Little Fishie
Feb. 29th, 2020 11:29 pmvia https://ift.tt/2Vxq8H1
The prequel-bits installment of the Meet Death Sitting series just went up finally. I was ready to go and then suddenly decided to rewrite the entire beginning, so. It now begins before anything else I’ve written, and then Along Came This Song and Warmth happen between the two sections of the first chapter. Yes, yes, I’m very organized, you can all be impressed now.
Partly, I was struck suddenly with the phrase feral disaster brat Jaskier and was like oh yes, that is what he needs to be. So I worked in some more of the feral disaster brat backstory. Not as much as I wanted to but I’m not rewriting the entire series, someone else is going to have to write the Feral Disaster Brat Jaskier Epic for us all.
So mostly, it’s just banter and pining, and Geralt alternating clear insight with being an oblivious shithead.
As ever, many many thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
akilah12902 for game mechanics insights and backstory information.
“What was your previous horse called?” Jaskier asked.
“Roach,” Geralt said. He didn’t like this line of questioning. He really didn’t like to remember that Roach hadn’t always been this Roach. He’d replaced her pretty recently, actually; lost the last one to a degenerating hoof condition. He’d caught it in time– smelled it– that he’d managed to sell her on, cheap even though she wasn’t lame yet because it felt dishonest not to explain why, to a farmer who’d promised to kill her quick when the time came she got too lame, but he wasn’t thinking about that now and he’d got this one trained up well enough that he didn’t have to think about it. The farmer was probably lying and would sell her on, passing her off as sound– but this way, Geralt wouldn’t have to kill her himself, and wouldn’t have to think about it for years the way he sometimes did about previous horses he’d had to kill.
“Ah,” Jaskier said. “Is it a metaphor, then?”
“No,” Geralt said. “Metaphors are the ones where you say one thing and mean something else, right?”
“I, more or less,” Jaskier said. “Like, my love’s eyes are a summer sky, kind of thing.”
Geralt thought for a moment about what his own eyes would be described as. Nothing good. It was exhausting. “No, it’s not a metaphor.”
edit uhhhh it’d help if I put in a link to the story, huh?
https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956328
The prequel-bits installment of the Meet Death Sitting series just went up finally. I was ready to go and then suddenly decided to rewrite the entire beginning, so. It now begins before anything else I’ve written, and then Along Came This Song and Warmth happen between the two sections of the first chapter. Yes, yes, I’m very organized, you can all be impressed now.
Partly, I was struck suddenly with the phrase feral disaster brat Jaskier and was like oh yes, that is what he needs to be. So I worked in some more of the feral disaster brat backstory. Not as much as I wanted to but I’m not rewriting the entire series, someone else is going to have to write the Feral Disaster Brat Jaskier Epic for us all.
So mostly, it’s just banter and pining, and Geralt alternating clear insight with being an oblivious shithead.
As ever, many many thanks to
akilah12902 for game mechanics insights and backstory information.“What was your previous horse called?” Jaskier asked.
“Roach,” Geralt said. He didn’t like this line of questioning. He really didn’t like to remember that Roach hadn’t always been this Roach. He’d replaced her pretty recently, actually; lost the last one to a degenerating hoof condition. He’d caught it in time– smelled it– that he’d managed to sell her on, cheap even though she wasn’t lame yet because it felt dishonest not to explain why, to a farmer who’d promised to kill her quick when the time came she got too lame, but he wasn’t thinking about that now and he’d got this one trained up well enough that he didn’t have to think about it. The farmer was probably lying and would sell her on, passing her off as sound– but this way, Geralt wouldn’t have to kill her himself, and wouldn’t have to think about it for years the way he sometimes did about previous horses he’d had to kill.
“Ah,” Jaskier said. “Is it a metaphor, then?”
“No,” Geralt said. “Metaphors are the ones where you say one thing and mean something else, right?”
“I, more or less,” Jaskier said. “Like, my love’s eyes are a summer sky, kind of thing.”
Geralt thought for a moment about what his own eyes would be described as. Nothing good. It was exhausting. “No, it’s not a metaphor.”
edit uhhhh it’d help if I put in a link to the story, huh?
https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956328
