For the Augusnippets prompt 8 "Friends"
"Nuncle, what about us?" Angoulême asks some time later when Regis is done. A fire is already happily burning in the middle of the shed and Milva and the flaxen-haired young girl are peeling the last of their carrots, potatoes and onions for a rabbit soup while Cahir is outside feeding the horses. Judging by the drumming of rain onto the roof and the waterfalls pelting down through the leaks by the door, the steady drizzle of earlier has turned into a torrential downpour. "We're doing all the work while Geralt's chilling his arse," she complains. "We also want a massage. My butt hurts something awful from this endless riding around, and I bet auntie Milva's does, too!"
"I'm not your auntie," Milva growls, throwing a half-peeled potato at Angoulême, "but I can give you a sound spanking on your butt, you naughty brat!" Angoulême ducks out of the way and the potato hits Cahir, who is just coming in through the door, right in the chest.
"What?" he asks, perplexed. "Do you want me to go outside again? It's fucking raining cats and dogs!"
Angoulême breaks into raucous laughter. Cahir breaks into a sneezing fit.
"Oh dear, come on in, son, you look like a drowned rat, and do I detect the beginnings of a cold?" Regis inquires, furrowing his brow in concern. "I'll make a big pot of cold remedy tea for you right away. And get out of those wet rags and sit by the fire, lad, we wouldn't want you to catch a nasty bronchitis now, would we? - or an acute tonsillitis or otitis media, or pneumonia, gods forbid."
"What about syphilitis, nuncle, I think I caught that earlier in the rain. Can I have a tea, too?"
"Luckily, there is no such thing as syphilitis, my dear Angoulême, and you certainly cannot catch it from exposure to rain." Regis smiles benevolently at the teenage girl. "But I can make tea for all of you, no problem at all, my friends."
And this is how, very soon, they are all drinking Regis's herbal tea, which, according to the barber-surgeon-higher-vampire will greatly boost their immune system - whatever that is, but the friends prefer not to ask to avoid another longish lecture on medicine - while their soup is simmering in its pot. And after the meal, Regis treats them all to a massage - not on their butts, but their feet, which feels surprisingly pleasant and relaxing. Warm for once and dry and thoroughly relaxed, they fall asleep. How fortunate to have a good friend like Regis - no, not a good friend, an excellent friend like Regis.