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.
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."
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."
"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."
"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.
"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 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.
Eskel comes back to a room that has his things but is missing his charge. He sighs heavily and sits on the bed for a while. He doesn't think he did anything wrong, so he's not sure what he should apologize for. He knows he ought to apologize as a matter of decorum, as soon as he figures out what he's meant to feel badly about. Upsetting her, he supposes, even if he doesn't know how he managed to do that.
Eventually, he gets up to look for her, finding her in the stables fussing over Scorpion, who is melting into her hands like a spoiled dog, the stallion's ears pricked attentively to her murmurings.
Eskel clears his throat softly to announce his presence.
She knows there's an awful lot that comes with the care and keeping of a horse, that simply petting one and telling him how beautiful he is isn't even remotely what it's really like to be responsible for one, but she has to admit that she likes it so far.
Not that Scorpion's hers, of course. But he's a lovely boy, and a very good listener, and there's something soothing about his soft, whiskery nose nudging at her hands any time she slows down too much for his liking.
She hears Eskel long before he clears his throat, but still she doesn't turn to see him.
Absently, she wishes she hadn't left the shield in the room with all his bags. It would have been nice to feel her spine protected.
"Come back to the room, will ya?" He asks. "I don't want you to be off by yourself too much." That's probably just digging himself a deeper grave, but it has to be said. "I'll order a bottle and we can talk, okay? I can't promise I'll do it right or whatever but...I know it ain't right to just leave it as it is, alright?"
Maybe he has a point, but she doesn't want to hear it, her shoulders drawing tensely up closer to her ears as she stubbornly keeps petting Scorpion. She's spent so much of her lift fending for herself, resenting charity when it was offered, and surprise surprise, she's no different now.
"Alcohol doesn't affect me," she reminds him. "You'll be wasting your money."
"Shit, I'm not trying to get you drunk." He says, feeling stung that she would think that, or insinuate it. "Maybe it's for me, not for you. And it's good vodka." Okay, it's...middling. Whatever.
He stares at her back.
"Would it be better if I went and did something else?" He asks. "Scorpion's brushing stuff and some treats should be with his saddle, if you think he might like that. I'm...gonna go, I guess. Before I make anymore trouble for myself. Just know I wanna sort this out at some point, I guess." He shrugs, turning on his heel with the intent of going to change his shirt and dig out his Gwent deck.
"That is not what I said," she protests, finally turning slightly so she can look at him over her shoulder again. She knows he's not trying to get her drunk for nefarious purposes. Obviously. But if he's hoping some alcohol will soothe her sharp temper, if he thinks it might be easier to have a heart-to-heart when they're tipsy, he's wasting his time.
"And I don't know how to brush him, so knowing where his combs are isn't going to do much for me. Or him, I guess."
But maybe it would be good for them both to have a little time apart from each other. It's not exactly like they chose to travel together or anything. And if the next leg of their journey is going to be as isolated as he says it will, one last hurrah of civilization could be good. If that's what he wants.
"It's pretty intuitive." He says, of the brushes. "I'll probably be in the dining room, I won't go too far."
He'll certainly be easy to spot whenever she decides to come back inside, dressed in a flashy bright red shirt, hunched in a corner with his back to the wall. His Gwent deck and a rapidly disappearing bottle of pepper vodka on the table before him.
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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.
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"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."
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"I don't like the way they treat you," she says, like her opinion means anything. "I don't like how you let them."
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"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."
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"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.
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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.
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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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Eventually, he gets up to look for her, finding her in the stables fussing over Scorpion, who is melting into her hands like a spoiled dog, the stallion's ears pricked attentively to her murmurings.
Eskel clears his throat softly to announce his presence.
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Not that Scorpion's hers, of course. But he's a lovely boy, and a very good listener, and there's something soothing about his soft, whiskery nose nudging at her hands any time she slows down too much for his liking.
She hears Eskel long before he clears his throat, but still she doesn't turn to see him.
Absently, she wishes she hadn't left the shield in the room with all his bags. It would have been nice to feel her spine protected.
"Yes?"
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"Alcohol doesn't affect me," she reminds him. "You'll be wasting your money."
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He stares at her back.
"Would it be better if I went and did something else?" He asks. "Scorpion's brushing stuff and some treats should be with his saddle, if you think he might like that. I'm...gonna go, I guess. Before I make anymore trouble for myself. Just know I wanna sort this out at some point, I guess." He shrugs, turning on his heel with the intent of going to change his shirt and dig out his Gwent deck.
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"And I don't know how to brush him, so knowing where his combs are isn't going to do much for me. Or him, I guess."
But maybe it would be good for them both to have a little time apart from each other. It's not exactly like they chose to travel together or anything. And if the next leg of their journey is going to be as isolated as he says it will, one last hurrah of civilization could be good. If that's what he wants.
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He'll certainly be easy to spot whenever she decides to come back inside, dressed in a flashy bright red shirt, hunched in a corner with his back to the wall. His Gwent deck and a rapidly disappearing bottle of pepper vodka on the table before him.