This is not a chicken egg!

Summary:

On their travels through Riverdell, Jaskier finds a strange egg. It is just about to hatch, but what the hell is it? And what the fuck does it have to do with Emhyr var Emreis?

"Geralt, look what I've found!" Jaskier emerges from between the bushes holding an egg out toward his Witcher friend. "I think it'll hatch any moment."

"Jask, put that thing back where it came from!"

"But Geralt, it was all alone! Zoltan has his Field Marshal Windbag, why can't I have a fluffy little chicklet? It'll even give us eggs when it's old enough."

"This, bard, is not a chicken egg," Geralt groans, rolling his eyes. "Or have you ever seen a chicken egg that's as yellow as a dandelion? With black stripes and red dots?"

"How can you be so sure it's not? Have you been this far south before? Maybe chicken eggs look different in Riverdell?"

"No, they don't. Given your talent at attracting all kinds of fluffy but dangerous monsters, it could be—" Geralt cannot finish the sentence as suddenly, with a loud plop, the top of the mysterious egg lifts into the air, its shell bursting into a thousand tiny, yellow pieces.

"Melitele's tits! What the fuck?" Jaskier, startled by the explosion, juggles the bottom part of the egg in his hands, just so preventing it from falling. Then his eyes grow big and bigger.

"Hello?" he coos when a little head appears. "Aww, you're cute! But not a chicken, no." He shakes his head, smiling at the little creature, then looks up at his friend. "Geralt, what is this?"

"Fuck, Jaskier, how the hell would I know? Better don't touch—" But it is too late already.

"Ouch!" Jaskier cries and the eggshell with the tiny hatchling hurtles through the air at Geralt, sparkling and crackling with bluish flashes of electricity. Instinctively, the Witcher catches it in his hands. Not a good idea.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he swears, passing the electric egg from one hand to the other, his silver-white hair standing on end.

"Let me, friend." Smiling through pursed lips, Regis takes the top-less egg into both his heat-resistant hands, not minding the electricity at all. "You are very cute indeed," he then coos at the baby creature whose head slowly re-emerges from inside the shell. A very yellow head with big, black-rimmed trapezoid ears, pinkish-red cheek pouches and huge and round, black eyes. The sparkles of electricity die down again.

"Pichu! Pi-pichu!" the creature chitters, gazing happily at the higher vampire. Then it crawls out of its shell, up Regis's arm and, with a big yawn, disappears into the depth of his apron pouch.

"Hmm, looks like you've just acquired a very strange pet, my vampiric friend" Geralt says, frowning. "Hopefully it is as friendly a monster as you are."

"I'm almost sure it is." Regis smiles so broadly that, for once, his perfectly pointed teeth show. "Although I must admit I have never in my almost five hundred years on this continent heard of anything like it. Nor was it mentioned in any book I've ever studied."

"I know what it is," Cahir, who has not uttered a word for most of the day, suddenly says. "I've seen one before."

"What?"

"Where?"

"How?"

His comrades shower him with questions.

"It's a - a baby Pikachu. Extremely rare. Emhyr keeps one. But - But don't ask me what for." He blushes bright red.

"No, no, no, you can't just say something like this and then expect us to not ask," Jaskier protests. "You wouldn't want me to die of curiosity now, would you? Cahir?"

Cahir evades Jaskier's begging big puppy eyes and addresses Regis instead.

"They like berries, especially red ones. And being carried around in a pouch. When they're older, they eat red apples, too, and mashed tomatoes and nuts. After a few weeks they kind of transform a bit, like get bigger and grow this yellow lightning bolt tail and brown markings on their backs," he explains, still a little flustered. "If the tip of the tail has an indent that gives it a heart-shaped appearance, then it's a girl. And they're electric, but you know that already."

"My sincerest thanks to you, my non-Nilfgaardian friend, for the precious information," Regis says softly and with a smile while tenderly tickling the short, silky fur of the sleepy baby Pikachu inside his apron. "I believe I'll better find some berries then. Maybe cranberries? Or some late woodland strawberries? Wild raspberries? Hawthorn berries perhaps? Or chokeberries? Hhm, so, so many berries ..."

Mumbling to himself, the higher vampire barber-surgeon leaves the rest of the company to the task of setting up the camp for the night and disappears into the underbrush on his search for suitable food for his new, already very beloved pet.

While they are collecting firewood and, after that, preparing and roasting the three ducks Milva has shot for their dinner, Jaskier again and again tries to elicit more information on Emhyr's use of his - what was the name again? Hikkatchu? Pikkutcha? - from Cahir, but to no avail. Neither subtle insinuations nor outright asking bring about more than another blush.

"Damn, Nilfgaardian, you know I won't be able to sleep all night because of you and your secrecy?" Jaskier finally complains when Cahir gets up from where he was sitting by the campfire and spreads out his bedroll next to Milva's.

"And how is that my problem, bard?" Cahir asks. "I've reconciled myself with and become accustomed to many things in this honourable company. But I'm still not accustomed to being bombarded with questions about private matters that are not relevant to our mission. Now shut up and let me sleep. And, by the way, I'm NOT a Nilfgaardian." He lies down, turns his back toward Jaskier and, pretending to have dropped off immediately, starts to snore.

"Cahir's right, Jask," Geralt says, surprisingly taking the former Nilfgaardian commander's side. "It's none of our business. At all. Now go to sleep. We'll break camp at first light."

"Sure, first light, as always," Jaskier grumbles and scrambles to his feet. "I've reconciled myself with and become accustomed to many things in this honourable company. But getting up at dawn is not one of them and will never be."

"Would you want to say good night to little Pika, bard?" Regis asks with a wink when Jaskier walks by him to get his bedroll from his horse by the name of Pegasus. "I believe you can touch it now."

Of course, Jaskier is not able to resist the offer as he can never say no to a fluffy, cuddly baby animal, no matter how dangerous it might turn out to be. Curiously, he peers into Regis's apron pocket. Black eyes as round as balls gaze up into his. So cute. Cautiously he reaches into the pouch. Cute and - tingly? It is a strange but nice and pleasantly prickling feeling to touch the tiny pocket monster. Not like the electric shock of when first he touched it with his fingers, but a surprisingly sensual kind of feeling. A purr, yet not audible but vibrating into every cell of his finger tip and further up into his hand and arm all the way to his elbow. Hmm, imagine having a creature like this in your lap. Fuck, he suddenly realises. Is this what Emhyr is keeping one of these Paikutchus for? And his is probably not a baby anymore but a lot bigger. Shit, shit, shit. The sly, old bastard.

"I see you've found the answer to your question yourself, my friend." Regis chuckles with amusement at seeing Jaskier's facial expression shift as the truth dawns on him. "I'm pretty sure my little Pika's special electric ability cannot only be of recreational value but beneficial for medical purposes, too, for example with sciatic neuralgia. It might even help with Geralt's knee. Now, have a good night, my friend, and don't let the bedbugs bite."

Jaskier strokes little Pika's head one last time, enjoying the tickly-tingly sensation in his fingers. Then he goes to sleep. Or, at least, he tries to. However, there is still one question that is bugging him.

How the hell does Cahir know as private a secret as this about the fucking Emperor of Nilfgaard?