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Fringilla Appreciation Hours

@bamf-jaskier / bamf-jaskier.tumblr.com

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Witcher Femslash February -  Apart

OK, I’m gonna try to do as many of @bamf-jaskier​‘s Witcher Femslash February prompts as I can!​ No promises that I’ll be able to keep up with it, but I’m gonna give it a shot!

“What?” Tissaia repeats, not for the first time.

“—me now?” Rita’s voice crackles back into focus, emanating thin but clear from the xenovox on Tissaia’s desk.

“Yes, that’s better.” Somewhat, anyway. “Don’t move.”

“Sorry, darling,” Rita says. “We’ve all been having a terrible time with magical interference lately. Enid says it’s the ruins. Apparently, they emit a low level of magical radiation that can make certain kinds of spells extremely unpredictable. According to Enid, there are all sorts of curious phenomena attributed to interference from lingering elven spellwork. Did you know there’s a manor house somewhere outside of Oxenfurt where a portal is known to open periodically in the back of a wardrobe, of all places?”

Tissaia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I did.”

“Somebody really ought to do a comparative study between that portal and the one at Tor Lara. I  don’t think I’ve ever seen a proper survey of spontaneously occurring portals, have you? Maybe Yennefer would know of one. Didn’t she—”

“If I arranged a research grant, would you come home any sooner?”

Rita laughs. “Oh, I’m being a dreadful bore, aren’t I?”

Tissaia doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. Rita has precious little time to spare for her while she’s away on this expedition, and Tissaia doesn’t want to waste what time they do have complaining, though she’s sorely tempted to.

“You aren’t jealous, are you?” Rita asks.

That Rita is far away on an isolated research expedition led by an elven sorceress widely believed to be the most beautiful woman in the world? “Of course not.”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about, my dear.” Tissaia tries not to bristle at the smile she hears in Rita’s voice. “I much prefer a sullen, sour-faced paramour. Someone strict and judgmental, who really can’t take a joke.”

“What a relief,” Tissaia says dryly, and is rewarded with another peal of Rita’s tinny laughter.

“Just a few more weeks,” Rita says, finally relenting in her teasing. “A month, at most.”

“It’s not the same without you here,” Tissaia says, because she cannot bring herself to say, I miss you.

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