Orders echo through the hallway.
"The tree here, no, no, no, a metre and a half to the left! Yes, that's it, thank you very much, I will mention you in my newest poem - perhaps. And the mistletoe up there, of course. No, you ignoramus, right above the door, of course, do you know nothing about Yule traditions?"
As he stands behind the closed door, an amused smile playing around pursed lips, Regis hears a - very familiar - grunt. Poor Geralt, has Jaskier somehow manipulated him into helping with the decorations? How on the continent did that happen? He waits another minute or two for Geralt to finish his task, then, his black eyes twinkling with mischief, he opens the door and enters the kitchens.
"Ah, Geralt, what a surprise!" He looks up, the perfect picture of innocence. "A mistletoe! And we're standing right beneath it. Isn't there an ancient human Yule custom involving this very plant suspended from above a door frame and - kissing?"
"What?" Geralt asks, almost choking on the cookie he filched from the richly decorated kitchen table. "Fuck!" he then exclaims, suddenly remembering this stupid custom that once landed him forced to kiss Lambert. After this traumatising experience, he carefully avoided all further Yule celebrations and committed the disturbing memory to the deepest depths of his subconsciousness.
"Fuck?" Regis smacks his lips. "I wouldn't be categorically opposed to the idea, my dear Witcher, no. But do you really think it would be appropriate right here and now? Furthermore, I believe, that's not how the tradition goes. We could change it, of course, adapt and mould it to our individual wishes and desires—"
Suddenly, there is a loud, snorting noise coming from the table behind them. Jaskier. Holding his sides, he is exploding with laughter. The bard has every reason to do so, too. Just one look at the flabbergasted expression on the usually so grim and grumpy Witcher's face would be enough to send most people rolling on the floor with due amusement. It is a frigging miracle that Regis is able to keep a straight face. Or is the higher vampire serious?
"It's just a kiss that custom demands, is it not, Jaskier?" Regis addresses the still laughing bard with a wink.
"I see, my vampiric friend, you're well versed in human Yule traditions," Jaskier manages to say, suppressing another bout of laughter, "much more so than this ignorant Witcher here. I'd advise you to do it now, too," he adds, his eyes a-twinkle, "before the others join us. Angoulême would never let you forget it if she knew."
Geralt groans. Well, there could be worse things than having to kiss Regis. Cahir could have entered the kitchens while he was still standing under the mistletoe. At least he is warned now and will stay away from the door and its devious decoration for the rest of the evening. And next year's Yule, and the next. He gives Regis a quick peck on the smoothly shaven and slightly herbaceous smelling cheek.
"That enough?" he grumbles, swiftly stepping away from the entrance and pretending he did not like it at all.
"You could have been a tiny bit more enthusiastic, however, I believe, it will satisfy the minimum requirements that custom dictate, my dearest Geralt," Regis says sagely, "so that we won't bring bad luck down on our heads or whatever happens if we don't heed old traditions. It might be a pure superstition, like so many human customs and beliefs, but better safe than sorry." He grins infectiously at the Witcher, his very white and very pointy vampire teeth gleaming in the light of the candles Jaskier has already lit.
"Right, are you two clowns done making fun of me now?" Geralt harrumphs. "But go on if it brings you so much glee, I need to go anyway. Have to finish that stupid present you, Jaskier, forced me to make."
"Oops, the present! Fuck, I have to run." Jaskier jumps to his feet and sprints toward the door as fast as lightning. He seems to be in a desperate hurry. "But, Geralt," he hastily adds before disappearing down the hallway, "don't you forget to come back in half an hour! No excuses, tradition demands it!"
Geralt grunts once again, nods goodbye to Regis and, at a more leisurely pace, leaves the castle kitchens and the lone vampire behind. Half an hour of peace and quiet before the storm. But fuck, he still has a lot to do.
Regis gazes after the two figures with a fond smile that reveals his perfectly white, pointy fangs. After all those many, many years to finally have met a group of humans - and a Witcher to boot! - that treat him like he was not a monster at all but their dear best friend still amazes him. What a lucky chap he is. And those decorations look splendid, Jaskier has outdone himself again. The Yule tree is richly and surprisingly tastefully adorned with stars and other ornaments made of straw and plenty of bees wax candles. The big table is decked with a red and green table cloth, holly, ivy, nuts, oranges, dishes with cookies and many more candles. The delicious scent of nutmeg and cinnamon is in the air and mixes nicely with other, more savoury aromas coming from the adjoining room where their dinner is being made. And, for the very first time in his life, he will receive a Yule present. Can life get any better?
With a contented sigh, Regis sits down on the bench to guard the cookies from the black and white and the speckled hen. Well, it is Yule and there are more cookies than they can possibly eat. He takes a spiced almond biscuit in the form of a windmill, ducks under the table and crumbles it between his fingers for the friendly hens to pick. Which they do enthusiastically and to the last crumb.
If they could, the feathery animals would probably smile as broadly as the higher vampire.