Little Fishie update
Mar. 9th, 2020 12:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2IvHZqb
So we’re getting kind of a plot arc going here, I hope, sort of. Would’ve had this up on Saturday except that, like, as I was posting it I noticed an enormous plot hole from where during the first draft I didn’t know anything about how potions work in this ‘verse, so. Had to do a big rewrite, but here we are now. Jaskier is notably less of a disaster, saves Geralt’s ass from a mistake, Geralt broods and eats rats about it, and determines that he’s too gay to function. Only, less cracky. Enjoy!
chapter 3, circa 1244.
“I smell of death,” Geralt said, “all the time.”
“You kill things all the time,” Jaskier said reasonably.
“It’s not that,” Geralt said. “If I take a bath, and put on a clean shirt, and go to bed on clean sheets, by the time I wake up in the morning I already smell just a little bit of death, and if I break a sweat for any reason by the time it dries it’s all I can smell. Death. I hate it.”
Jaskier sat up on an elbow again. “I hate to think what I must smell like to you, then,” he said.
“You smell fine,” Geralt said absently. “You just smell like a human.”
“Huh,” Jaskier said, perturbed, and Geralt remembered that his sense of smell was strange to humans and he tried generally not to let on about it. Right. “Well, for what it’s worth, I mostly just think you smell like horse.”
“That’s on purpose,” Geralt mumbled.
“What?” Jaskier sat up even farther.
“I’d rather smell like horse than like me,” Geralt said.
So we’re getting kind of a plot arc going here, I hope, sort of. Would’ve had this up on Saturday except that, like, as I was posting it I noticed an enormous plot hole from where during the first draft I didn’t know anything about how potions work in this ‘verse, so. Had to do a big rewrite, but here we are now. Jaskier is notably less of a disaster, saves Geralt’s ass from a mistake, Geralt broods and eats rats about it, and determines that he’s too gay to function. Only, less cracky. Enjoy!
chapter 3, circa 1244.
“I smell of death,” Geralt said, “all the time.”
“You kill things all the time,” Jaskier said reasonably.
“It’s not that,” Geralt said. “If I take a bath, and put on a clean shirt, and go to bed on clean sheets, by the time I wake up in the morning I already smell just a little bit of death, and if I break a sweat for any reason by the time it dries it’s all I can smell. Death. I hate it.”
Jaskier sat up on an elbow again. “I hate to think what I must smell like to you, then,” he said.
“You smell fine,” Geralt said absently. “You just smell like a human.”
“Huh,” Jaskier said, perturbed, and Geralt remembered that his sense of smell was strange to humans and he tried generally not to let on about it. Right. “Well, for what it’s worth, I mostly just think you smell like horse.”
“That’s on purpose,” Geralt mumbled.
“What?” Jaskier sat up even farther.
“I’d rather smell like horse than like me,” Geralt said.
