"Finished!" Angoulême exclaims and starts to dance circles around the victim of her wager. "I bet nobody'd take him for a Nilfgaardian now!" she adds with a raucous cackle that reminds strongly of a goose on fisstech.
"Not if they're in their right mind, no," Milva snickers, looking at her so clearly non-Nilfgaardian friend. He is sitting on a tree stub with a pained expression, his longish, brown curls braided into a score or so, more or less tidy plaits of different sizes. The new hairstyle looks so hilarious on the former commander general, it takes all her strength of will not to explode with laughter.
"Wait, there's something still missing!" Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Jaskier picks a handful of yellow, red and purple asters that grow plentiful in the clearing Geralt chose for their lunch break and begins to decorate the braids with the colourful blossoms. Angoulême gives another cackle and joins the bard in his demanding task.
"Gods, Geralt, will you just kill me now?" Cahir groans, looking toward the Witcher who is stoically watching the scene from a little distance.
"Sorry, not today," Geralt says with a not very successfully concealed smirk. "It's your own fault, too. Everybody knows Angoulême's a—"
"—hog when it comes to eating," Regis finishes Geralt's sentence, smiling through pursed lips as is his custom. "You did not in all seriousness believe you could eat up the loaf of bread faster than our rascal here, did you?"
"Of course, I did not, I'm not delusional," Cahir huffs, shaking his head and the flowery plaits with it. "Just wanted the little punk to have some harmless fun. I thought she'd ask me to teach her some tricks with a sword, or how to fish. Something useful. How could I anticipate this here's her idea of fun?"
"Braiding might still turn out to be a handy skill one of these days, who knows?" Regis muses sagely. Then he grins from ear to ear, his pointed vampire teeth shining in the bright sunlight. "By the way, you look adorable, Cahir. But why don't we all get ourselves a new hairstyle? I'm sure, Angoulême is not tired of hairdressing yet. I volunteer to be next. Or would you like to go first, Geralt? You've got the perfect hair for braids ..."
And so it happens that, by the end of their lunch break on this remarkable and, for once, sunny September afternoon, every single member of Geralt's Hanza is sporting a rich assortment of blossom-studded braids. Nobody in their right mind would take them for Nilfgaardians, that much is certain. And even less so for a Witcher and a higher vampire.