"-and then the disgusting thing's guts exploded all over me!"
"Yes. Drowners, as you call them, are rather unpleasant beings. Their diets make their entrails rather potent and pungent."
"They smell like shit, you mean."
Geralt sighed through his nose, some of his more anti-social tendencies arising. Talking animals - Geralt didn't like talking animals. He didn't love talking in general, but especially when animals did it. But now they had one, one who Philippa couldn't seem to get enough of. They had been talking their whole way east, or rather, Philippa was talking while Spirit listened, a perfectly satisfactory situation for the two of them - ancient spirits had much catching up to do after all, and Philippa loved the sound of her own voice, though she asked many questions, seeing what she could learn from the ancient spirit. They had been talking no-stop for HOURS.
Geralt grumbled loudly in front of them, and Roach brayed.
"The white-haired one seems agitated." Spirit noted.
"Oh, him? He's just not much of a conversationalist." Philippa quipped with a smile. "A regular misanthrope."
"I'm not a misanthrope, and stop calling me 'white-haired one'" Geralt muttered.
"Don't pay him any mind." Philippa told spirit. "He's just mad his stead can't talk."
"Me and Roach perfectly understand each other." Geralt said, rubbing the side of Roach's neck. "Roach can think like me, and I can think like a horse."
Roach brayed in agreement
"A Horse's arse, maybe." Philippa snickered. Geralt looked over his shoulder and gave her toothless glare, before looking back forward at the road ahead Once they got closer to the city, the roads would be less scant, and talking to horses typically raised some eyebrows. They were about 2 hours out from Oxenfurt, at the edge of Temaria's north border of the Pontar river. They ran into an influx of Redanian guards, which they tried to avoid. The guards didn't seem to pay them much mind, though, looking haggard and wary on their patrols.
Geralt was no stranger to roughing it as a Witcher, and cities in general made him a bit anxious (most places that weren't Kaer Morhen did), but Geralt did like Oxenfurt, having stayed been there a handful of times. He had taken some classes at The Academy decades back, and Dandelion was often a staple there - he hadn't been there in years, though. Philippa had been there more times than she could remember, seeing it in various states over centuries. While she preferred the seclusion of her castle in the mountains, Oxenfurt was a pleasant place to spend a few weeks out the year - she had been invited to give some guest lectures at the Academy numerous times over the years, but she much preferred to just enjoy the city, and the youthful energy it exuded, not to mention all the young women with more…'libertine' sensibilities. But at the moment, the city presented several opportunities and goals. Witchering Jobs, warm beds, and information. Finding The Bloody Baron's daughter in a city of fifteen thousand wouldn't be easy, but it at least they'd be in civilization, as they figured it out; Philippa thought she might go crazy if she had to stay in a one room in, or a bedroll another night, and even Geralt was finding the road a bit tedious.
"Alright." Geralt began. "Before we get to the main road and around too many people, let's go over some things."
"Aye aye." Philippa responded a bit flippantly.
"First - 'Tomira' needs to come back out. No one's recognized you in the country, but that won't be true for Oxenfurt."
Philippa sighed. "Right", she had quite enjoyed getting to be her self these last few weeks, but she supposed it couldn't help. She concentrated momentarily, and Tomira was sitting in her place.
"Alright, next, let's go over our stock. We're basically out of supplies, and we've no gold left. How much silver do we have?" Geralt asked.
"23." Philippa answer immediately - she had checked that morning. "But it won't matter much anyway. Currency of Oxenfurt is the Farthing. And the exchange rate was pretty ghastly before the war, so I can only imagine what it is now."
"Right." Geralt grumbled out, having forgotten that detail about the city. "Well. that brings me to my next point then - we'll need to find a job as quickly as possible, nothing that'll take us too far from the city, or even out of it if we're lucky."
"Where does a BED fit into all of this?"
"One thing at a time, Philippa."
The main road leading to the city came quickly, as did people to share the road with. Merchants, refugees, mercenary and soldiers, all in various stages of haggardness. War was good for no one, least when it's at your door step. They got stares as they rode by, looking out of place, as they often did. Philippa rode with her hood up, even in her Tomira form, she felt exposed. Geralt on the other hand was used to the stares - he didn't LIKE them, of course, but it was a burden Witcher's bared from early on.
The tall towers of the Academy came into view, standing prominently above the walls of the city. They were approaching the west gate, across a stone bridge, high over the Pontar. The bridge was sturdy, made of thick stone and brick, meant to accommodate the hundreds of people who would enter and leave the city on a daily basis - but that was before the war. Now, the crossing had slowed to a trickle. Still, there was a commotion happening on the bridge, a few dozen people, most on feet, some with carts and on horseback clamoring near the gates, shouting and yelling. Geralt and Philippa looked at each other, silently deciding to watch the scene unfold for a moment before moving forward.
There was a line of Redanian Guards, half a dozen, plus two atop the wall to man the gate - well out numbered by the crowd but armed with thick bladed Halberds and steel armor.
"I'll not say it again!" One of the guards, a stout and pale bearded one spoke, "None of you are getting in! Get back, NOW!"
More sounds of displeasure from the crowd, yelling and begging. The lead guard motioned with his hand, and the other guardsmen leveled their poleaxes towards the crowd.
"Last warning. Disperse!"
The crowd out numbered the guardsmen 6 times over, and if they really wanted to, likely could force their way in, but they didn't know that. The crowd balked at the threat of violence, slowly dispersing from the bridge. Philippa and Geralt waited for them to pass by, before moving forwards themselves. The head guard eyed them, partially in suspicion, partially in annoyance.
"For the love of - Halt! No passage." He said, holding out a hand as Geralt road close. The Witcher dismounted from Roach, talking to the man on the same level. Philippa remained on Spirit. "I swear, paupers and refugees think they can just move as they please."
"Do we look like pauper, or refugees?" Philippa asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Hm, I suppose not." The guard responded, eyeing Philippa, longer than he needed to, and if he had stared any moment longer, Philippa might have turned him into a worm. He then looked back at Geralt, looking him up and down; a expression of surprise spreading on his face as he saw Geralt's eyes.
"Case of the plague surface in the city or something?" Geralt questioned.
"The plague? Err, no." The guard said, sounding a bit unsure. "We're to not let folk in the city. It's an order, so I don't. Unless someone's got a pass."
"What kind of pass?"
"A normal one. Transit pass."
Geralt cursed in his head. Another roadblock - a literal one this time. Six guards - Geralt could probably take them without a problem, but the men on the wall posed an issue - likely armed with crossbows, plus even if they got through, an alarm would probably be raised instantly. An Axii would probably work wonders, but there were too many eyes on them. The Pontar - they didn't have a boat, but if they could somehow get around to the Harbor-
"NNNGGHHH!"
"Oh!"
Behind Geralt, Spirit suddenly reared up, and Philippa was thrown from the saddle, landing on her side.
"Ma'am!" The other guards went to attend to her, and Geralt was about to join them - but then he met Philippa's, or rather Tomira's, eyes.
A clear look; the silent communication that's grown between them. It said-
'Get to it'
"Oh my." Philippa said, hamming it up. "I'm still not used to this new stead. I think my ankle-"
The Guards gathered around her, offering hands in assistance, wanting to be the one to aid a pretty lady to their feet. Geralt glanced up quickly - the guards manning the wall were distracted by the scene. Perfect.
Before the head guard could react, Geralt's hand moved, and he whispered "Axii."
The guard made a sound, and blinked a few times, before his face went relaxed.
"We have a pass." Geralt said.
"You…have a pass." The guard repeated in a trance.
"Let us by, quickly."
The guard blinked a few more times, and shook his head.
"Erm…right. Everything seems to be in order." he turned back and looked up at the men on the wall. "They're free to pass."
Hearing that, Philippa 'miraculously' healed, hopping to her feet, and brushing herself off. "Actually, I think I'm fine. Just a bit clumsy. Come along Spirit."
The other guards were clearly a bit confused, but said nothing, not getting paid enough to question it. Geralt and Philippa remounted, riding through the gate.
"Nice thinking." Geralt smiled, "You make quite the damsel."
"If there's one thing I'll never be, it's a damsel." Philippa retorted, with no real bite to it. "Though…being saved by the right person, it's not so bad."
Geralt didn't really know what to say to that, but continued on smiling.
Even with the city closed, Oxenfurt was still bustling with thousands of people - the young kind that the city often attracted, nearly double the soldiers as well, a reminder that there was in fact a war going on outside the protected city walls.
They found a livery stable for Roach and Spirit, and that took the remainder of their silver, which was already halved from the unfavorable exchange rate.
"Alright, we need to get a job, fast." Geralt stated. "Need to find a notice board - The Alchemy is probably a good place to start."
Philippa knew of the inn - it was hardly her first choice, as it was one of the more rough and tumble inns in the city, but they literally couldn't afford to be picky. It was a bit strange for Philippa to move through the city as anyone but herself; Philippa Eilhart traveled through Oxenfurt with poise, often with a posse of attendants, she stayed in the Mayor's mansion as a guest, or in one of the nicer chambers of The Academy, but Tomira - she trudged through the streets just like anyone else, standing in the mud, bumping shoulders without even the briefest of apologies.
They arrived outside The Alchemy, in the city's market square. People shopped, merchant hocked their wares, there were actors and singers, all vying for attention and coin. The notice board, near the market's center - odd job and ends for anyone willing to take them up. Geralt went over to it, looking for something akin to Witchering, while Tomira stayed a few paces back, taking in the bustling square, enjoying the sense of normalcy, all things considered.
"Do it, you won't-"
"Shut up, I will-"
Philippa hardly had mutagen enhanced hearing, but she could clearly make out hushed talking a few feet to her seed. She looked without turning her head, and saw 3 men, none of which Philippa would've guessed was older than 20, huddled together, talking and clearly looking in Philippa's direction. Foppish type from the Academy, if Philippa had to guess. They whispered to each other, trying and failing not to make themselves too obvious, before the one in the middle stood up straight, lifted his chin and slicked his dark hair back and walked over to Philippa in a confident stride.
'Oh gods. Don't tell me he's going to-'
"My, has anyone ever told you that you look as lovely as a field of daisies." The man said, now at Philippa's side.
Philippa spared him a glance, arching an eyebrow in a disdainful manner. She very much wanted to be herself at that moment - Philippa's image had a certain "Do not speak to me, lest you want to be cursed" reputation to it. But Tomira was just another pretty face, which meant it was subject to approaches of the lesser sex.
"No, I can't say I've ever been compared to a field full of weeds." Philippa drawled. The look of confusion then redness of the young man's face made her smirk a bit - he clearly hadn't expected her to bite back in such a manner.
"I-" He began, not even half as confident he started. "What I meant was-"
"Honestly, the state of The Academy." Philippa chuckled. "And here I thought you had to have a certain 'gift of gab' to get in."
The young man now was flustered to the tips of his ears. His friends snickered at the side as he tried to compose himself.
"I see you're a woman who speaks her mind." He tried. "I like that. Challenges the intellect, unlike most women around here."
Philippa almost gagged. She began to assess the risk/reward of transforming to her true form, but luckily for her, Geralt had returned.
"I got a -" He began, before stopping, and staring at the young man. The man's eyes widened at the sight of Geralt, first at his strange appearance, then, and more worryingly, at the weapons strapped to his person. Geralt arched an eyebrow, looking at the young man, before look at Philippa. "Problem?"
"I'm not sure," Philippa smiled, turning to look at the now pale Oxenfurter "Is there a problem?"
"N-no!" The young man stammered out. "No problem at all!"
He then scampered away, nearly tripping over himself as he did. He friends scampered, too, also frightened by Geralt. Philippa smiled up at him, reminded of the reasons she keeps him around.
"What was that about?" Geralt asked, still very much confused.
"Nothing at all. So, we have a job?"
The dock, like the rest of the city, was bustling, but things were different. The Oxenfyrt dock wasn't huge, at least compared to Novigrad, but Oxenfurt had imports from all over the world, jewels, silks, art, all manner of exotic wares - but now all that was coming through were raw materials, weapons, munitions, things to keep the war machine going forward.
A soldier with shaggy brown hair and a slightly greying goatee stood while others worked, barking commands to soldiers and dockworkers alike as a ship was being unloaded. Geralt and Philippa figured that was who they were looking for.
The guard squinted his eyes and folded his arms as the pair approached, "Hold there. What business do you two have here?"
"You Commander Friedman?" Geralt asked. "Here about the monster contract."
"Contract?" Friedman repeated, looking momentarily confused, before recollection hit him. "Ah yes. Put my mark on something of the sort." He relaxed a bit, looking between the two. "Seems a creature's attacking lonely passers-by, abandoning their corpses in gutters around the city."
"Isn't that something you should look into?" Geralt questioned.
"Perhaps, but we have a plowin' war to win. I haven't the time to clean gutters." Friedman replied disdainfully.
"I'll need details."
"You'll learn all I know."
"Any witnesses to these attacks?"
"Some woman survived the attack. They say she's not been sober since. Try the Alchemy - I heard that's her typical hole."
Geralt nodded, and thought for a moment. "How many victims have there been?"
Commander Friedman thought for a moment, before replying, "three, confirmed."
"Confirmed?" Geralt questioned.
"There had…been perhaps more accounts some weeks ago. But those bodies have been well burned by now - don't want disease spreading." Friedman explained. "So, if we WERE to count those, perhaps the number is closer to…fifteen, tad over?"
"More than a dozen people have been killed in the city walls, and the cityguard didn't think that was of note until now?" Philippa scoffed in disbelief of the collective incompetence, par the course for the Redanian army.
"Like I said, the bodies have been burned, so there's no evidence they were foul play." Friedman responded, frowning at her. "Am I to personally invest myself in every vagrant and drunk that finds themselves in the gutter? A corpse is a corpse, They could've just ave' fallen and hit their heads for all I know, or perhaps gotten into some drunken squabble- who's to say?"
"Well the three that have been 'confirmed', have those been burned yet?" Geralt interjected, getting the conversation back on track.
"Ask our sawbones." The Commander replied. "He'll know if the corpses have been burnt or not." There was the sound of wood creaking, and then a large crash on the ship behind the Commander. He looked over his shoulder, and grimaced, before turning back to the pair, "Look, this is not too complicated of a matter. Kill whatever foul beast is causing this, and recieve 250 crowns."
Geralt nodded - a standard price for services. But Philippa, she scowled, face a mask of open incredulity and indignation.
"400." Philippa retorted
Friedman gave her a confused look. "I beg your pardon?"
"Our price is 400 crowns." Philippa stated flatly. Geralt arched an eyebrow at her, they hadn't discussed this, but he didn't say anything.
"The price allocated to this is 250." Friedman said, folding his arms, narrowing his eyes at Philippa. "All we can spare."
"Oh, don't give me that." Philippa dismissed. Friedman looked mildly offended, but still, she continued, "We both know that the army has a flexible budget for actions requiring outside expertise, and - or, third pay council. I'm sure the city is fining and taxing heavily these days, so you can't tell me you don't have the gold. And with 15 bodies, and no response, you can assure whatever this thing will keep going, if not increasing its pace."
Friedman starred at Philippa in a state of shock, eyebrows in the middle of his head. Geralt also looked at her warily from the corner of his eye, hoping Philippa's assertive posturing didn't just blow their contract.
After a moment, Friedman snorted, almost sounding amused.
"Your companion is a shrewd negotiator, Witcher." Friedman commented.
"That she is." Geralt had to agree.
"Fine, 400 it is." The Commander relented.
"And half up fron-" Philippa tried, but Friedman cut her off.
"Don't push your luck." He said. Worth a shot, Philippa thought. "Kill this thing so I can be done with it. Bring a trophy, collect your reward. Now, I must oversee my men. Farewell."
The medic was the first stop, south from the docs, in a hut along the river to isolate the corpses from the city. He was standing outside when Geralt and Philippa approached, wearing dark robes and a brown plague mask
"You the medic?" Geralt asked. "Hear to examine the monster victims"
"Hm? Ah, yes. I've not had them burned yet. Must get to that."
He didn't sound like he was in any rush to do so.
"You've done an autopsy yet?" Geralt inquired.
"Why would I?" The medic responded, rather dismissively. "All beggars and vagrants, every last one stinking of cheap wine."
"Then mind if we have a look?" Philippa added.
"Erm, In point of fact, I rather you didn't go sniffing around my work station." The medic replied.
"Why?" Philippa asked, cocking her head a bit. "Got something to hide?"
"W-what?" The medic sputtered indignantly. "Of course not."
"We don't care about any jewelry or trinkets you might've appropriated." Geralt sighed, wanting this to move along, "We just need to see the bodies."
"I have no idea-" The medic began, but once he saw his lie wasn't selling to either of them, he gave up. "Oh, fine. Here's the key to the morgue. Just don't take all day, please."
The medic walked off, leaving them alone with their task. They entered the morgue, where 3 bodies laid upon tables on the right wall of the room: a woman who looked to be in her 40s, a man in his 20s or 30s, and then an older man in his 60s, all pale and stiff, flies buzzing around them. They hadn't been stripped of their clothes yet, which were ragged and cheaply made, verifying their vagrant status. Philippa frowned, and covered her nose with her hand.
"Rot?" Geralt asked.
"Red." Philippa replied. "Medic wasn't lying. They reek of alcohol."
"Hm." Geratl agreed without a word. He walked over to the younger man, giving him a once over with his eyes. He had two deep puncture wounds on his neck, and the veins ran purple along them. Philippa looked around the Geralt's shoulder, taking a peak at the body herself, but not wanting to get too close. She might not have been a Witcher, but she knew what bites on the neck, outside the bedroom, meant.
"Vampire." Philippa said, more of a statement than a question.
"Looks like it." Geralt said, before walking over to the woman and examining her neck as well. "The question is what kind."
"Does it matter?"
"It'll change how we approach this."
Philippa had actually not encountered many vampires in her time, she had managed to insulate herself from those kinds of dark creatures. There was a lord in King Heribert's court that other courtiers thought was a vampire, but it was never substantiated. Though, she never read an obituary about him.
"So, a vampire that targets the lowly of the city." Philippa surmised.
"Yeah…but there might be more to it than that." Geralt noted. "Come on. Let's go see that witness."
/
The Alchemy - it was hardly the most pristine of establishments within the city walls, but Philippa supposed that's why it was so popular. IT was crowded as the sun began to set, people chatting, drinking and eating, a bard playing their lute off-key, having had a few too many ales. It was the kind of place Geralt loved, and Philippa despised. They entered the establishment, standing by the door, surveying the room.
"Guess we should ask the bar keep if he knows this witness, what they might look like." Geralt said.
Philippa looked around the room, her sight locking onto a young woman in a green dress, sitting at a long table away from everyone else, looking rather sullen. Perhaps intuition, perhaps just a wild guess, Philippa said, "No need."
Geralt was confused, but followed as Philippa made her way over to the woman. The woman looked up from the empty mug she was nursing as the two appeared, red in the face and clearly already well into her imbibing.
"Whaddya want?" she slurred.
"We heard you might have had a run in with something you can't explain, recently." Philippa asked, sitting down. The woman perked up a bit at that.
"Here to buy a round for a victim of the beast." She asked, sounding a bit hopeful. Philippa smiled a bit at her intuition, and at the fact that Geralt was probably rolling his eyes behind her - which he was.
"We need to know about the monster." Geralt cut in. "How were you attacked."
The woman frowned a bit, giving him a look of annoyance.
"I NEED another bottle to get through it." She insisted.
"I don't think that's wise." Geralt replied.
"Yeah, well you can take what you think, and stick it up yer-"
Philippa placed a gentle hand atop of the woman's, cutting off her tirade.
"What's your name?" Philippa asked delicately.
"...Regina."
"Regina, please. We need your help. There's something out there killing people, and right now you're the only one who has lived to see whatever this thing was. We don't want anyone else to do. Do you?"
"I… ah fuck." Regina cursed, squeezing her eyes closed, and turning her head. "What…what do you want to know?"
"Just tell use what happened that night." Geralt said, gentler this time.
"I was…leaving the inn that night. Might've had a drink…or five, but I'm sure I wasn't hallucinating." She said adamantly. "Something down the alley called me name. It were dark, I couldn't see what it was…it wasn't human. Of that, I'm certain."
"What makes you so sure?" Geralt questioned
"I just am. It grabbed the hem of my skirt, but I broke free, and I ran."
"Which way did you walk to get home." Philippa asked.
"Turn right when you go outside, it's a straight shot to the…bunk houses, through the alley."
The pair went back outside, and followed Regina's path. Oxenfurt was a city of alley's and narrow streets, and the state of the alley could tell you alot about the section of the city you were in. As it were, this path led to the bunk houses, where the poor and downtrodden of the city lived, full of trash and rats.
"Hold on." Geralt said, holding out his arm. Something caught his eye.
"What is it?" Philippa asked, looking around.
Geralt didn't answer, instead, he walked a few feet ahead, next to a bit of rubbish and a shrub. He squatted down, and reached for what was glistening in the light.
"A bracelet?" Philippa questioned, looking over Geralt's shoulder. "Gold and silver. A bit garish for my taste."
"Bit out of place in this alley, don't you think." Geralt commented. He turned it in his hands. "Too big for a woman" Geralt slipped it on his arm, and it slid all the way to his forearm" Too big for me…Think it belongs to the attacker."
"The vampire?"
"Mhm." Geralt nodded, standing back up "Which tells me this is a Katakan."
"A kata-what?"
"One of the higher types of vampire, if only just barely" Geralt explained. "They have an affinity for jewelry, shiny things. Strictly nocturnal, the sun can actually hurt them. This one… I think it likes the taste of drunken blood."
"Surely you're kidding."
"Vampires have personalities, quirks, tastes, just like anyone else. Some only feed on men, some only on women, some only people of a certain age or ethnicity. Once encountered one who only fed on the diabetic."
"A vampire that's a lush." Philippa snorted. "Novel. So, what's our next step then."
"We don't have time to go hunting for where they might sleep - cities too big for that, so we have to do the next best thing when hunting for vampires-"
"And that is."
"Bait."
"That's a bit morbid." Philippa said, frowning a bit.
"It's the job." Geralt said, standing up and stretching.
"And this bait…you mean one of the patrons?"
Geralt's yellow eyes flashed towards Philippa, and narrowed a bit.
"Now who's being morbid." He chastised. "I don't include civilians, if I can help it, and more times than not, I can. Especially in something as dangerous as this. No, I'll have to do it. I'm guessing the Katakan can smell the alcohol in people's blood, plus it's not like drunks are ones not to make a scene. So, I get drunk, lure out the vampire, and kill it."
"You make it sound so simple. You can fight while you're drunk"
"It is, and everyone can fight when they're drunk - I can just do it well"
"And how do you expect to buy enough alcohol to get a Witcher drunk, when we have no money."
Geralt paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowing.
"...I'll figure something out." Geralt offered.
"That's utterly reassuring." Philippa said a bit snidely. "You Witchers are hardly the tacticians, evidently."
"Do YOU have a better idea."Geralt huffed in a frown.
Philippa paused for a moment.
"I can be the bait."
Geralt's eyebrows shot up, first in confusion, and after a moment, in indignation, tilting inwards causing lines to crease his forehead.
"No." He said, firmly and authoritatively, tones that Philippa didn't take kindly too in most context.
"It's the most logical"
"No."
"Geralt, you really need to-"
"NO."
"You have one more time to cut me off Witcher, before I turn you into a goat!"
Geralt breathed loudly through his nose in a dramatic, almost childish, fashion, and folded his arms.
"You done?" Philippa asked.
"How does you being the bait fix our money issue?" Geralt snapped.
"Geralt, come now." Philippa sighed. "A woman that looks like this, do you think she pays for a single drink at the bar?"
Geralt frowned deeper.
"You know I'm right." She continued.
"Are you forgetting the tiny detail, that you're pregnant?" Geralt laughed humorlessly. Philippa bristled a bit at his tone, before stepping forward and getting in his face.
"I'm well aware of my condition, Witcher. That's something I, and no woman, needs a man to remind them of." Philippa asserted, poking him in the chest. "I'm less than a month along, and unless we plan on hunting drunken vampires often, this won't be a recurring issue. Now, I need you to stop being pissy, and just THINK."
Geralt looked down at the ground, smiling deeply, but didn't argue.
"Look, I hardly want to be the one to lure a bloodsucking creature of the night," Philippa went on, a bit gentler. "But as you've said, we really don't have time for this, and I hardly intend to spend the night in a stable because we have no money. We have to handle this, tonight, and you know it."
Geralt let out a long sigh. "I don't like it."
Philippa brought a hand to his cheek and gave it a small rub, thinking how Witcher often looked like a kicked puppy.
"When's the last time we've gotten what we wanted?" Philippa smirked. "I understand your concerns, but I trust you to be looking after me, okay? Just trust yourself."
"..."
Geralt was in a very pissy mood.
As it turned out, Philippa's plan was working magically. He hadn't really doubted it it, he just didn't expect to be so vexed by it. Geralt knew Philippa was an expert in playing people - hell, it had gotten them through the gates of the city, but watching her bat her eyes at the drunken dregs of the bar…well, Geralt could only scowl so hard.
Philippa played her part, moving through the bar, scoping out the desperate looking fellows, and putting on the charm. Philippa had spent centuries schmoozing, with people who had some merit and status to them no less, so some randy bar patrons were easy picking for her.
Of course, men had expectations when they buy a lady a drink - Geralt sat in the corner, angrily, but alert, ready to step in if he needed to, if someone got handsy or belligerent, but Philippa seemed to be managing just fine, her coyness and charm were quite the disarming weapons - plus deadly and sly magic was also a good thing to have in the back pocket.
One drink turned into two, then two into four; Geralt certainly could have used a drink himself. There was no place lower for a Witcher, than being in a bar with no drinking money. Still, it was better this way, since Geralt had to worry about the Katakan, AND Philippa. He had never seen her drink before, besides the errant glass of wine - he had never seen her DRUNK. Geralt always thought you could learn alot about a person based on what kind of drunk they were, and as it happened, Philippa was the giggly type. Even in her Tomira form, Philippa was quite pale, and the flush of alcohol went from her bosom, to high on her cheeks. Geralt thought it was quite pretty, conversely, the Katakan probably would too.
Gerarlt decided 5 cups of strong wine were enough, and beckoned Philippa over to him. Philippa saw him, and beamed goofily, leaving the gaggle of men who had surrounded her; they all gave jealous looks as she swayed over to Geralt. There was an empty seat at the table he was sitting at, but Philippa walked past it, instead plopping herself directly into his lap.
"Geeerralllt" She sang into his ear, giggling up a fit. Geralt had to place a hand on her hip to keep from sliding off his lap, and rolling onto the floor. "I like this plan, this was a good plan."
"Think the liquor here might have been too strong." He sighed.
"No such thing." Philippa replied, smiling in a silly fashion.
"Well, you've had enough. Time to get this show on the road."
"Ah, come on, o-one more"
"No."
"Boo. Party pooper."
Geralt sighed, and gently pushed Philippa off his lap. She stood, stumbling a bit over her feet.
"This is a terrible plan." He grouched.
"Shhhh, no. Good plan."
Philippa stumbling towards the door didn't inspire any more confidence in him. He waited a few moments after she exited the tavern, before following himself - it couldn't be obvious that they were together, but he wasn't going to let her get too far. It was late, but Oxenfurt was a city where there was always bustling of some sort, There were others still in the streets, most been drinking themselves. That raised a problem in itself - they needed the Katakan to focus on Philippa, rather than picking another target, Geralt had made that detail clear to Philippa. She had told him not to worry., that she'd be able to draw the vampire's attention.
Geralt hadn't known what that would entail, until Philippa began to sing the Redanian national anthem, loudly, and off-key. Philippa was a woman of many talents, but singing was not one of them. Still - it served its purpose, loud and overbearing; many people turned to look at Philippa as she stumbled through the street, some laughing, some joining in patriotic fervor. Philippa turned into the alley that Regina was attacked in, following the young woman's same path, singing all the while. Geralt stayed in the shadows, a dozen and a half strides behind. He scanned the rooftops and dark corners vigilantly - Katakan's were immune to magical scanning, so he had to rely purely on his senses.
Then, in a side alley, a few feet in front of Philippa, Geralt saw movement - he began to draw his sword. Philippa saw it too, even in her drunken state, she wasn't struck blind and deaf. Through the warm fuzz that was her brain, she began to think of spells to cast, if she could remember their pronunciation.
"Well, isn't this lovely, meeting like this again."
"Oh, what in the hell-" Geralt said to himself. It wasn't the vampire. It was worse than that - it was a suitor.
The same young man from the square. He had been drinking, apparently, which gave him a bit of liquid courage. He stepped to Philippa, crowding her space a bit, She squinted at him.
"Seems fate brought us back together." He said, slurring his words a bit. Philippa looked around for a moment, looking over her shoulder - she couldn't see Geralt, but she knew he was there. He looked back - this was not part of the plan.
"You needa leave." Philippa said, head snapping back to the young man. He wasn't abated, stepping closer and putting a presumptuous hand on Philippa's hip.
"Aw, come now. Don't be like that."
"I'm sh'rious." Philippa slurred. The young man saw the drunken Philippa as easy pickings, a drunken damsel for him to take advantage of, but he was little more than a boulder in their path. He need to go, before-
Clink
"Bugger." Philippa said.
'Bugger.' Geralt thought;
The sound came from above, a shingle on a house sliding out of place. Philippa couldn't see in the dark as well as Geralt, but she could make out a pair of glowing eyes. Then it moved, large enough to displace a dozen or so shingles as it did, and landing hard enough to crack the bricks underneath.
"What in the name of Aesculapius is that?!" The young man squealed, his flush face paling in an instant.
A Katakan, in its true, natural form - a 6 and a half foot bat essentially: long spindly limbs with spikes on their elbows and heels, hair covered torso, and head, like a mane, a wretched looking vampic mouth, and a nose with crests that scale up its forehead, like horns of hardened cartilage. Large. Wide ears protruded from the side of its head, twitching and moving independently of each other. The creature of the night was naked, aside from the large and ornate jewelry it wore; gold bands on its long arms, ruby encrusted earrings, several rings on its fingers and horns - he had been busy.
"What's this." The Katakan hissed, looking between Philippa and the man. "Two for one. My lucky night." It said, giving the closest thing it could to a leer.
"Wrong" Geralt said, stepping out from the shadows, his silver sword drawn. The young man looked over his shoulder at him, and went even paler.
"What's this?" The Katakan said, ears perking and eye narrowing. "A trap?"
"Right." Geralt answered.
"The bestest trap." Philippa slurred.
The Katakan obviously disagreed, hissing and lunging towards them. The alley was narrow, and with Philippa and the student standing side by side, and Geralt behind them, there wasn't much room to maneuver. Philippa thought she had it covered, lifting her hands up, and uttering "Z powrotem!"
Perhaps it was a combination of things: The slurring of Philippa's words, the general cloudiness of her mind, her being unable to perform the finger configurations with her dexterity muddled, or just the general affect alcohol has on magic, but Philippa's spell casting was off. The spell should've sent a wave of pure force, sending the Katakan flying back. Instead, it sent them flying back, knocking the three off their feet, sending them flying backwards a dozen or so feet, before landing in some rubbish.
"Of all the stupid-" Geralt groaned, rolling to his feet. He looked over to Philippa, who looked a bit queasy. "Phi- Tomira. Fall back."
Philippa sat up, frowning in confusion. "Nooo. I can help." She said, voice sounding like a childlish whine.
"I can't handle Katakan and worry about you at the same time." Geralt said firmly. He turned his head to the trembling young man beside Philippa, and pointed at him. "You, name?"
"R-rorick." The man stammered.
"Rorick. Fuck off."
He didn't have to be told twice, scampering off down the alley.
Geralt stood back up, and rushed the Katakan, sword above his head, blade clashing with the creature's powerful claws. Philippa watched them fight - well, she tried to at least. They moved quickly as it were, but at the moment she was seeing no less than 3 Geralts and 4 Katakans, all swimming and swirling in her blurred and hazy vision; queasiness arose in her again. She gave her head a shake, trying to clear her vision, if just a tad. When she looked back up, the world focused a bit, and she saw Geralt on his back, holding the vampire at bay with a forearm between its jaws and a foot on its chest, as the monster tried to claw off his face.
'Worry about me, my pretty arse.' Philippa thought, pushing herself up to her feet shakily. She might have been inebriated, but she wasn't hapless, and Geralt CLEARLY needed her assistance. She considered a few spells in her head; she wasn't exactly sure what vampire were weak to, besides Garlic and stakes. She decided fire was the way to go - everything hated fire. Her aim was shaky, but the large furry mass in font of her was hard to miss.
"Focus, Focus." She told her self, before lifting her hands once more.
"Pożar!"
Fire did erupt, but not from Philippa's hands as intended. Instead, Geralt's boot suddenly burst into flames, surprising both him and the monster. While not the desired effect, it was useful, Geralt's flaming boot burning the Katakan, singeing its chest and making it howl out in pain. That gave Geralt the opportunity to kick the best off of him, and hop up onto one foot, while trying to kick and stamp out the other.
"HSSSSS!" The Katakan ragged, leaping over Geralt; the Witcher attempted to slash upward at the beast, but the vampire avoided it by a hair's length. It began to bound, on all fours, towards Philippa, a blurry and spitting mass in Philippa's eyes. Thinking fast wasn't much on the table, and moving fast was even less likely, but there was a certain creativity that came with imbibing.
"Gładki-" Philippa said. Suddenly, the uneven cobblestone street, went as smooth as marble, and as frictionless. The Katakan lost it's footing, sliding uncontrollably. Philippa, who was nearly toppling herself, managed to get out of the way in time, leaning against the alley wall and grabbing onto a window sill. The Katakan slid past her, trying to lash out at her with a claw as it did, before crashing into a wooden pillar what was holding up a balcony above. Geralt, who had chasing the beast, tried to dig his heels into the ground to stop his momentum - Philippa reached out a hand, grabbing onto his shirt, causing both of them to tumble over, but remain stationary.
"This is getting stupid." Geralt mumbled, trying to balance on his knees on the slippery ground.
"Yer stupid." Philippa replied.
Now behind them, the Katakan got to its feet. It gave them another hiss, but turned away from them. Digging its claws into the ground for leverage, it leapt and scaled the wall of the alley. A retreat seemed to be in the monster's mind, as Geralt and Philippa were turning out to be more trouble than they were worth - it had its eyes on another target.
Evidently, Rorick hadn't made it very far up the alley, having gotten winded, and then sick, bent over and retching on the street. The Katakan crawled along the wall over to him, grabbing him up by his arm before he could react.
"AHH! Help! Somebody help!" Rorick screamed, as he kicked and thrashed, but the Katakan held him easily, scaling the wall to the rooftops with its other limbs. Despite their batlike appearance, Katakans couldn't actually fly, so the beast used the rooftops to move throughout the city.
"Shit." Geralt cursed. "He's getting away, with the idiot in tow."
"I can handle it." Philippa slurred.
"Philippa, you've done enough-"
"Shuddap. Need to focus."
Phillipa focused, but not on the Katakan.
She uttered one word.
"Osioł."
Where there was once the obnoxious man Rorick, there was a suddenly a full-grown donkey, brown and breighing, ripping through the man's gaudy clothes. The Katakan, with a look of pure confusion on its face, could not react fast enough, dragged off the rooftops by the sudden change in weight from the donkey. It gave a screech as it toppled to the ground below in a painful heap.
Geralt got up, and carefully made his way over to the Katakan, who was pinned to the ground by the now unconscious Rorick.
Geralt stood over the Katakan, sword lifted above his head.
"You're cut off." He said, before bringing the sword down.
Commander Friedman was none too happy to have his door banged on in the middle of the night, nor was he happy to have Geralt bring a decapitated Katakan head along with it, but The Witcher had completed the contract as instructed. The 400 crowns was theirs.
Philippa undid her misshapen magic, returning the street to how it was, and Rorick to his human form - after a few attempts. Geralt had worried that the young man might talk of Philippa's magic use within the city, but once the man found some guards and began rambling about magic, giants bats, and being turned into a donkey, all while being nude and drunk, Geralt decided that they likely didn't have anything to worry about.
A room - nothing crazy, just one of the larger ones at the Alchemy, heads more comfortable than the roadside inns and camps they've endured. For Philippa, it might as well have been royal bed chambers.
"A bed." She sighed happily, on her back, limbs spread out wide on the sheets. "A real bed."
"A real bed." Geralt repeated, having stripped out of his clothes, and joining Philippa on the bed. "We'll take the day tomorrow, so the alcohol can work its way out your system - this is something we're not repeating, by the way. It was stupid, and put you at risk. Not to be repeated."
Philippa gave him a small smile, then nodded.
"Then - we search for the Baron's daughter. It's a big city, might be hard, but we'll figure it out."
"We always do." Philippa assured.
"Mhm."
"But, we still have the rest of the night." Philippa added cheekily.
"Oh?" Geralt replied, arching an eyebrow.
Philippa bit her lip, and rolled over atop of Geralt.
"We have alllll night." She said, before dropping her head down to press a kiss to the underside of his chin.
"Hm." Geralt grunted. "I suppose we don't have to rise too early tomorrow. What did you have in mind?" He had to admit, a drunken Philippa was doing it for him. While far from the drunken bar wenches he'd indulged in from time to time, Philippa's flushed red bosom, and insist and needy writhing against him was just as well. Geralt reached behind her and gave her bottom a squeeze. "I figure this is a good place to start"
His dirty talk didn't get a response - in fact, she had gone still. Geralt's brow knitted in confusion, and he lifted his head a bit. Philippa's cheek pressed against his collar bone. Lightly snoring. Geratl snorted, and let his head fall back against the pillow.
Well, it could wait till morning.