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"I'll figure it out eventually," she threatens as he turns and walks out of the shop, secure in his victory. She'd be more annoyed, but she is secretly tickled by the shield, even if it's not the one she's spent so many years handling.
After a brief thanks to the merchant, she follows Eskel back into the market proper, the shield strapped to her back, a comfortable weight that settles her even in this strange, unfamiliar place.
After a brief thanks to the merchant, she follows Eskel back into the market proper, the shield strapped to her back, a comfortable weight that settles her even in this strange, unfamiliar place.
"No you won't, this is our last stop before home." He counters, grinning. She looks more comfortable, strangely. Even in foreign clothes, with an approximation of her weapon, she seems more on her feet. He likes it and he might be starting to believe she's as adaptable as she's insisted. Which is good, he needs that assurance now, he can already tell his mind is wandering up the trail ahead of them, to other worries.
"I said, I'll figure it out."
It's easier, weirdly, to walk around with the hard pressure of the shield at her back. People have been moving out of their way all day, giving them a bit more of a berth than they would any old villager, but it seems to be less noticeable now, or at least she can appreciate it more now that she takes up more room.
Suddenly, she makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Do you— no, your hair's too short, isn't it." She looks around at the stalls around them. "I wouldn't mind something to bind up my hair with," she explains. "I had a tie when I got here, but it broke."
It's easier, weirdly, to walk around with the hard pressure of the shield at her back. People have been moving out of their way all day, giving them a bit more of a berth than they would any old villager, but it seems to be less noticeable now, or at least she can appreciate it more now that she takes up more room.
Suddenly, she makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Do you— no, your hair's too short, isn't it." She looks around at the stalls around them. "I wouldn't mind something to bind up my hair with," she explains. "I had a tie when I got here, but it broke."
"I've probably got some leather lacing or twine or somethin' in my bags. Always got random useful bits laying around." He offers her a wry smile. "Unless you want a cute little ribbon or somethin'."
She wrinkles her nose at him, still so pleased by the shield that she finds it too difficult to remain cross for any longer than a second or two.
"Ribbons are useless for hair," she declares, like she really has any idea. "Twine might be alright." She'll have to make do with braids or a pony tails. She doesn't know how to make a piece of leather lacing work with a messy bun. If only her hair elastic hadn't broken.
"Ribbons are useless for hair," she declares, like she really has any idea. "Twine might be alright." She'll have to make do with braids or a pony tails. She doesn't know how to make a piece of leather lacing work with a messy bun. If only her hair elastic hadn't broken.
"Easily done." He says, leading her along through the market. "Just one more stop, but let me know if you see anything you want for lunch." There's all kinds of skewered roasted meat (lamb or mutton by the smell), handpies shining crisp and golden, donuts bobbing in hot lard, ciders sharp and cold from deep cellars.
Far less burdened than Eskel, Stephanie follows him curiously through the market, still fascinated by the hustle and bustle around them as they go.
"I could always eat," she says off-hand, her eye caught by the food on display. She's always hungry, thanks to the serum, and the food that seems to be on offer is the kind of dense, high-calorie stuff that really whets her whistle.
"I could always eat," she says off-hand, her eye caught by the food on display. She's always hungry, thanks to the serum, and the food that seems to be on offer is the kind of dense, high-calorie stuff that really whets her whistle.
He slips her a coin, another dull flat silver thing. "Make sure to ask for change, but that should get you a couple of things at least." And then, lest she think this is just for her benefit. "Get me one of those donuts, huh? They smell like they just went in."
All the coins she's seen him handle today look the same. At some point, she's going to have to steal Eskel's wallet so she can study them and try to figure out what's what.
Giving him an arch look for a moment, she does wander off to purchase a few things that look appealing, chatting with the sellers and trying to ignore the way they stare incredulously at her. Should she try to be colder, more aloof? From what she's heard Eskel say about sorceresses, she assumes they tend to hold themselves apart from others, and since everyone seems to assume that's what she is...
No, it's not in her nature. What is, apparently, is an almost rigid sense of fairness, which is why she returns with two of all the things she'd been eyeing, one for her and one for Eskel. Including the donuts.
Giving him an arch look for a moment, she does wander off to purchase a few things that look appealing, chatting with the sellers and trying to ignore the way they stare incredulously at her. Should she try to be colder, more aloof? From what she's heard Eskel say about sorceresses, she assumes they tend to hold themselves apart from others, and since everyone seems to assume that's what she is...
No, it's not in her nature. What is, apparently, is an almost rigid sense of fairness, which is why she returns with two of all the things she'd been eyeing, one for her and one for Eskel. Including the donuts.
"Mm, thanks." He says, balancing the bags over his shoulder as he takes the donut from her, hot and shining with oil. He grins with obvious, almost boyish pleasure before he snaps down the donut with his usual ravenous efficiency. He studies her haul. "Took yourself on a nice little tour, eh?" He teases, though he's glad she's enjoying herself. He tries not to think about how charmed he is by how polite she is in her crisp but easy way, how quickly she looks less and less out of place in his world.
She just smirks at him, arching her eyebrows coyly at him as she hands off his donut to him.
"Everyone was perfectly nice to me as soon as they say my money," she quips, waiting to see him finished before she hands him one of the small meat pies she bought too.
"Everyone was perfectly nice to me as soon as they say my money," she quips, waiting to see him finished before she hands him one of the small meat pies she bought too.
"That's how you do it." He says. "A little coin'll get you anywhere." He says. He's surprised when she hands him one of the meat pies but doesn't argue. "It's the only saving grace of a witcher: our coin spends as well as any man's. Speaking of, this guy I have to get stuff from is gonna haggle and get snippy. Ignore him." She's been sensitive enough to his accounts of how witchers are treated that he cannot help but imagine her making a bit of a scene over someone who wants to make him fight for his goods.
She's about to protest that statement of his — in her experience, witchers (admittedly, her sample size is small, but she still thinks her point stands) have many saving graces, and their money is only one of them — when he carries on, making her narrow her eyes at him.
"What, exactly, are you expecting?"
"What, exactly, are you expecting?"
"He's gonna try and dick me in the cost of blacksmithing supplies." Eskel sighs. "He knows he's the only game in town and I need his shit. Just as he knows that I've been out in the world and know what the costs are." He shakes his head. "He'll sell to me, he just wants me to work for it and he's gonna overcharge me anyway, I just get to haggle about how much." He points at her with half of his meat pie, his expression a fond kind of warning. "Behave." He says. "I'll handle it."
She opens her mouth to protest when he cuts her off by pointing at her with his food still in his hand, prompting her to snap her mouth shut and huff at him.
"No promises," she mutters, though she's smiling a little. She'll let him handle it, this is his world and he knows what he's doing, but she's also aware enough of herself to know she can't say she won't find herself stepping in anyway.
"No promises," she mutters, though she's smiling a little. She'll let him handle it, this is his world and he knows what he's doing, but she's also aware enough of herself to know she can't say she won't find herself stepping in anyway.
The blacksmith is a short, permanently flushed man with a lank bowl cut who makes Eskel wait until he's finished with his ledger before he comes around the counter to take the list Eskel hands him, jingling stacks of ingots and other supplies for repairing gear onto the counter. He quotes Eskel a number that's evidentially extravagant judging by the way Eskel immediately counters with something a third less. This goes back and forth for a while until the blacksmith smugly begins to pull one of the bags of iron back towards himself.
"You can take it or leave it, witcher, but you know nobody else in this town'll sell to a mutant." He sneers. "So that's my final office or you can crawl off to whatever hole you lot slither into come winter without your goods."
"Fine." Eskel says, throwing a handful of bright gold onto the countertop. He turns to Steph, offering her the bags of dry goods so they can split the load.
"Lend me hand?" He asks.
"You can take it or leave it, witcher, but you know nobody else in this town'll sell to a mutant." He sneers. "So that's my final office or you can crawl off to whatever hole you lot slither into come winter without your goods."
"Fine." Eskel says, throwing a handful of bright gold onto the countertop. He turns to Steph, offering her the bags of dry goods so they can split the load.
"Lend me hand?" He asks.
Stephanie is well-versed enough in the art of haggling to believe both that the blacksmith is trying to charge far more and that Eskel is trying to pay far less than what the supplies are worth, but she's also aware that Eskel doesn't have a lot of bargaining power here. Despite the fact that if the blacksmith doesn't sell to him, he might not be able to unload those supplies, his prejudice is making that seem like an outcome he's willing to risk.
But, because she did sort-of promise to hold her tongue, she satisfies herself with just hovering over his shoulder and glaring at the short, red-faced man and hoping that her presence will be unsettling enough that this won't take all day.
When Eskel finally capitulates, she can feel her frown deepening, so much so that she knows she's scowling when he turns back to her and holds out one of his current burdens so he can accept even more.
She does, at least, bite her tongue in front of their audience, though.
But, because she did sort-of promise to hold her tongue, she satisfies herself with just hovering over his shoulder and glaring at the short, red-faced man and hoping that her presence will be unsettling enough that this won't take all day.
When Eskel finally capitulates, she can feel her frown deepening, so much so that she knows she's scowling when he turns back to her and holds out one of his current burdens so he can accept even more.
She does, at least, bite her tongue in front of their audience, though.
Eskel's pretty sure he can feel Steph scowling the whole time, but he's grateful that she holds her tongue, offering her a murmur of thanks as she takes the dry goods from him so he can take the blacksmithing supplies.
"Back to the inn." He says, and once there's a little ways away, adds: "Thank you for keeping quiet. It would have just made the whole thing take longer."
"Back to the inn." He says, and once there's a little ways away, adds: "Thank you for keeping quiet. It would have just made the whole thing take longer."
She hoists the sacks of grain and everything else he's purchased already like they weigh very little, balancing them in her arms with only a brief moment of struggling to get them situated, and then she returns to giving him a very disappointed look as they walk away.
"I don't like the way they treat you," she says, like her opinion means anything. "I don't like how you let them."
"I don't like the way they treat you," she says, like her opinion means anything. "I don't like how you let them."
"When we get where we're going, I can show you some eerily detailed etchings of what happens to witchers who don't let them." He says, curtly. "Better to be short a few crowns than invite trouble."
He can be as curt with her as he likes, it's not going to smooth out the frown wrinkling the skin between her eyebrows.
"I know perfectly well what happens when the downtrodden few stand up to the masses who've been taught to hate them," she says, equally curt. "It doesn't make it right."
"I know perfectly well what happens when the downtrodden few stand up to the masses who've been taught to hate them," she says, equally curt. "It doesn't make it right."
"You don't understand." He says. "But you will when we get where we're going." He says, shaking his heavy head. "Why I can't take the risk, why it has to be this way. You'd do better to let it go, just in case somebody makes trouble before I manage to leave town. Ain't work getting your drawers in a twist about, alright?"
She stops in her tracks for a moment, looking at him over her shoulder, before shaking her head slightly.
"Maybe I don't understand your world," she admits. "But you certainly don't understand mine."
She doesn't understand? She understands plenty, thank you. She's seen countless times the way humans can be cruel to each other, forget how they treat those they view as different. She still has nightmares that have her thrashing herself awake about what it was like to walk into Buchenwald, to see the horrors wrought therein.
"Don't patronize me."
Thankfully, her memory and sense of direction means she can find her way back to the inn on her own, which makes the way she turns on her heel and starts walking away less of a flounce and more of a dramatic exit.
"Maybe I don't understand your world," she admits. "But you certainly don't understand mine."
She doesn't understand? She understands plenty, thank you. She's seen countless times the way humans can be cruel to each other, forget how they treat those they view as different. She still has nightmares that have her thrashing herself awake about what it was like to walk into Buchenwald, to see the horrors wrought therein.
"Don't patronize me."
Thankfully, her memory and sense of direction means she can find her way back to the inn on her own, which makes the way she turns on her heel and starts walking away less of a flounce and more of a dramatic exit.
"That's not what I meant--fuck." Eskel groans. He's not going into chase her. If she knows where she's going, great, he'll follow after her. Give himself time to get his head on straight.
This why he doesn't keep fucking company, he thinks. Sooner or later he's bound to put his foot in his mouth exactly like this.
This why he doesn't keep fucking company, he thinks. Sooner or later he's bound to put his foot in his mouth exactly like this.
This is just like the way things were with Bucky when they fought; sometimes they'd just need to separate themselves for a minute or two to let their tempers cool, usually with Bucky taking himself out onto the fire escape so he could smoke while she scowled at her art supplies and tried to focus on what she was working on at that moment.
Eventually, they'd slink back into each other's company. Sometimes they'd even apologize.
She's not expecting an apology today.
By the time Eskel makes it back to the inn, she'll have stashed his purchases in their little room and then immediately left again to sequester herself in the stables, finding Scorpion's stall and fussing over him to give herself something to do with her hands. She can't exactly groom him or do anything useful, but she can pet his soft nose and mutter grumpily to him, and he very kindly obliges her by listening patiently.
Eventually, they'd slink back into each other's company. Sometimes they'd even apologize.
She's not expecting an apology today.
By the time Eskel makes it back to the inn, she'll have stashed his purchases in their little room and then immediately left again to sequester herself in the stables, finding Scorpion's stall and fussing over him to give herself something to do with her hands. She can't exactly groom him or do anything useful, but she can pet his soft nose and mutter grumpily to him, and he very kindly obliges her by listening patiently.
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