The one with the hipster-accusation

"Come, there is a better view to be had," Geralt said and started walking towards a little path that led them behind the main building of the vineyard. At the end of a small incline there was an old bench in dire need of a new paint job, positioned by a shallow river that splashed along peacefully.

Kit sat down on the bench while Geralt dipped his still naked feet into the water. The mountain water this river carried was cool but not cold. It was August and in August nothing was ever cold, not in Toussaint.

Geralt lay down on the grass, keeping his feet in the water. He hoped that being in this vulnerable position would signal her that he was no danger, that she could even run from him, if she chose to. He would, of course, be able to catch up with her quickly but she probably did not know that.

The green grass, flecked with yellow spots from the persistent summer heat, tickled his ears. "Do you see the city in the distance?" he asked with his eyes closed. Beauclair was elevated and easy to spot even from far away.

"Yes. It looks like there is a palace," she replied.

"Mh. A beautiful one."

"Is it open for visits? If I am already here, I might as well do some sightseeing."

Geralt chuckled. "The Duchess wouldn't be too happy about visitors in her home. But the palace grounds are open to everyone."

"A Duchess in her own palace? How fascinating. That's so anachronistic." She sounded astonished, as if she had just heard the most unusual thing.

Geralt shuddered and lifted his feet out of the water. He slowly got up and faced the mysterious woman. What was going on in her head? It was impossible to tell.

"What's odd about that?" He stared at her expectantly.

"Well, the upkeep of these old buildings nowadays is usually too expensive for these formerly… or somewhat noble families to maintain them. And, in my opinion, they serve the public much better as museums anyway."

"Better not say that to Anna Henrietta, you might end up a head shorter."

"Oh goody, I've always wanted to live in a place where freedom of expression is not a thing," she deadpanned and rolled her eyes. Geralt felt his mouth contorting into a smile again. If fear made her this entertaining, what would happen if someone held a knife to her throat?

"So, where you are from everything is allowed?" he asked.

"Coming from Cologne I can certainly say we are on the more liberal side of things." She chuckled. "I would have guessed that you were too, with your hipster-looks." She nodded at him while her gaze flitted up and down his body, as if there was something about him that proved her point.

"Hipster-looks?" What on earth was that supposed to be, he wondered.

"Am I mistaken? The way you look I thought you were a hipster and therefore pretty liberal."

"I'm a witcher not a… a hipster."

"A witcher? That must be a new trend that I somehow missed. I just thought the ponytail thing that you've got going on with the beard and the white hair… Though I do have to admit that contact lenses are, to my knowledge, not a hipster thing. Last time I checked, big glasses were still all the rage."

"What? Anything wrong with my hair?" Geralt actually felt a little insulted. "And what are contact lenses?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed, throatily and pleasantly. "No, you are gorgeous of course! There is nothing wrong with your hair, I'm just saying it is very much in line with what hipsters look like. Well, except for those cat eyes. The lenses you are wearing look really good though. Most people look cross-eyed when wearing them but yours look so natural!"

Geralt tried to grasp what she had said as he was not sure whether she was genuine or messing with him. His frustration was growing while she seemed rather unaffected by the whole situation.

"So, just to make sure: That was a compliment, right? And you think I'm wearing something on my eyes?" Geralt cautiously asked.

"Well, yes. I'm sorry if compliments, like free speech, are forbidden in this weird little fantasy game." She smirked. "And yes again, obviously I think your eyes are fake. Or was your mother a cat?" Kit snorted a little when saying that. But she also blushed faintly and Geralt found that very endearing. He decided then and there that he liked her for she was funny and treated him like his existence was natural, like he was an actual person and not a mutant or a monster. Hardly anybody had ever done that. And those who had treated him like a human being had never done so outright. Or maybe, he thought, I'm not deciding anything right now and I'm just yearning for someone to simply accept me.

All things considered, to Geralt this was a pleasant change from the usual course things took and he rather enjoyed it. Maybe the presence of his strange guest would turn out to be much more pleasant than he had initially assumed.

"No, my mother was a sorceress. And all witchers have these eyes. They are changed to look like this so we can see better, especially in the dark." He paused for a moment, not sure what to think. "My mother being a cat was a joke, right? That's not actually happening where you are from?" He had come across too many oddities in his life not to give everything the benefit of the doubt.

For a moment all was quiet, until she suddenly burst out in laughter. At some point she tried to say something but started laughing again. It was infectious, Geralt started to chuckle but he did not know why.

When she finally calmed down, she spoke again. "You are quite the comedian, aren't you?"

"That's not how people would describe me," he answered earnestly.

"Well, sorry, but the idea of having a cat as a parent… The internet is full of and basically for cats. Some men are obsessed with cat girls, but that? No, that's new, even to me." She giggled.

This conversation was not going at all like Geralt had imagined it would. For someone who was quite distressed just a little while ago, she now seemed very relaxed.

"You still think this is some sort of joke," he concluded.

"Why, yes. What else would it be?" She rolled her shoulders and stretched a little. "This is weird. It's not normal to just wake up somewhere and to have no memory of how one got there. I see that you're not going to tell me what's going on. But I also think you're not gonna hurt me."

"May I ask how you came to that conclusion?", he asked curiously.

"You have gentle eyes." She shrugged as if this was a widely established standard to judge people by that he should have known about.

"Gentle eyes," Geralt repeated. "Is that what you see? A strange man, who could easily overwhelm you, who has a face full of scars and eyes like a cat. And you think 'gentle eyes'?" he asked incredulously.

Kit nodded. "But, naturally, I assume that the scars are fake too." This was probably the calmest way a normal human being in this world had ever reacted to him. He slowly approached her, still sitting on the bench. Time to test some limits, he thought. He went on his knees right before her, so that their faces were level, placing his arms on the bench's backrest left and right of her, so she would not be able to run away. Her heartbeat immediately picked up but certainly not because of fear. Was it excitement or maybe curiosity?

"Look," he said. "Look closely. And tell me anything about me is not real."

She shifted a little so that their faces were closer. The fruity, undefined smell, that emanated from her hair, became stronger. He could feel her breath on his skin.

She hesitated a moment, lifting a hand, then asked: "Can I…?"

Geralt nodded.

Kit cautiously raised her hand to his face, touching first the small horizontal scar on the right side of his forehead, before gently following the trail of the vertical scar on the left side with her thumb.

Her touch seemed to electrify him. What an odd and pleasant feeling, he thought, when the warmth of her fingers seemed to spread through his whole body. Was it something about her, that made her light caress feel so overwhelmingly good, or had it just been too long since someone had touched him like this? Had his skin been sensitized due to the absence of this sort of physicality? He started to feel dizzy in a very pleasant way.

Finally, she looked him in the eyes, her critical blue gaze transfixed on him, her hand still resting on the left side of his face. When Geralt purposefully dilated his pupils, she quickly let go of him and leaned back. She did not say anything and just stared at him with a bewildered look while her mind seemed to race a mile a minute. The odd sensation, Geralt had been feeling, was gone.

"You win," she finally said. "I cannot figure this out." Geralt did not move. Her heart beat fast but he still smelled no fear. Maybe she's just very naive and that's why she doesn't fear me, he contemplated. "These scars seem very real. And the pupils in contact lenses can't contract or dilate. I have no clue how you just did that, but, yeah. You win, I am amazed and at my wit's end." She folded her arms over her chest. "You may give me some breathing space again, thank you very much. I don't want to end up with Covid." She had returned to her cocky tone as if nothing had happened.

Geralt moved onto the bench next to her. "What's Covid?" he asked. Geralt found it hard to make sense of some of the things she said. But she said it so matter-of-factly that there was no doubt to be had about whether or not these things existed. Lying to a witcher was not that easy.

She looked at him with a raised eye-brow.

"I'm okay playing along with this for a while, literally because I don't know what else to do. But I'm not going to pretend that this virus doesn't exist. That's just not how I want to die. Please respect that."

"I won't claim that something you say exists doesn't exist. But I'm immune to any virus, so, whatever this is and does, I'm no danger to you." It's ironic, he thought. Of course he was a danger to her in so many ways – if he wanted to. But despite his physical appearance, which most people considered rather intimidating, she was merely scared of a virus. Not of what he could do to her. She became more fascinating by the minute.

"Interesting. So, you claim you're immune and I am simply supposed to believe that?"

"Witchers are immune to viruses. You don't have to believe me but that's the way it is."

Geralt could tell she was somewhat annoyed. Again, he did not blame her. The situation was odd, to put it mildly.

She lowered her upper body until it met her thighs. Kit turned her head so that she faced his knees. "Are you sure you won't tell me what's going on? How I got here? Why I cannot remember a thing?" she asked, all of a sudden sounding a little disheartened.

"I will not - because I can't - because I don't know." He rested his elbows on the back of the bench und leaned his head back, staring at the sky which had started to turn blue. What a beautiful day, what a weird problem to solve, he thought. A soft breeze, carrying the promise of another hot day, caressed his skin. He silently wished that it were her hands, and not the wind, he was feeling.

"Okay. Then I guess I have to operate under the assumption that I am friends with people who seriously need to check their boundaries. I am a light sleeper which means someone had to drug me in order to transport me here without me waking up. That's a serious offence and I just can't think of anyone who would do this. And who would be willing or able to arrange this sort of play." She lifted herself back up, resolution returned to her voice. "I hope they are paying you well to keep up this charade which, I'm sure, is basically a criminal offense."

"Nobody is paying me. I'm not an actor… But what exactly do you think happened here?" What was going on in that head of hers? Geralt had always thought that Yennefer was hard to read but Kit might be worse. There were seemingly no parameters which to measure her behavior and her tone against.

Kit sighed audibly and annoyed. "Someone drugged me and brought me here while I was unconscious. Looking at the way I'm dressed, it appears I was on my way to the gym or going for a run when it happened. I want to believe that this is someone's weird idea of a belated birthday gift. Some sort of adventure holiday where they put you into a setting and you have to play along. This looks like it is past-related with the absence of sockets, light switches or proper roads. Middle Ages maybe? It's really the only thing I can think of. My birthday was just a few days ago and I'm on holidays for the next three weeks. My friends and family knew that." She aggressively rubbed her eyes with her fists. "But I really don't know who'd think that this is a good idea. I obviously agree that I was quite stressed recently and needed some time off work to slow down. But to me that's more like going out to get a massage and not pretend-live in a world without running water and central heating." She shook her head. "I remember a movie I once saw. It's called Austenland, I think. It was about a woman spending a week in some sort of theme park that was recreated to match the world of Jane Austen's novels. So, I suppose this is similar?" She turned towards him. "Am I right?"

"After the fifth one I stopped counting all the words you just used that I have never heard of before. So, I'm gonna go with: You're wrong." He made a mental note to inquire about the nature of light switches and Jane Austen at a later time. "I don't know anything about any of this." She watched him intently while he tried to look apologetic. Her blue eyes were piercing but not betraying any emotion of hers.

Another sigh. "Well, I can't change it. I have no idea where I am, so I will just play along. For now. Until I come across a phone." She angrily crossed her arms over her chest. If that was supposed to signal determination, it was severely undermined by her growling stomach.

"Please tell me that at least regular meals will be included in this. I'm not a functioning person when I'm hungry."

Geralt was relieved to find out that his strange guest apparently came with instructions.

"Marlene is probably already preparing breakfast. Give it another minute."

Pouting. Silence.

"Are you feeling all right?" Geralt asked. He had to ask as there was absolutely no way to tell. People claimed that witchers did not have emotions, which was wrong of course, but despite their lack of showing any, they were very much able to judge those of their opponents. In a fight this could be vital. And I am losing this fight, Geralt realized.

"You mean apart from this existential crisis that I am currently experiencing?" He nodded hesitantly.

"Yeah, I guess. Pity, such a beautiful day." Her gaze lost itself in the distance.

"What do you want to do now that you're here?" he asked a moment later. He could not think of a better question as he did not even know what constituted a good question in this context.

Kit thought about it for a moment. "I would like to see the palace, even if it's just from the outside. How far is it from here?"

Geralt pondered. "A little more than an hour by horse I'd say."

"Mh, and by foot? My horse-riding isn't up to date anymore. It's probably been 20 years or so."

"How have you been avoiding riding horses for so long? How do you even get places?" He would have liked to believe that his face displayed surprise.

"I mostly walk or go by bike. I only use my car if I have to transport things or the weather is really bad. You know, for the environment etcetera." Geralt wanted to ask what a bike or a car were, but he feared that the explanation would come with more questions than answers.

So, instead he said: "Why don't we have breakfast and then we'll make sure that you remember how to ride a horse?"

Kit nodded, giving him a quick smile. "Let the kidnapping-holidays begin…"