bakerstreet | ( nursed back to health shipping meme. )

And are you going to be good?

[ She knows better than to expect any man to actually listen to everything a healer says. Her own riders like to push their luck when it comes to their recovery, and she knows enough about witchers now to know that their healing rates differ from a full human's. Who knows how Eskel will react to being told he has to stay in bed for a few days.

She smirks and picks at a stain on her trousers. ] Hard to find anything still shining out on the plains. Too dusty.

Yeah, I'll be good. Have to be, if I don't make it home for the winter, you're going to have some very nosy, very irritable witchers on your doorstep and I'd hate for that to happen. [He piles some of the cured meats on the bread to multitask on the efficient way he's scarfing down his dinner.] And yet there you were, like a beacon in the blood and the smoke and the mud.

Well, if they're anything like you are, I don't really see why that would be a problem... [ She's enjoyed their acquaintance, so far. Though if the witchers descended upon the Riddermark to avenge a fallen comrade, they might be a little less pleasant than Eskel's been so far. ]

Are you a poet as well as a witcher, Eskel?

A poet? Not on your life. A few stray kind words here and there doesn't make a poet of a witcher. [He finishes the meal and sets the plate aside so he can return to his ale.] Not of this one, anyway.

[ She's smiling as she watches him, amused and a little flattered by his kind words. Tipping her head slightly to one side, she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. ] Why not?

Not silly enough to be a poet. Just don't see the world the way they do. For one thing, witchers just aren't capable of the depth of feeling. Haven't you heard? Witchers don't have emotions. Or souls. You need both to be a poet.

[ Her smile fading slightly, she tips her head a little more and draws her eyebrows together, watching him silently for a moment before humming. ] I don't think I believe that.

Believe me or don't, that's what they tell us. Everybody knows they bleed all the human feeling out of us. [He shrugs. He's not entirely sure that's true, or maybe he's just broken. Or that something went wrong with the witchers at his school, because as far as he can tell, they all feel far more than they should. Though Eskel of the lot of them seems best at managing these non-existant feelings.]

Everybody knows? The same way everybody knows that witchers are so mutated they don't look human below the belt? [ She settles her hands in her lap, lacing her fingers together, and gives him a tight little smile. ] All I know is I've had my hands all over your thighs and you seem fairly human to me.

[ She mirrors his shrug. ] Far be it from me to tell you what you do or don't feel, but I hope you realize that not everyone believes everything they are told.

No, I imagine you most of all don't take anything without a great deal of thinking and questioning over it. Probably why you're such a good leader, somebody your soldiers look to. [He says, his tone serious when he says it.] Even if some of your questions are little brazen. [His tone turns teasing and he makes a vague gesture at the blanket in his lap.]

I think it's mostly just that I don't like being told what to do, really. [ Well, that's part of it. The other part is that Éomer has been training with an éored since before she started bleeding, when she was as flat as a boy and barely taller than a single barrel. She's been riding on patrols with these men for a solid decade, now, leading them for half of that time. They trust her, because she's proven herself to them. And, she's privately certain, because a shieldmaiden is even more of a rarity than a witcher, these days, and they're rather proud of themselves that they have one in their midst.

Unrepentant, she just grins at him, her teeth flashing white in the warm light from the fire. ]

Listen, there's no telling when next I'll meet a witcher. I was curious, and who better to ask than someone who'd know first-hand?

Well, now I've told you and lost all my sense of mystery. [Her smile is nice, he lets himself think for half a moment before he pushes the thought away, his yellow eyes chasing some meaningless shadow across the wall, away from her face.]

[ She's quiet for a moment, just watching him in the warm, flickering light, noting the way he looks away from her and curious as to why he decided to avert his gaze. ]

I wouldn't say that... [ There are some things she's very familiar with, like the bright coppery smell of his blood, and the feel of his breath hitting her face as she leans over his chest to stitch him up, but she actually knows very little about him. She'd like to know more. ] There's plenty about you that's mysterious to me.

Good news, I'm stuck here for a while, so if you have a bearing need to know, I can't exactly escape your curiosity.[He's not sure why she's so curious and it makes him feel unsure in his footing.] But I warn you, if you're in search of grandiose adventure, you're asking the wrong witcher. I'm a professional, and most of my jobs are shit. Like clearing off wargs.

You may be stuck here, but we won't be staying long. [ The Riddermark is large, and even though she's not officially allowed to patrol it any longer, Wormtongue's reach is greatly diminished all the way out here, and she will continue to do her duty to her uncle regardless of what a piece of parchment says about it. ] After we refill our provisions, we'll be leaving. Either tomorrow or the day after.

[He figured she'd be moving out eventually, and he supposes there's no reason for her to stay too long in town. Still, he doubts many else will keep a witcher company.] Better make good use of the time then. [He stretches his good arm and shifts so that he's laying on his good side.]

[ He might find himself surprised. Or he might not. Who's to say?

She shifts a little, stretching her legs out again, and eyes him consideringly. Might as well be honest, even if it won't get her anywhere. ] It really is such a shame you're so badly injured. It's not often I meet a handsome man not under my direct command.

[ Hopefully he's not too shocked by her bluntness. But then again, he should be used to it by now. ]

[Shocked? No. Surprised and a little confused? Yes, and it shows in the ruin of his face. He supposes that might be where her line of inquiry had been headed, but he's surprised she's still chasing after it. Even now, as he's laying in front of her with almost the whole violent geography of his body bare to her, with plenty of time to look at him and remember that's he's a witcher, a being most people consider more beast than man and if he's being honest, he considers himself a pretty mangled specimen even among that number. He feels extra aware of the way his mouth doesn't quiet close properly, the way things pull awkwardly when he smiles. Things he never thinks about because pretty, ruthlessly competent, and brave women never look at him for very long.] Well, well. [He says it with more bravado than he feels.] Guess you'll have to come back this way to see if I'm feeling better at some point.

[ Well, at least he didn't try to tell her she's being foolish and list all the reasons she shouldn't want him. That would not have gone over very well. In her opinion, Eskel is a perfectly reasonable choice for a brief dalliance: for one thing, he cannot get her with child, which is definitely something worth considering for a woman who has built her career on being childless. For another, his transient lifestyle means he wouldn't expect her to sleep with him and then immediately make a home for him to return to, or to cook him meals, or to clean his clothes for him. He seems to respect her as a person and a warrior both, so he's unlikely to try to do some ridiculous heroics to save her should she be in danger and get himself hurt in the meantime.

The scarring he bears is extensive, yes. She's not blind. But she has a fair few scars of her own, and she's able to look past the worst of it to see what lies beneath. She's had her hands more or less all over his body, and she's able to look her fill right now, and the muscle filling out his broad frame is appealing indeed.

Even the scar on his face seems less fearsome the more she looks at it. Idly, she wonders what it might be like to kiss him with that torn lip of his, how it would feel against her skin. ]

Perhaps I will. If you haven't already packed up and left, of course.

Guess you'll have to find out, it'll be a surprise. [She probably won't be back, he thinks. Not before he's well enough to ride north, towards home. And even if she is, this passing fancy will have...well, passed and she won't look at him the way she's looking at him right now. And that will be just fine, won't it? He would thank her for saving his life and then he would ride northward and it would be fine. His brothers would tease him about turning down the only women to show any interest in him for years, but it would be better that way. Wouldn't it?]

[ She might not be back, but not because she would have lost interest. Sadly, leading an éored means not following her own whims, but doing what is in the best interest of her men. If it were up to her, perhaps she would linger in town until he was feeling better. But that would be selfish of her, and she's spent more than half her life being trained out of that impulse. ]

Something to look forward to, then. [ Even just the thought of those big hands of his touching her body will keep her warm at night for a time, which is a pleasant change of pace. ] Maybe I'll have even found a colt or a filly for you to take back with you to your brothers. Show them what good horseflesh is really like.

[Ah, this is more familiar territory.] I'd like that. The horses here are beautiful; to get any so fine in the northern lands you'd have to win one off a noble in a game of chance. [He's not sure his brothers would care too much one way or another, but he would welcome the opportunity to show off.]

[ It's almost a little sad to see the subtle changes in him as he relaxes. She's fairly certain he's not disinterested in her offer — she's spent enough time taking lovers as she fancies to be able to tell when a man is interested in her sexually — but she has a feeling he's simply unused to being propositioned. He had said he didn't have a sweetheart, and he didn't go to visit whores often because they were usually afraid of him.

What a shame. ]

Ah, but then you run the risk of said noble crying foul and claiming you stole from him.

Yeah but if I'm on his prize racehorse, he'd have a damn hard time catching me! [He jokes.] In any case, I'd pay you whatever I could get in the meanwhile, if you came back with one of your horses.

[ She laughs, reaching out and kicking the edge of the bed gently before deciding to toe out of her boots. ] Alright, that's a fair point.

I will, then, [ she continues, bending over to put her boots aside a little more out of the way so there's no risk of tripping over them later. ] Come back to you with a horse in tow. When I am able to.

( nursed back to health shipping meme. )

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