Free drinks.

Free drinks.

Free –

“Fuck, I think I’m going to vomit."

“Disgusting! Make sure you get as far away from us as you possibly can!” spat a loud minstrel, was that Jaskier?

“Not here,” grunted another – clearly Geralt.

“For fuck’s sake, Dandelion.” A tone of utter disappointment laced that last one. It could only be the White Wolf.

From all three statements, Dandelion understood that the rant about his physical intoxication – and all implications tied to it – was unwanted in anyone’s vicinity.

Their reaction was completely self-explanatory. The moment the sun had set and the village lit up the bonfire to start serving food and liquor for all people to feast upon, Dandelion was doomed – in the most delightful way possible. He had drunk more in the past hours than he had in the past two months combined.

“Fine, fine, I’m going!” he grunted, wobbling upwards to make way out of the group amassed in a circle.

Was it just him or was everyone rocking back and forth?

He chuckled. Their faces looked funny.

“Careful. And don’t get yourself killed.”

He was given a helpful push from the back to regain his posture – or at least try not to fall off on his face. He guessed it was the White Wolf’s doing, who was as spent as the rest of them after sharing his not-suspicious-at-all vials. Dandelion had a sip – one! – and he was knocked out instantaneously.

It was a fun experience, nevertheless. Well, minus the aftermath which had Dandelion’s stomach turn upside down the second he settled on his two feet.

“Oh, fuuuck!”

The curse stretched for as long as he sprinted – or rather staggered – to the closest alleyway. The content of the past two hours’ worth of drinking was spilled on the corner of the closest wall, and thank the gods, emptying his stomach helped knock some sense back into his disoriented mind.

The world was still rocking on a boat eyesight-wise, so he rested his back against the wall to regain his breath. It was a fun night, surely, but the hangover promised to be anything but. Good thing he had left Salmon by Geralt’s side earlier, else he would have hated her witnessing so humiliating a side of his – he was a responsible parent, alright!

“Come on, let’s do it!”

“Here?”

“Yes here!”

The whispered exchange was accompanied by a series of giggles. Dandelion turned his head to the other end of the alleyway to identify, with squinted eyes, the shape of two moon-kissed individuals humping each other in the open.

“Disgraceful,” he mumbled to himself, then kept watching.

They kissed deeply – no, Dandelion corrected himself, disgustingly deep – then the woman’s dress was swayed up and her legs followed. Her moans broke out in the open like an impaled pigeon’s cries, god was she loud, and the man buried his face into her bosom, god was he indecent, and the two rose and fell until nothing else but their lascivious sounds were heard in the circumference.

God was this… tempting.

The encounter lasted faster than it started, shameful, and soon Dandelion’s presence was noticed and with a loud gasp and a few shouted curses, the two lovebirds scampered off elsewhere.

He was left alone with his thoughts – and hard-on.

“Curse my luck.”

He peeled his back off the wall and made back to his group. Upon his return, he noticed that Geralt and Jaskier went missing and the White Wolf was now sitting alone nestling a tankard of ale recently refilled.

“Terrible coping mechanism,” announced Dandelion upon approach, “Would strongly advise against it.”

The White Wolf scoffed, then took a swig, “Wise words from the man who chugged a dozen.”

“I’m feeling refreshed now, mind you,” he shrugged, crossing his arms. He did, though the lingering drowsiness was still strongly present, occasionally slurring his speech. “Where did those imbeciles go to now?”

The White Wolf opened his mouth but Dandelion was already raising a hand to stop him.

“Save it. I say good riddance to both. That aside…” He stumbled over a few legs and apologized to whomever they belonged, then leaned down to the White Wolf’s vicinity. “I have a grand idea as to where we could spend the rest of our evening, my dear friend.”

He received nothing further than a quirked eyebrow. Dandelion took that as the White Wolf’s way of showing complete interest. He was quick to flash a grin and tip his head towards town.

“Brothels and sweet company, Little Wolf, need I say more?”

Heavy footsteps trudged past the old shop’s threshold. The bell hanging above the door rattled in alarm. Behind the counter, the shop owner, who had been busy neatly ordering his vials on the shelves, turned a merry head over his shoulder. His features grew instantly pale at the sight of his customer.

A shadow loomed over the surface of the counter and a threateningly broad hand dipped under a cloak to withdraw – to the shop owner’s relief – a harmless pouch. He proceeded to unlace it and spill its content onto the counter. The shop owner’s back fell flat against the rack of shelves he spent the past hours putting into order, now half of its content spilled. He brought a hand to cover his nose at the foul smell that unleashed, a sign of utter disgust painting his expression as he caught sight of the rotten blood-smeared fangs and canines rolling on the surface.

“Three towns. Three roads,” announced the gruff voice of the cloaked figure. “All travelers should be on the clear for now.”

“You’re –" the shop owner breathed through his mouth. The setting confused him, if anything, but the sight of the rests spilled onto his counter – as repulsive as they were– were good news considering how big of a threat the beasts they belonged to had been to the neighboring towns. “Who hired you?”

“Your brother.” His head suddenly rose, golden hues shining in the dim light, threateningly cold. “Payment.”

“O-Of course,” stuttered the man. He reached to empty his drawer from all coins he had earned throughout the day – unfortunately not much – then reluctantly placed the lonely pieces under the other’s judgmental stare.

A rough-skinned palm came slamming the surface of the counter, sending a few bloody teeth flying to the ground.

“Six slaughtered packs, each a dozen. And you’re giving me this?”

“I – I didn’t know my fool of a brother would hire a witcher!” cried the shop owner, fearful for his life. He patted his chest for a hidden key, “Just – give me a second. I’ll fetch what I can find!”

Turning to open the door to the storage room, he disappeared for a good couple of minutes. Left alone, the White Wolf uncloaked his hooded head to uncover a bundle of disheveled, mud-drenched silver strands and a skin that turned dark with dirt. He was desperate for a bath and a bed, but without the promised payment, he was far from affording either.

Travelling alone had drained his pockets and depleted his stock. This world was clearly no different than his, but it provided far more challenges than he was used to. It was unbelievable how he had run into drowners far more often in the past four days than he had in his entire life. No matter how many he slaughtered, more and more popped up like mushrooms. He eventually had to give up and run.

The shop owner returned with a large smile, having collected his demeanor in the spare room, and placed in front of the White Wolf a few more coins and a set of vials that looked undeniably suspicious.

“I said coin not scraps,” he barked, his patience drawing thin.

“Wait! Hear me out,” announced the round-bellied man, both arms raised in defense, “Since you’ve come into town you might have noticed the start of the summer harvest celebration. It’s a grand time for all shops to make good investments and earn their living. I promise you by tomorrow morning that I would’ve made enough for us both to live off from for months to come. I’ll even add in an extra few coin as a gift. Until then, and to apologize earnestly for the wait, I offer you the ultimate set of the most delicious and thrilling liquor my shop can provide. One sip of one of these and you’ll save yourself the trouble of ordering ten expensive mugs of ale. It’s the strongest ever distilled. A family secret. Care to give it a try?”

A scoff erupted from the ill-humored man.

“An underpaid witcher is terrible enough. Try poisoning one and you’ll be dead before your head hits the floor.”