woop

[dragonlady7]

writing, WIP snippet, snippet post

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I wasn’t observing the dropoff in interest from the Roche/Iorveth to the Saskia/Iorveth story as like, a complaint, just that it’s a thing– but I bet that did sound paggro-complainy, and I did not intend that at all, I was just– should not have been quite as surprised as I was. Even if it weren’t for the no-longer-two-hot-dudes pairing (but COME ON how can you resist DRAGON WIFE ahem cough) it’s also a new story and not a chapter update, so people subscribed to that other story, which ran with steady updates for months, aren’t going to get this new one in their inboxes. That’s another factor! I wasn’t really meaning to complain and I hope nobody thinks I was. Many of you will read whatever I write and I love y’all for it, I would never discount y’all for that.

(It’s also like how when I complain I can’t update regularly, lovely people rush to reassure me it’s okay if I keep my own schedule– but, babes, if I don’t update I don’t get the comment serotonins, that’s just how it is, and I have it much better than many writers because I’m at like year ten under this pseud and I have a huge backlog of published shit and a collection of lovely people who comment on rereads and apparently rec my stuff because new people do find it. But even with that, I am happier when I can post chapters weekly or twice-weekly and get the serotonins, that’s how it works. So I don’t mean to complain at y’all, I’m whining at myself for not having remembered, yet again, how reality works. This is a consistent problem I have in life, and that’s where the fault lies. i’m not great at reality.)

Anyway– as a reward for listening to all that, have a snippet of this bit I really didn’t intend to write and which I will likely only publish as a deleted scene or extra somewhere, somehow, someday: Eibhear Hattori making the formal acquaintance of the legendary Woodland Fox, in a slum in Novigrad sometime over the summer of 1272 after Geralt has helped him re-establish his forge.

“What do you want,” a voice said, and then, as the light fell on his face, “Ah! What do you want,” in a milder tone and wildly different accent.

It took Eibhear a moment to recognize that the second sentence had been in Hen Llinge, and he only figured it out when his tongue stumbled over his answer. He hadn’t spoken his native tongue in– a long time. “I’ve– I’ve come with, with food,” he said.

“Ha,” said the Hen Llinge speaker in the doorway, “I can smell your credentials, and regret that I am too hungry to be more picky. Surely this is a security risk.” And the door swung open. “But, please, come in.”

Eibhear stepped nervously through the door. No one else was visible. The combination of the Scoia’tael trail sign on the wall and this person being a Hen Llinge speaker was unnerving; Eibhear had never particularly aided the Scoia’tael, certainly never directly, and knew they bore him and his kind no love. Aen Seidhe who’d stayed peacefully in human settlements and had done whatever they had to in order not to attract attention or buck the order of things? Stood to reason their fellows who’d thrown it all over to live wild in the woods and fight their doomed fight would resent them, and it wasn’t that Eibhear blamed them, but he also was no fighter and had never been able to contribute anything to their struggle. He was sympathetic, but he had never shown those sympathies. And so they bore him no love, nor should they particularly.

He wouldn’t have taken this order had he known it was Scoia’tael.

The person who’d let him in closed the door and leaned against it, holding up the lantern to look at him. “I can’t say how much I appreciate you coming here,” he said, still in Hen Llinge. His accent was soft and lilting– he was coastal, perhaps even local to this region, but beyond that he had the traces of an old household, the old nobility, perhaps even sacred temple guardian heritage in his accent. The light in his right hand caught a beautiful face, fine-boned and sharp, of high breeding– a green eye, a generous mouth, high cheekbones, a hawk nose; he was tall and well-built, taller and broader even than Eibhear.

But as he lowered the lamp, the light caught the other side of his face, and it was– he was heavily scarred, and had a kerchief tied in such a way that it was clear he was missing his left eye. The ends of the scars trailing out from under the kerchief showed that the missing eye had been deliberately and messily gouged out.

There was really only one person that could be, and Eibhear twitched in shock, but did not drop either of his burdens. Iorveth, he thought, but did not say– the legendary Woodland Fox himself, a nightmare that stalked the woods, an ambush predator, merciless, haughty, terrifying, and uncannily deathproof.

The green eye considered him. “You must be Hattori,” he said. “The smith and dumpling expert.”

“Yes,” Eibhear said, finding his tongue. He handed the basket to Iorveth jerkily, in reflex. “I brought bigos too. Hunter stew. The note said there were hungry people here.”

Iorveth took the basket and stared at it, strangely transfixed. “Yes,” he said almost absently, and Eibhear took in a few more details– he wasn’t wearing armor, he was wearing a filthy patched jerkin that fitted him poorly, and his face was gaunt and pinched.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you,” Eibhear said, and reached over to pull the lid off the basket.

Iorveth flinched as the stronger scent of the dumplings hit him, and his stomach growled audibly. “I,” he said.

“Here,” Eibhear said, “I’ll carry that,” and took the basket back. “Take one now, there’s plenty to go around.”

Iorveth hesitated just a moment longer, then his hand darted into the basket and came out with a dumpling in it. “Thank you,” he said, still hesitating.

“Eat in good health,” Eibhear said politely, the normal set phrase a Hen Llinge speaker would use when serving at mealtime, and Iorveth’s expression twitched into a smile.

“Here’s to yours,” he answered, the usual polite response, and then crammed the dumpling whole into his mouth like an untidy child.

Eibhear couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of it, the lack of dignity incongruous both with Iorveth’s obvious high breeding and intimidating self-presentation. “You’d better take a second one,” he said.

oh here’s an about me trivia fact, i genuinely don’t know left from right and am currently having a minor existential crisis over how i can’t figure out whether it’s iorveth’s right or left eye that’s missing. which fucking eye is that. it’s his right eye isn’t it. ISN’T IT.

Yeah he’s judging me and so is his squirrel friend. Whatever bud. I really don’t know. I think that’s his right. I… fucking… can’t rotate things. Right. WELL anyway in the above snippet just swap right and left as you read it, okay? They’re meaningless to me anyway, make the most of what you can. (Your picture was not posted)

Comments

[j00j]

DRAGON WIFE tho

[dragonlady7]

RIGHT????