For the Witchery Yuletide Calendar Day 3 "Old Friends"
"Regis?" Jaskier's eyes grow wide with surprise, so wide they almost pop out of his head. The higher vampire smiles at him amicably.
"I hope I'm not intruding upon you at an inconvenient time, dear bard?" he asks, taking in Jaskier's rather dishevelled appearance. His flowery shirt is half open and misbuttoned, his hair messed up and his pants look as if the bard had put them on in a hurry the second before opening the door to his cabaret-slash-tavern. His feet are bare despite the wintery cold.
"Nah, I was only, well, just getting up." It sounds a bit lame, Jaskier has to admit as it is already late afternoon and dusk is falling, but it is not a lie. Judging by the amused sparkle in the vampire's black eyes, he has a good idea of what exactly has caused the bard to be in such a disarray, but he does not comment.
"Come on in, old friend, my home is your home," Jaskier beckons opening the door wide to let his unexpected guest inside his establishment. "What brings you to Novigrad?"
"Is visiting an old and dear friend not enough?" Regis chuckles, following Jaskier into the hall.
"Right, right, it is, I guess, but is it the only reason?"
"Hhm, there might actually be another tiny little reason," Regis admits. Then he gazes at Jaskier's naked feet. "I'll tell you as soon as you've put some socks or slippers on. Although there should be a very potent cough linctus somewhere in my bag, I would not want you to catch cold because of me."
"Socks or slippers, of course. Just make yourself comfortable in the kitchen, I'll be with you in a minute," Jaskier says, gesturing toward a door. Then he vanishes down the corridor.
Regis opens the door and enters a cosy kitchen that reminds him a little of the one at Beauclair Castle, only smaller and without hens. For a brief moment, tears threaten to well up in his eyes at the memory of his comrades who died at Stygga Castle. Jaskier was very lucky that he had stayed in Toussaint. But now is not the time for sad memories, Regis chides himself. It is Yuletide in a lively city, and what he is planning to do with Jaskier's help should be fun. He finds a comfortable looking armchair and sits himself down by the fireside - not because he needs the warmth, of course, as he is completely insensitive to both heat and cold, but because he likes to gaze into the flames and listen to the crackling of the wood. Another little, bitter-sweet reminder of his travels with the Hansa and their many shared campfires. From the other end of the corridor, Regis can hear somebody giggle. And another somebody. Then Jaskier indicating to the two to be quiet with a soft shhh. Two pairs of light feet soon tip-toe across the wooden floorboards of the corridor. The entrance door creaks softly as it is opened and closed as silently as possible. Not silently enough for Regis's very acute vampire senses, but Jaskier does not need to know that. Regis chuckles. The bard has not changed one bit over the years.
"So, what can I do for you, old friend?" Jaskier asks when he appears in the kitchen door, his hair now freshly combed and his shirt properly buttoned up. He flops into the other armchair next to Regis.
"Well, for one, I have never been to a port city as big and bustling as Novigrad. I figured I'd be able to procure some rare ingredients for my medicines. Moreover, it's Yule soon. My first Yule at Kaer Morhen. I'd like to buy some presents. There is a big Yule market here, I've heard."
"Indeed, there is," Jaskier grins and rubs his hands. He loves to go shopping at the Yule market, and doing it together with his old friend sounds like fun. "You've come to the right place and the right man. Actually, I need to find some presents myself. A pity, Yule is such a busy time of the year here at the Chameleon and I had to decline the invitation to Kaer Morhen, otherwise we could travel there together."
"I fear that would pose quite a problem, my friend, unless you have not only mastered the art of giving words wings, but also of flying yourself?"
"Ah, I forgot, how silly of me." Jaskier rolls his eyes at himself. "As a higher vampire, you have other ways of travelling, naturally. I know for certain though, that you don't need to eat or drink, but I remember that you enjoy it anyway, right?"
"Very true, my dear bard. If it is convenient for you, I'd very much appreciate a nice dinner in the company of old friends. I gather Zoltan Chivay is here, too?"
"He is, long shaggy beard and all. He'll be over the moon to see you."
And indeed, the dwarf is so delighted to see his old travel companion, gives Regis an excited bear hug and even a scratchy kiss on the cheeks. Together, the three old friends spend a very enjoyable evening at the Chameleon's taproom with lots of good food, drink - tea for Regis, of course, as he neither indulges in blood nor in alcohol - stories and a couple of new songs performed by yours truly, Jaskier the bard. Although he does not really need to sleep, Jaskier gives Regis a nice room with a comfortably big bed when they finally call it a night. After the copious amounts of beer Zoltan and Jaskier have consumed in the course of the evening, they fall asleep right away in their respective rooms and begin to snore so loudly, Regis, with his bat senses, can hear it through the walls. It is a nice, a familiar sound that reminds the higher-vampire-barber-surgeon of one very specific night, at Fen Carn, the night of the Mandrake moonshine. Not even one and a half years ago, a mere blink of an eye in his almost five-hundred years on this continent, yet so much has happened. And it all started in his little hut at the edge of the old elven cemetery, and with his most famous distillate. Listening to the rhythmical sounds coming from his sleeping friends for a while, Regis watches the stars over Novigrad, contemplating life in general, and the nature of friendship in particular.
It is the most precious gift that no gold in the world could buy.