house in Posada to get a quick drink before she set out to find the person that needed a hunter to kill some kind of monster. Upon entry, a horrendous song was being sung accompanied by a lute. An annoying bard was standing in the corner singing horribly written songs he seemed to have put together. Instinctively, Caira scanned the bar to see all those present. Her eyes froze upon a very familiar head of white hair as she was scanning the room.
"You've got to be kidding me." She muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes at the man that had his eyes trained on his cup of ale.
Angrily, she marched over to his booth and took a seat across from him—instantly gaining his attention. His eyes flickered up to her and he hummed in his usual, gruff manner. "I prefer to drink alone." Geralt grumbled over to her.
She scrunched up her nose is distaste at his words. "And I prefer to work alone, but it seems to be that you're following me."
Geralt turned his eyes away from her. "Have you considered we're after the same kind of money?" He raised his brows at her, accentuating the deep wrinkles along his forehead.
"So you're just here to steal my job, again." Caira folded her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat.
"Just here to do the job better than you." Geralt snarked, the corner of his mouth twisting upward into a subtle smirk.
Caira rolled her eyes at him, sighing in annoyance. Geralt underestimated the girl. To him, she seemed so weak, so fragile. She was merely a human and had no sort of power or magic like he had. He felt as if she was the one that needed protecting, not be the protector. Caira snapped her head to her right side as there was a sudden outburst of an argument occurring between the bard and some townsman. Her hair flipped behind her in that moment, sending a whiff of her sweet sent over to Geralt. She smelled like fresh linen and had a subtle—never overwhelming—scent of flowers. "How about we strike a deal? Since both you and I know I could never keep up with you in a race to kill a monster." Caira leaned forward, over the table, planting her forearms down on the surface.
The witcher raised a single curious brow at her. "How about we work together on this job, then we split the reward...evenly." Caira cocked her head at him.
Geralt couldn't help but chuckle at her. "Why would I do that? When I can do the job myself?"
Caira bit the inside of her cheek. "What if I said please?" She pouted at him, hoping she could swoon him.
Geralt turned his eyes away from her and made his typical hum noise. "I should've known that wouldn't have worked, Witcher's don't have emotions. Or is that not true?" Caira inquisitively leaned in toward Geralt, suggesting that her curiosity had peaked as she asked that question. "Tell me, witcher, do you have feelings? Because the rumor says you don't. Maybe the rumor is just a ploy to other you and make you seem like a monster so that humans can push their superiority agenda—but, hey, who knows." Caira snickered, knowing Geralt—as a man with such few words—wouldn't answer her question.
"You get thirty percent." Geralt, still not looking over at her, gruffly spoke.
Caira's lips twisted upward into a devilish smile. "Deal."
The bard finally finished singing his obnoxious song after being booed away. The bard noticed only Geralt and Caira hadn't booed him and he decided to approach them. "I love the way you just, sit in the corner and brood. And you," the bard turned to Caira who has a satisfied look crossing her face, "...look so accomplished." The bard slid into the booth beside Caira, pushing her over to make way for himself.
"No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except you two. Come on, you don't want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less." The bard eagerly asked for appraisal. He looked over at Caira first, awaiting a response. "I wasn't listening." She admitted with a small smile, then turned her eyes over to Geralt to cue him to answer. The bard looked over at Geralt after hearing her disappointing words, hoping for some positive words.
Geralt looked the man dead in the eye with a plain glare. "They don't exist." He responded.
"What don't exist?" The bard pressed for more clarification.
"The creatures in your song." "And how would you know?"
Geralt cocked his head at him and continued to glare at him. The bard squirmed under his stare. "Oh, fun... white hair... big, old loner, two very scary looking swords. I know who you are." The bard seemed to take too long to get to his point—which was that he knew he was a Witcher—causing Geralt to abruptly stand up, grab his things and leave the table.
The bard chased after him, causing Caira to do so, as well. "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Called it!" The bard exclaimed as Geralt continued to walk out the pub. The bard quit following him, but Caira kept at his heels, her sword dragging behind her.
Suddenly, a man in the pub jumped to his feet. "A job I've got for ya. I beg you." The man announced, causing Geralt to stop in his tracks and Caira to run right into his back. "A devil—he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat."
Geralt sighed, pressing his lips into a thin line. "One fifty." He negotiated, and without hesitation, the man pulled out a small sack filled with coins.
"I've no doubt you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." The man handed Geralt the sack.
"We'll tend to the job quite fairly." Geralt assured they worried man as he looked over at Caira.
