#Back to West - geraskier au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek · 5 years ago

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smells like you love me

geraskier | explicit | 3.4k | abo au, alpha!geralt, omega!jaskier

today jaskier still smells of oranges and honey, but there’s something else underneath it that geralt can’t quite place. It’s not bad, per se, but it leaves him feeling on-edge, a tightness in his skin and tension in his muscles that’s different from the usual, and he just knows something is going to go wrong.

it always does, with jaskier.

( read on ao3 )

When Geralt opens his eyes that morning, he knows, instinctively, that the day is going to go to shit.

He can smell Jaskier from across the campsite, scent sweet but not saccharine like most omegas Geralt has met—they’re too sugary, too flowery, like candy with too much flavoring or perfume applied too heavily.

(His alpha senses don’t like it as it is, but his witcher senses on top of it makes his nose scrunch until he's scowling and then it all sours into fear and it’s not any better, but at least fear doesn’t make it feel like his teeth are rotting from it.)

Jaskier, though—his scent is softer, orange blossoms and honey, with a hint of something crisp, like the air when rain is on the horizon. It’s clean and fresh, and it doesn’t make Geralt gag or the alpha in him recoil in disgust when he gets a whiff of it on the wind. He also doesn’t smell of fear, the sour, acidic notes never present in his scent when he’s around Geralt, and that is something Geralt will never admit he treasures.

Today Jaskier still smells of oranges and honey, but there’s something else underneath it that Geralt can’t quite place. It’s not bad, per se, but it leaves him feeling on-edge, a tightness in his skin and tension in his muscles that’s different from the usual, and he just knows something is going to go wrong.

It always does, with Jaskier.

(Geralt tries not to think about what it says about him that he lets it happen anyway.)

They’re heading north up the continent, if only because they’ve already been to the south and the west and the east, and making a circuit is as good a plan as any. They haven’t seen each other in a few months, and Jaskier whines about not having any new material in that brief interim, and he tags along because he’s a fool who lacks a sense of self-preservation and finds a witcher to be good company.

Geralt...doesn’t hate it.

Their coin is low, as well as their food supplies, but there’s a town a few days’ trek away, and that’s their next immediate destination. He hasn’t been up this way in a while, long enough that another monster or beast might have moved in to terrorize people, so Geralt figures they might be in need of him (whether they want to admit it or not). Jaskier claims he hasn’t been through this part either, and that he’ll get to spread his songs to yet another town full of ears ripe for listening.

It starts as a nice enough day—but so do all the others before they go to shit. Today is no exception.

They have a quick, sparse breakfast before setting off. Geralt walks beside Roach, her reigns in hand, and Jaskier trails behind him, singing snippets of lyrics that come to mind, but never a full song. He’ll play a chord only to scrunch his nose up at it and play another, and Geralt finds amusement in occasionally glancing at him to see it. The orange blossom and honey scent follows them, surrounds their little bubble of space when they stop to have lunch, and it puts Geralt at peace, relaxes his shoulders.

They stumble across the cockatrice toward dinnertime.

Well. Jaskier stumbles into it and Geralt rolls his eyes as he pulls him back and puts his swords between the beast and the idiot. It’s not a big one, and it already looks wounded and weak, dripping blood as it screams at Geralt and lunges for him, and it goes down easy enough, but then the mother comes screeching out of the trees and suddenly the day goes from not too bad to utter shit.

“Fuck,” Geralt says with feeling, and braces himself for a fight.

The stench of beast blood fills the air as he throws himself into taking off the thing’s head, and it gets in a couple of good swipes but nothing his natural witcher healing ability and the last of his salves won’t fix right up. The acrid smell of fear— along with something cloying, something thick and heavy—mixes with the orange blossom and honey and permeates around him, and he grits his teeth and keeps himself between the cockatrice and Jaskier as much as possible.

In a show of rarely-demonstrated intelligence, Jaskier scrambles off and finds a tree to climb up into to stay out of the way. Geralt has one sense out for him but keeps most of his focus on the cockatrice until he takes its head off too and its body slumps to the ground, dead.

Adrenaline pumps through him and Geralt glares at the dead creature for a long moment, letting it pass. When his head is clearer, he sheathes his swords and goes to pluck what feathers he can from the cockatrices. He considers digging into them for their livers and tosses the idea aside because he really, really doesn’t want the smell of cockatrice guts all over his clothes for three more days.

Speaking of smells—

Jaskier has climbed out of the tree, eyes wide and hands fluttering about while he chatters nonsensically about the attack. His scent has lost the fear, but it still has that cloying and heady undertone beneath the orange blossom and the honey that’s dug itself under Geralt’s skin and refuses to let go.

“Gods, Geralt, that was magnificent!” His pulse races in his veins, heartbeat quick but calming already. “Terrifying, as well, but magnificent! It nearly ate me! I could be nothing but the digested shit of a cockatrice by now if not for you! Really, what would I do without you?”

“You said it yourself,” Geralt mutters as he wipes his hands on his pants, tying the feathers he’d gathered together and heading for Roach. “You’d be cockatrice shit by now.”

Jaskier gives him a look as he follows Geralt back to where they’d left Roach but doesn’t dispute it. His heartbeat sticks at something just above sedate, his face and neck flushed, and his scent is strong, pheromones spilling off his skin in waves. Geralt inhales deeply on reflex, eyes closing, filling his lungs with the familiar, calming smell, and catches the undertone again. It smells like—it smells like lust, like need, thick like molasses and just as sticky sweet.

His own skin goes hot, the alpha in him keening, and his eyes snap open. Jaskier is muttering again, looking anywhere but at Geralt, pulling at his tunic and breathing heavier than is really necessary, and it hits him—

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier cuts off mid-sentence and looks at Geralt, eyes wide and bright and so, so very goddamn blue behind the haze beginning to settle over them.

“You’re in heat,” Geralt says, and it’s not a question.

Jaskier huffs and rolls his eyes, pulls at his tunic again. “Thank you, I would never have guessed it,” he snaps. The flush deepens, and Geralt catches the lemon-sour scent of embarrassment. “I’m trying not to think about it, because that just makes it worse, but fine! Let’s point it out, shall we?”

Geralt’s brow furrows, his chest expanding as he inhales again, tasting honey and orange and molasses. Blood flows right to his cock and his pants are way too tight now, his skin tingling and the urge to touch almost too much to ignore. Bad idea . He grits his teeth against it all, swallowing thickly. “Why would you come with me if you knew you were going into heat?” he spits out, and he’s not angry, just exasperated, but it comes out more biting than he intends.

“It wasn’t supposed to hit for another week!” Jaskier exclaims. He’s breathing even more heavily, panting almost, pheromones so strong now Geralt is having difficulty concentrating on his words—too focused on the light sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the evening light, the way he bites his lip, the tent in his own pants. “We were going to get to the next town, and I was going to bid you goodbye and we’d be on our merry ways, and I’d deal with it like I always do, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

He takes a deep breath, and Geralt doesn’t miss the soft whine that breaks out of his throat—he can smell Geralt and the answering pheromones of an alpha responding to him, but he holds himself still (barely, by the way he leans towards Geralt).

“Outside stressors, however,” he continues, looking petulantly at the remains of the cockatrice some yards away now, “can sometimes cause a heat to happen early.”

Geralt blinks, takes that in, and gives him his most deadpan, unimpressed look despite the way his alpha is begging to go to him and press his nose into the scent gland on Jaskier’s neck. “You scared yourself into heat, is what you’re telling me.”

“I scared myself into my heat!” Jaskier laments, throwing up his hands in defeat. The movement wafts his scent toward Geralt, and he can’t stop the growl that escapes him, low and predatory. His skin is tight over his bones, and his alpha wants—it demands this omega beneath him, writhing and keening and stuffed full of his cock and his seed.

Mine.

Geralt wishes that thought surprised him more, but of late he’s looked at Jaskier—his blue eyes and his soft skin, his scent that entices him instead of repelling him, his unwavering loyalty and brave spirit—and wanted it to be true.

He takes a heavy step forward, towards Jaskier, and forces himself to a halt when Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath, head tilting back in invitation. Geralt forces himself to think with his head instead of his dick.

“How long do your heats usually last?” he asks, voice rough, almost a bark. It does nothing but make Jaskier shiver, and Geralt knows it’s not in fear (there is definitely no fear here now).

Jaskier takes a moment to think through the haze no doubt clouding his mind. “Um, four days, I guess? Longer, if I’m just coming off suppressants, but I haven’t been on those in years. Shorter with a partner.”

“How much shorter?”

“About two days?” he says, like he isn’t sure. “Day and a half at the shortest.”

Geralt tries to think, lust clouding his own mind (because dammit if he isn’t, hasn’t been, and won’t always be attracted to this idiot of an omega). They’re about three days out from the next town, but traveling in the middle of a heat is probably the most unpleasant thing an omega can do—impossible, really, because they’re nearly incapacitated with the desire to fuck.

But having a heat in the middle of goddamn nowhere with monsters roaming around and drawn to the smell of heat pheromones isn’t a whole lot better.

Unless—

He doesn’t even think as he slides his swords off his back and lets them fall to the ground at his feet. His alpha pants in anticipation, impatient. Jaskier watches him with lidded eyes as he stalks forward, coming right up to him and crowding in close. Those blue eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he leans into Geralt as he dips his head down and presses his nose to that scent gland.

“Wh-what are you doing,” he gasps when Geralt places his hands on his hips, tugs him closer. Geralt noses against the gland, inhaling the scent from the source, and feels his chest rumble with a growl. He lets his nose trail lightly up the side of Jaskier’s face as he brings his head up, meeting his eyes.

“We’re too far out to travel with you like this,” he answers, “and your pheromones will start attracting who knows what kind of beasts the longer into heat you go.”

Jaskier mewls when Geralt dips back down and licks his neck, tasting that sweet and enticing scent for himself. “But,” he continues, voice rough with growing passion and want, need rising inside him, “they’ll keep their distance if they smell me on you, smell you claimed. ”

“Gods, yes, ” Jaskier moans, and he tilts his head back to let Geralt at him, going boneless and weak-kneed in his arms. His own arms come up around Geralt’s shoulders, fingers sliding down his collar to dig into the skin of his neck. Geralt reaches down, grips his ass, and feels slick soaking through his pants.

They go to the ground, Geralt above Jaskier and between his legs where he rolls his hips and grinds their cocks together. Jaskier moans again and returns the motion, spreading his legs wider and urging Geralt closer by pulling on his shoulders. Geralt keeps his nose buried in his neck, teeth lightly scraping over his skin, nipping at the bolt of his jaw and his collarbones, drawing blood to the surface and leaving pinpricks of bruises.

“Mine,” he growls, and Jaskier nods frantically, clawing at him in increasing desperation. It pumps through his veins, the urge to mate fuck claim mate mate mate. They struggle to get their clothes out of the way, coats and tunics discarded, belts undone and pants kicked off.

“Yours,” Jaskier breathes, throwing his head back. Geralt can’t resist the urge anymore—he bites down, sucking the skin into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth, careful not to break it. Jaskier keens, long and high-pitched.

The sun is low on the horizon, golden rays shining off the sweat on their skin as they move together, finding their rhythm. Jaskier is dripping slick, thighs covered in it, soaking the ground beneath him and Geralt as he presses his cock, hard and thick, knot already beginning to form at the base, against him.

Jaskier chokes on another mewl, thrusting up, legs around Geralt’s hips to urge him closer. “ Please, please, please, ” he begs, rolling his hips, his own leaking cock pressing against Geralt’s stomach, smearing precome. It makes Geralt’s cock slip against him, the tip barely breaching him before slipping away again. Geralt bites him again, snarling, and Jaskier just moans again and pulls at his shoulders. “Oh, fuck, please, Geralt, just fuck me!”

“You smell so good,” Geralt says, rough and deep. He presses hard kisses into Jaskier’s skin, tasting him—orange blossoms and honey and rainstorm and molasses—trailing from his collarbones up his jaw to his mouth. “Never scared, just clean. Should be scared, but you’re not. Oranges and honey. Rain. Like it.”

Jaskier pulls back—and oh, no, his alpha doesn’t like that—just enough to meet Geralt’s burning gaze, his own blue eyes shining with haze. His mouth hangs open, panting, and Geralt’s eyes are drawn to it. He watches as a tongue wets those lips, watches them move as Jaskier whispers, hotly, enticingly, demanding, “Fuck me, alpha.”

Take what’s yours, he doesn’t say, but Geralt hears it. He crashes his mouth onto Jaskier’s, claiming those lips, that tongue, and fucks into him in one motion with a roll of his hips, his cock sliding into that wet heat, knot catching at the end. He swallows the keening noise Jaskier makes and keeps kissing him as he sets a hard, fast pace, skin slapping loudly in the waning evening, stars beginning to come out above them.

It’s hot and rough and near goddamn perfect. Jaskier takes him like he was made for Geralt, like his body was crafted just to let him in and keep him there. He kisses back desperately, biting at Geralt’s mouth, licking against him to taste deeper. Geralt lets him, wants him deeper, inside him so far he’ll never leave again and Geralt can protect him always.

It’s over almost too soon, because this is just the first round of many they’re going to have tonight.

Geralt fucks hard and deep, drawing out the most incredible sounds from Jaskier’s mouth and swallowing them right into his chest. They’re soaked in sweat and slick, bruises dotting Jaskier’s collarbones and neck and scratch marks sting down Geralt’s back where Jaskier’s nails had dug into him. With one particular thrust, Jaskier finally comes, shaking as he spills between them, and the smell of him and the sounds he makes—begging, please please please fill me up alpha I want it I need it—has him pressing in as deep as he can go and finding his own release, knot growing and locking them together, a deep, satisfied groan leaving his throat.

He slumps down minutes later, still pumping seed into Jaskier, but no longer in possession of enough strength to hold himself up. His knees are scraped from the ground, and he thinks Jaskier’s back probably feels the same, but the contented humming he’s doing as he runs fingers through Geralt’s hair says he doesn’t mind.

“That,” Jaskier says, voice breathy, “was fantastic.”

Geralt just gives a soft hm, letting his body relax. The night air is cool, and he feels Jaskier’s skin starting to pebble as the gentle breeze catches his sweat. They’ll need to start a fire and set up camp properly just as soon as they’re not tied together anymore.

Jaskier’s scent has now lost that thick hint of molasses, though Geralt knows it’ll be back soon. It’s clean again, just orange blossoms and honey and rain, and he buries his nose in Jaskier’s neck again, inhaling it deeply. It makes Jaskier let out a soft sound, but he just holds Geralt tighter, and they fall into silence.

Sometime later, as Geralt’s knot finally goes down, Jaskier breaks the quiet. “I could never be scared of you. You know that.”

Geralt turns his head to peer at him, still too sated to work up much skepticism. “Hm.”

Jaskier brushes hair from Geralt’s face, fingers lingering on his cheek. “All those witcher senses, and you don’t know why?”

Geralt does know. It’s rare in this world—nothing that has a particular scent, just a...a hint of something, something natural and inherent. It’s clean and simple and pure, uncomplicated. Different for every person who feels it.

Love on Jaskier smells like orange blossoms and honey and rainstorms.

Geralt shifts, cock slipping out of Jaskier, making him suck in a breath. He pushes himself up, worn and tired, muscles aching but in a good way. Jaskier sits up after him, making a face when come and slick rush out of him onto the ground. He wipes at the mess on his chest.

“Gods, look at me! I'm filthy! Disgusting! I hate this.”

He continues muttering to himself as Geralt finds them a place—away from that particular spot—to set up camp. He feels Jaskier’s eyes on him as he goes to Roach and starts pulling out their supplies, trailing over his naked body shamelessly. It makes the alpha in him preen and his cock twitch again.

He gives Jaskier a look, eyebrow raised and mouth curled in a smirk. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” Jaskier replies, meeting his eyes. He returns the smirk with one of his own. “But that’s not news to you, surely.”

It’s not, but it’s nice to hear, anyway.

By the time the fire is going, Jaskier’s scent has molasses mixed in it again, and Geralt lies back and lets him sit in his lap, doing what he pleases to get himself off. They collapse together afterwards, Jaskier sprawled on top of Geralt, trailing nimble fingers, bard’s fingers, over his chest, tracing scars and other inane patterns.

“You have ruined me for all others,” Jaskier says conversationally, dramatic as always. Geralt just grunts in response. “You have! There is no other on this planet—nor any others, I’d imagine—that pleasures me as you do! Is it a witcher talent or is it just you?”

Geralt reaches a hand up to Jaskier’s face, tilting his chin with a finger so that he’s looking in his eyes, and kisses him deep and lingering just to shut him up. Jaskier hums in content and lets himself be kissed.

Geralt figures it’s a decent end to a day that he knew was going to go to shit.

#the witcher #geraskier #fics.

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garroterjuryandjudge · 5 years ago

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Ok but why do we not have a Geraskier Cowboy/Rodeo AU?

Geralt would make an amazing cowboy — he loves his horse more than most human beings, he drifts through towns looking just to make a little money, get a little drunk, and handle that there varmint problem, and while he's not well-spoken or social, the opposite really, he's still got a heart of gold.

And Jaskier, obviously, can be a traveling musician in any genre, but the idea of him heading West to avoid a cruddy rich family Back East feels particularly apt.

Blease guys, I need this.

#geraskier #cowboy au

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discopiratetanis · 5 years ago

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In a Earth where magic exists, an immortal lineage of noble wardens is responsible for protecting magical creatures from humans.

Jaskier, the young grandson of Queen Calanthe, Poland's ancestral guardian, arrives at the small town of Blaviken, a refuge for magical beings who do not wish to have contact with humans, to complete his training as a warden.

There, in that haven of peace and safety, he'll meet strange but good people who will help him to learn and understand the true importance of his heritage and what really means to be a warden.

magical town!Geraskier AU. Sets in a not historically accurate Poland during the eighties, specifically 1984. So there will be a little bit of socialism (but decent socialism) here and a few references to WWII in a good way.

This is solely for my pure personal pleasure, so it will have an erratic update dates, sorry. But I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciate and encourage me to continue, thank you! ❤

Rating: M (for the moment)

Words: 6888

Chapter: 1/of many

Characters who show up in this chapter: Jaskier (of course, is his POV), the pack of wolves, Filavandrel as a humbled lumberjack, Yennefer, Renfri and Regis. Honorable mentions to Queen Calanthe, the Seven Dwarfs, a sleepy greyhound and a happy old woman on her rocking chair.

N/A: There will be Valdo Marx X Jaskier during the course of the story, but obviously Geraskier is the endgame pair!

You can also read the chapter on AO3!

If you want to support me I have a ko-fi!

It was raining when Jaskier got off the bus, a silent drizzle, a faint curtain of mist that you couldn't see if you didn't pay attention. But the air was wet.

Very wet.

Surprise, Jaskier, water wets! the boy thought, moving away from the road so that the bus would not soak him when it marched over the puddles in the ditch. He stepped on the mud beyond the asphalt. The bus stop was a simple wooden post, marked with a blue metal rectangle on which the number fifty-eight had been painted white. The road had two narrow lanes, one southbound, the other northbound. And everything else around was wilderness. Green, silent, lonely, deep woods. Jaskier grunted, hung better his duffel bag over his shoulder, and pulled a small piece of paper and a compass out of the front pocket of it.

"Alright," he said aloud, before reading what it had written on the paper, already getting wet because of the rain.

From the sixth stop of bus number fifty-eight, walk west until you find a big gray oak tree. Once you have arrived, pass underneath and continue straight ahead, Blaviken will appear before you.

If you encounter the wolves don't be afraid, they'll smell your magic and probably leave you alone.

The directions were simple but not much revealing. He knew it was for safety but. Jaskier clicked his tongue, crumpled the note into a ball, put it back in the pocket and opened the compass. Tiny dips blurred the glass, but the needle pointing north indicated the direction the bus had gone, so he looked on both sides of the road, crossed to the other side, and walked straight ahead, into the trees. Soon his silhouette was lost in the mist as if he had never been there.

The leaves crunched under his feet with an eerie noise at every step he took. The rain seemed to drown out the sounds of the woods, but Jaskier could still hear the peep of the boldest and bravest birds not scared by a little water. The wind was weak but sharp against the boy’s wet skin, who tried in vain to dry his cheeks and forehead every few moments with his also wet sleeve. It had been stupid not to grab an umbrella, despite his grandma's advice before he had parted his way, but it had been hellishly sunny in Warsaw for being September so he had felt rebellious and had dressed up with cotton trousers and a linen shirt with a lightweight wool jacket. Now he was starting to think that he was an idiot. The weather could be part of Blaviken's protection, yes. No traveler would want to get lost in those woodlands, in the middle of nowhere near mountains full of wolves and bears. But he also could be just a silly boy who had not taken an umbrella because he thought it would be sunny all over the country at the same time. At least he had his mountain boots.

It didn't take long for Jaskier to reach the tree that said the note, a huge gray oak in the middle of the forest. The boy stopped in front of it, noticing immediately that the rain was no longer drenching him. He checked the compass one last time before closing it and putting it in the bag. Then he took a deep breath. Yes, the tree was enormous. His trunk was so broad that Jaskier would need the help of ten more people to encircle it with his arms completely. It was covered with moss and tiny mushrooms everywhere and its branches stretched in all directions high in the sky, coating all the smaller trees within meters with their leafage. And then there was the hollow, the passage. It looked like an enchanted path, like those described in fairy tales.

Jaskier stepped into the entrance and looked up, tightening the strap of his bag. The way under the oak was not very long so he could see the other side of the tunnel perfectly. He walked slowly through that natural corridor of wet bark and lichen, fascinated, still looking up and around, amazed with all the magical static in the atmosphere. When he reached the end of the tunnel and came out into the open air again, the sun was shining and a cool, pleasant breeze shook his hair, playfully, and dried his clothes. A huge knee-high grassy clearing, sprinkled with yellow and white flowers, opened up before him. He reached the clearing with renewed energy, making his way through the grass and flowers under the sun, suddenly feeling that he was breathing much better, that his lungs were filling up with clear, clean air. There the birds sang louder, stronger, more beautifully.

Jaskier smiled.

He was in the middle of the meadow when he heard the rustling of a branch, the brushing of bushes and leaves on his back. Jaskier turned around, feeling his heart racing.

His throat went dry.

There, by the entrance to the oak tree, stood an enormous grey wolf. The animal was easily two heads taller than Jaskier himself, who was about five feet and nine inches tall. Its fur was streaked with darker flecks, and their dark green eyes glared the boy with interest. Jaskier didn't make any move and repressed a whimper, as if he feared the animal would jump on him with the slightest hint of activity. Then a new crackle made him look, this time to his left, and see another wolf, only one head taller than Jaskier. This one had murky brown fur and its right ear torn and ripped, probably by another wolf or a bear. It was wagging its tail quickly, staring at the boy. Jaskier blinked, feeling an awful and cold sense running up his back. A third wolf equally tall as the second one, with light hazel fur, appeared near the dark brown one. Both had intense green eyes.

Then, Jaskier remembered the note.

And it hit him.

It was weird. Even having been born and raised in the court of one of the great queens of the wardens, among magic and elements of all kinds, even though he had to know that these wolves were not merely wolves, Jaskier felt that he was an intruder.

The third wolf growled, low.

Jaskier swallowed.

“Uh, okay, alright,” he said, not sure if for himself or for the wolfs. “Uh, I… !” he tightened the strap of his backpack again as if that could calm him. “My name is–" he hesitated only for a second. "Jaskier! I came to Blaviken to train as a warden, Queen Calanthe told me to come here!” he paused again, looking at all the wolfs successively as he stood still, anxious, knowing that probably the animals were smelling his nervousness. He licked his lips, feeling his throat cracked and tight and, of course, still dry. “I’m… I’m sorry if I have bothered you stepping into your territory?!

The animals did not react to his words, except for the arrival of a fourth wolf, which emerged slowly among the bushes and foliage next to the big one and the oak tree. Its fur was white as freshly fallen snow, the cleanest, purest, most beautiful white that Jaskier had ever seen. It was slightly bigger than the smaller wolves, but not as large as the one in front of the tunnel. Its eyes were golden and gleamed bright and luminous, like the sun, like an endless field of mature wheat. Jaskier held his breath, looking directly at the white wolf, feeling dazzled and astounded.

It was as if time had stopped.

But then the grey wolf let out a hoarse bark, making Jaskier feel a chill, and the other three left immediately, disappearing just as they had appeared: from nowhere and in silence.

Jaskier exhaled all the air he was holding back, without taking his eyes off the animal. The wolf wagged his tail once, turned around and went into the trees next to the oak. The sound of paws scratching the ground, rustling leaves and twigs echoed for two seconds in the sudden silence of the clearing. Then that silence was broken by the joyful chirping of the birds and the breath of the wind.

Jaskier blinked, confused, still a little scared. He turned around as well, facing west, and ran. He did not look back even once.

* * * *

Blaviken was a little town located next to a lake nestled in a small valley between two arms of the mountain range. Jaskier discovered that because he not only had to go through the forest that hid it from the west, but he also had to go up the slope of the mountain to the entrance of the valley, where the river that drained the lake emerged from the ground a ran down the woods and the steep hills. By the time the boy reached the entrance of the canyon, the sun had already passed its zenith and was approaching the first hour of the afternoon. He stopped to rest near the road, a path full of grass that must have been carved by the wild animals.

Or the wolves.

Jaskier took a canteen out of his bag and took a sip of water. From there he could see the lake, so long that he almost couldn't discern its birth at the west; the mountains still with snow on their peaks, and the town itself. Jaskier had seen Blaviken's engravings and photographs. It was a picturesque, bucolic village, which did not seem to have changed much in centuries. It had the look of a medieval town, with a main street that was connecting the goat path and the entrance of the valley with the first houses, and was leading through the village to a central square where there was a fountain with a statue. Its houses, made of wood and stone, had two floors with smoking chimneys, orchards surrounded by small wooden fences, small sheds, barns... The more distant shacks were surrounded by larger fields of crops and fruit trees. A few horses and cows were grazing in the pastures that surrounded the village.

Jaskier took another sip of water and inhaled deeply. The air smelled and felt pure, fresh and lighter, healthier, than in Warsaw. In the distance, he could hear the squealing of the pigs and the rumor and echo of Blaviken's life. It seemed very peaceful... Jaskier bit his lips, put the canteen in the bag and stood up to continue the march. He knew that even though the village seemed to be close because of the slopes, the nooks and crannies, in reality it could be at least another hour's walk downhill.

He wasn't wrong, it took him an hour and a half to get to Blaviken.

There weren't many people at the entrance to the town. The first houses looked more like huts and storage sheds than real houses. A man with long blond hair tied in a ponytail and dressed with thick work pants and flannel shirt, was cutting wood near the main street road, next to one of the shacks. A pile of perfectly cut logs was piled against the wall of the shed, along with other smaller pieces made into more manageable firewood. A few hens with their chicks were pecking at the ground, paying no attention to any passers-by. A black dog, a greyhound, with a collar made of a leather band was lying, merrily asleep, not far from the log cabin. Jaskier took a deep breath and approached the man, being careful enough not to do it from behind.

"Excuse me?" he said.

The man, who had just finished splintering the log he was busy with, stopped, stood up with his axe in his hand and looked at the boy. Then Jaskier saw his pointy ears and noticed his strangely beautiful features, halfway between roughness and delicacy, and his so intense raven eyes. Jaskier blinked. The man, the elf, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a little.

"You're the kid, aren't you?"

His voice was melodious, like thick honey sliding down a wooden spoon. Jaskier cleared his throat.

"Uh... yes, I suppose?" he frowned, confused. "Could you tell me where Renfri lives?

The elf nodded and turned a bit towards the main street.

"Go straight on to the square, the house with the red roof is hers, you can't miss it," he said.

Jaskier peeked out a little. The road, even though it was the main artery of the village, was not very wide. From there you could see the fountain with the statue, but not much more.

"Thank you, uh..."

The elf smiled warmly.

"Filavandrel,"

Jaskier looked and smiled back at him.

"Jaskier,"

Filavandrel nodded again. He was watching Jaskier a bit curious, inquisitive. Jaskier parted his lips, feeling as the elf knew something he didn't quite understand. He was about to ask if there was something wrong when Filavandrel turned around to clean the supporting trunk of the pieces he had cut off and put a new log on top. He picked up the axe and cut it cleanly in half. Jaskier made a tired sound and headed for the square.

"Thank you again,"

Behind his back, Filavandrel continued with his task and responded:

"See you around!"

Jaskier advanced step by step down the street, trying not to look around too much as if it were the first time he had set foot there. It didn't matter anyway because every person who crossed his path gave him an odd look, except for a few groups of random kids who were more interested in his current games than in a stranger. The village was tiny, Jaskier knew that one glance was enough for everyone to know that he was the new face.

The new toy

The toy

Jaskier flinched and made a grimace at the thought.

The square was wide and long as four houses together, surely buildings for more important things than storing wood or food. The central fountain was an oval structure, made of very old stone eaten away by the years. Several springs of water flowed from the pipes rooted in the pedestal of the sculpture that adorned the fountain. Jaskier stopped for a moment to admire it. It was made of bronze, already rusty with green, and depicted eight figures, five women and three men. Seven of the statues were smaller than the eighth, located in the center of the pedestal, and they held up both rifles and swords with a defensive, dignified, and heroic attitude. They wore clothes that were at least forty years old. Jaskier held his breath for a second. The eighth figure was a young woman whose impressively realistic expression denoted loneliness and sadness. She also wore old-fashioned clothing from decades ago, on which she had a hooded cloak clasped with a fancy brooch. She carried a spear and a gun in a defeated stance. Jaskier looked down and saw a plaque, made of degraded bronze too, which read:

In memory of the brave men and women

who protected Blaviken from the nazis

The boy blinked. And then his eyes started to sting. He contemplated the memorial for a long time, in silence, unaware of the people, both those who were passing by and those who were quietly at the doors of their houses chatting with their neighbors or simply resting, that were staring at him more and more curiously.

"Hello,"

A soft, gentle voice drove Jaskier from his thoughts. As he looked at, Jaskier saw a deformed hunchback girl with black, wavy hair, pale skin, and absurdly beautiful lilac-colored eyes. She was wearing a brown woolen dress and a blue apron with a pocket from which hung a bouquet of flowers and several colored rags, and carrying a large earthenware jar in her arms which she started to fill it under one of the pipes.

"Oh, uh, hello," Jaskier replied. Then the girl looked away from him to see how much she was filling the container. Jaskier contemplated her with genuine interest as if her task was the most interesting thing in the world. "So it's potable, the water, right?" he said a little awkward.

She giggled, still not looking at him, attentive to her chore.

"Yes, it's from the mountain, "

"Ah,"

"The pedestal also has a purifier,"

"Oh," Jaskier glance at the pipes. "Oh, yeah, right,"

The boy was silent then, not exactly uncomfortable, and certainly not quite sure if the girl wanted something from him or she just had greeted him because in little towns everyone greeted everyone whether they knew them or not. Jaskier wondered what kind of creature she was. It was, and it would be, very rude to ask that to someone you had just met, and Jaskier didn't have enough experience or expertise to guess the nature of a creature by sight alone yet. His grandmother could do that even with her eyes closed, only by analyzing the magical pulse and the auras around someone.

"So... can I ask your name?" Jaskier said, watching the water pouring into the jar, again as if it was terribly interesting.

He knew he only had to walk away with a 'see you later' to go and find Renfri, but he was going to live there all year round, so it was all right to have a little chat with the rest of the locals if he has the chance. And she had been kind enough to address him without pointing out that he was new around even if it was something so obvious.

"Yes, of course," she looked up, with those stunningly beautiful purple eyes that were smiling even if she wasn't. A warm feeling ran down his back and he felt much better, less nervous and more relaxed. "I’m Yennefer, but you can call me Yen if you want, is what my friends call me,”

“Oh,” Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “That’s… Are you sure? You have just met me, I'm not exactly your friend,”

"Right, but you're going to be our warden, so..."

"Well, technically I'm an apprentice–wait, how do you know?" Jasper arched his eyebrows.

"Oh, I just know," she smiled and raised the jar to the thick edge of the fountain. Then she embraced it and lifted it with some effort.

"H-Hey, do you want me to help you?" Jaskier took two steps towards her, almost extending his hands to help her hold her load.

Yennefer shook his head without being bothered by the weight at all.

"Don't worry, I can handle it myself,” she said, cheerfully and definitely not annoyed, and starting to walk away. "See you later, Jaskier"

Jaskier blinked without answering and watcher her until she disappeared around the corner from the southbound street.

What the hell has just happened?

When he looked to one of the nearby houses, he saw an old woman sitting in a rocking chair, who chose that exact moment to wave jovially at him. Jaskier blinked again and waved back, perplex. Then he shook his head and headed for the red-roofed building.

It was like every other house in the village, made of stone and wood with two floors. Its windows were half-open, with curtains of floral motifs full of patches. Jaskier looked up in case he saw anything through the windows, but the curtains were flapping with the breeze and blocking the view, so he went to the door and raised his hand to knock. He stopped at the sight of the heavy, corroded iron knocker shaped like a sun half-hidden by a moon. He touched it, lost, feeling that the shape was familiar somehow. But he didn't think much more about it and knocked three times with blows that sounded hard and cavernous.

He waited.

And waited.

And when it was clear that nobody was home, Jaskier pouted for himself and turned around.

"If you are looking for Renfri she is in the tavern right now!" The old woman on the rocking chair exclaimed without stopping its swing.

Jaskier looked at her, feeling dumb.

"Oh, oh, thanks!" he said and asked immediately after. "Errrr, sorry… where's the tavern?"

He saw the smile spreading on her wrinkly lips.

"Across the square, that building with the little cute drawing of a tankard hanging over the door!" she replied.

Jaskier nodded, trying then to appear confident, and bowed too much pompous and grandiloquent.

"Thanks, nice old lady!" he said.

"You're welcome, young man!"

Jaskier snorted, hung better his bag, and walked towards the aforementioned edifice. It was another house almost indistinguishable from the others except for that sign hanging over the door like in the soap opera stories about Robin Hood. He could hear voices coming from inside. Jaskier took a deep breath and walked in as if he were putting his hand into the mouth of a bear.

The interior of the bar was exactly like the taverns that could be seen in the few films that the polish government agreed to show in cinemas: a long wooden counter that looked old and worn but was actually very well cared for, long tables for several people, round tables for smaller groups, barrels and bottles behind the counter. The tiny modern touches that broke the illusion consisted of an old TV placed on a shelf full of glass bottles next to the most visible wall of the establishment, the beer dispensers, the radio on the shelves behind the counter, and some photographs, both in black and white and in color, of the town and the surrounding area. On the TV there was what appeared to be a match with the polish national football team, and it seemed to have the few customers engrossed with it. Jaskier took a quick glance at the screen and slowly approached the counter. Behind it was an older-looking man with short gray hair, very pale skin and dark eyes. His features were sharp, hard, as if he were rock polished by time. He was dressed soberly but elegantly, with clothes that did not quite fit in a place like that. When the man looked at him, serious and severe, Jaskier felt a huge, dense weight on his shoulders, as if someone suddenly sat on him and would not let him breathe. But that feeling immediately faded as the barman, who was drying a line of glasses, raised his eyebrows weakly and blinked.

Jaskier swallowed, thinking that those eyes looked terribly deep and old. And that they knew everything.

"You are the boy," the man said.

The clients hissed in frustration and disgust, still oblivious to Jaskier's arrival.

"Uhm...yes?" Jaskier said, feeling he was repeating himself. "I was looking for Renfri, someone told me she was here," he said, glancing around.

He didn't need to be told who Renfri was. Jaskier immediately located the woman, sitting at one of the small round tables farthest from the door and the television cabinet. She was half lying on the table, with a metal cup in her outstretched hand and her face resting on the other arm, as if she were...

"Is she... drunk?" Jaskier asked.

The man sighed, resigned.

"Luckily not, no, not yet," he replied.

"Not yet," Jaskier repeated.

The barman made a sad grimace but didn’t add anything more about it. Instead, he said:

"Sit with her, you must be tired from the journey,"

Jaskier let out a deep exhausted, and only a little dramatic, sigh.

"A little, yes, this place hasn't exactly been easy to find,"

The man smiled.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked.

Jaskier put one arm on the counter, glancing at the barrels behind it, searching.

"Do you have Tyskie?" he inquired.

Then he noticed the smell. He knew it was coming from the owner of the bar. It was a heavy, not entirely unpleasant smell, a mixture of thick, wet earth and lavender, a curiously unique perfume for a man. Jaskier swallowed. The bartender grimaced and picked up a clean tankard from under the counter. He went to the dispensers and placed it at a certain angle under one of them.

"I assume you're legal, right?" he said.

"Well, technically I'm forty-eight, if that doesn't make me legal..." Jaskier shrugged, trying to inhale not too hard.

The man pulled the lever on the dispenser, shaking his head with a snort.

"In human terms, yes, but if we calculate your real age you would be about... what, eighteen, nineteen years old? You almost didn't pass,"

"What can I say?"

The man poured the beer, a fresh pint with a crown of white foam. Jaskier grabbed the tankard with both hands and started to head for Renfri's table, from where she hadn't moved an inch. A wave of whispers and hisses indicated that a play in the match had not gone well.

"Thank you, sir,"

"No, no formalities. You're going to be spending a lot of time here, you call me Regis, "

Well, that's...

"Sure, thanks, Regis,"

Jaskier sat quietly at Renfri's table, leaving his tankard in the gap that she did not occupy with her body and arm. As soon as he touched the table surface, Renfri raised her head like a cat caught by surprise. Jaskier stared at her, taking a sip of his beer as she narrowed her eyes, slowly, and wrinkled her nose, finally rising to rest her back on the chair. She looked exactly the same as in the fountain sculpture, with slightly longer hair, a more wavy mane. But his eyes were just as sad.

Terribly sad.

The two watched each other silently for minutes, Jaskier sipping from his tankard, and Renfri holding her metal cup, making no attempt to drink from it, if there was any drink left. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw Regis and various of the clients who had been watching the game up until then, were very attentive to them. Jaskier licked his lips and clicked his tongue, not taking his eyes off the woman who had to train him in the ancient arts of the wardens from that day forward. He thought his grandmother had a slightly strange sense of humor, sending him to a little town like that, and to a warden with alcohol problems.

He couldn’t blame her, though, if he had the statue in mind.

But still...

“So…” he said, realizing that she wasn't going to be the one to break the ice first. He also noticed that she was looking at him in a very cautious way, scrutinizing him as if she was taking note of each and every one of his features, the color of his eyes, the shape of his face, the arch of his nose, the curve of his lips, or was estimating the number of moles he could have, or looking for the exact words to describe the color of his hair. “I’m here…”

Jaskier counted five seconds. When he was about to open his mouth again, the woman spoke and her voice sounded also tired and exhausted, though definitely sober thanks to God.

“Yeah, you are here,” she scoffed, blinked slowly and made a weak grimace. Then she drank from her cup and whipped the remained drops off her lips with the back of her hand “Let's make this easy, okay?”

“Okay?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows.

“There's not much to do in this place really, but since the queen is so interested in you finishing your training here, I'll do my best to fulfill her wish,"

Jaskier noticed the clear, perfect tone of sarcasm in her voice as if she was deeply annoyed that Calanthe had sent him there and didn't like the idea at all. He felt a bitter, awful sensation in the pit of his stomach and swallowed hard. It hurt him as if he had a stone stuck in his throat.

“Okay,” he said, lower.

She huffed.

"Today it's late and I've finished all the tasks, but tomorrow morning I'll start teaching you. I usually get up at sunrise, so I expect you to do the same,"

“Okay,”

Then she smiled leaned a little over the table, resting her arms on it.

"So... everything’s okay?"

Jaskier blinked, baffled.

"Uh… yes?"

"Has anyone said anything to you?"

"Uh... No?"

Renfri glanced at the rest of the bar. Jaskier followed her gaze. The clients turned around on their seats immediately, except for Regis, who slowly looked down with a sigh. More and more Jaskier had the feeling that something was going on or people knew something he didn't understand. And it was starting to get a little bit annoying for him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Renfri looked at him with a flat and apparently disinterested expression.

"Nothing," she replied. "As I was saying, rules. Luckily for both of us, I have two bathrooms at home, yours is upstairs. Take a bath before you go to sleep, you won't have time in the morning. We have access to hot water but don't waste it or I'll kill you, do you understand?"

"Yes,"

"Good," Renfri took another sip from her cup, pensive. Jaskier did the same, staring at her intently. "We'll have breakfast here at the bar, then we'll start with the routine duties. At noon we’ll eat here again and continue until we finish whatever needs to be done. There are days when you finish early, but others..." she grimaced.

"Yeah, sure, I understand,"

"Don't worry, kid, you'll do fine. As I said, there's not much to do really, it's a small town,"

Jaskier nodded and took the last drink, then reached into the pockets of the bag, looking for the purse. Renfri snorted.

"Don't bother, we barely use money here," she said.

"But–"

"You'll pay him with your wardenship, it works that way,"

Jaskier arched an eyebrow.

"Let me guess, everyone lets you pay by doing your job,"

For the first time since he had sat at Renfri's table, Jaskier saw the outline of a faint, small smile on her lips.

"You'll understand," she mumbled. Then she handed him her cup and waved him up. "Go on, be a good boy and get me more drink, and ask Regis to make us dinner,"

Jaskier pursed his lips, took his tankard and Renfri’s cup and went to the counter, where Regis was still drying glasses as if seconds before he hadn't been watching them.

"She wants–" Jaskier started to say.

"I know, I heard her, don't worry," Regis put down the rag and the glass in his hands, took Jaskier's cup and tankard and brought new ones. When Jaskier looked at him he saw his old, tired eyes and felt a wave, like a vibration in the air, of concern that sent a chill down his back. Regis sighed again. "You'll have to be patient with her, it's the first time–" The man hesitated for a second, as if he was looking for the right words. "It's the first time she has an apprentice,"

Jaskier blinked, suppressing the urge to look at her. A little further down the line, at the end of the counter, the spectators at the game were cheering their team on to score. Jaskier clicked his tongue.

"I see..." he whispered.

Was that it? Am I the first student she has?

"Do you like leek soup?" Regis asked then, leaving the new drinks in front of the boy.

Jaskier blinked, and thought about how little he had eaten soup in his life just because his grandmother didn't let the cooks prepare lower class meals in the palace.

"Sure," he said, nodding enthusiastically.

He took the cup and the tankard and brought them to Renfri's table, which was waiting impatiently for his return. The woman took her drink with energy and gave a sip. Jaskier sighed.

They drank in relative silence, Renfri more and more concentrated in her cup and Jaskier feeling more and more tired, both from the trip and from the alcohol. By the time Regis brought each of them a bowl of soup, both were lost in their own thoughts. The man gave them a silent glance before giving them the spoons and returning to the counter. The bar had been left empty, with the game about to end and the few remaining customers marching home for dinner.

Jaskier tasted a spoonful of soup after blowing on it a little and found a myriad of flavors so strong and delicious that he thought it was probably the best soup in the world. Not only did he notice the leek, but there was also potato, carrot, onion, he even rosemary and pepper, all perfectly mixed together. The soup wasn't quite broth, it was thick enough to melt in your mouth. After a whole trip based on cold meat sandwiches, that first hot meal in Blaviken would be forever his favorite.

Jaskier might have cried for joy if he hadn't had Renfri watching him over her own bowl with a strange expression. Jaskier swallowed the soup and looked at her.

"What?" he inquired.

Renfri instantly looked down, at his own food. She did not answer. The boy pressed his lips and stirred the soup with the spoon, watching the potato and leek lumps go around. He ate one, thinking. As he swallowed, he looked up again.

"Renfri?" he said.

"Hm?" She made no attempt to pay more attention to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

She shrugged.

"What's up?"

Jaskier licked his lips, feeling the taste of the soup. He took a deep breath.

"On my way here, after crossing the tree passage... I came across four giant wolves. They were... Are they from here, from Blaviken?"

Renfri took a quick and… a curious look at him.

"Yes, of course they're from here. You noticed they weren't normal, right?"

"Well, yes," Jaskier stirred in his seat. "So they're werewolves?"

She nodded.

"Vesemir and his pups, they help me to patrol Blaviken's territory. It's pretty huge and it would take me weeks by myself. If you saw them at the tree entrance they'll be back in two or three days,"

"Ah,"

"I'll introduce you to them when they get back, although... they probably know you better than you know them by now,"

"Oh, yeah? How?" He sounded more interested than concerned.

"The smell. There's no one in all of Blaviken with a better sense of smell. Vesemir could track you back to Warsaw if he wanted to. And in the rain. If you've seen them, they'll have smelled you enough to know your trouser size,”

Jaskier whimpered and took another spoonful. So he had made a bit of a fool of himself in that clearing. Renfri snorted.

"Don't worry, they're wolves, the most harmless and friendly creatures in town,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

"Regis doesn't look dangerous," Jaskier said, pointing his head at the bartender.

Renfri snorted again and leaned over the table a little and lower her voice.

"Regis could break you in half, though before that he'd sink his fangs into your neck and drink all your blood in one gulp,"

Jaskier opened his eyes wide and arched his eyebrows, suddenly feeling his throat dry. Of course, the smell of earth...

"I wouldn't do that, don't be absurd," Regis said from the counter. Jaskier looked at him. Although the man had the same calm expression as before, the boy noticed the irritation in his tone of voice. "Don't put such old-fashioned ideas into the kid, please,"

"But is it true?" Jaskier held his breath, turning in his seat to look at the man.

Then Renfri burst into a clean, heartfelt laugh that somehow that made Jaskier's heart skip a beat.

"What?" Regis asked.

"Could you break a person in half? Or drink their blood in one gulp?"

Regis looked at him in complete and utter disbelief, and resignation. Renfri's laughter slowly faded. He gave Renfri an annoying look for instigating such questions and then grunted.

"I could. Split someone in half I mean. Drink five liters of blood in one sitting? No, ancestors no. And I wouldn't sink my teeth into your neck either, there's too much muscle to go through. If I wanted to drink someone else's blood, I would first ask them nicely and then, if they said yes, I would drink from their wrist, or forearm,"

"What a gentleman," Renfri mocked, eating his soup.

"Oh, shut up, Renfri,"

She laughed again, much shorter and lower than before. Jaskier felt excited.

A pack of werewolves

A vampire

An elf

And whatever Yennefer was.

He had known from the beginning that this town was a refuge for magical creatures, but he had imagined goblins, elves, yes, okay, maybe some trolls, but werewolves, vampires? All he knew about them was from reading books that not even his tutors wanted him to read.

"Hey, don't look so excited and finish eating that, you'll want to go to bed early tonight," Renfri said, pointing him with her spoon.

Jaskier bit his lips, thinking fast and concentrated on eating what was left of the soup and drinking the beer. Renfri grunted approvingly and ended up with his own dinner.

By the time they left the tavern, it was already dark and there was no one left on the street. The sound of the animals in the village had turned into a silence broken only by the singing of the crickets and the sound of the families finishing their own dinners. There was little light, no lamppost. When Jaskier looked up, he could see the dark blue and purple sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars. He did not need to make an effort to discern the trail of the Milky Way over the lake.

He had never seen it before.

It was beautiful.

"Hey,"

Renfri got his attention. Jaskier swallowed, stopped gawking at the sky, and walked faster to follow in his master's footsteps. Once in the square and in front of the red-roofed house, Renfri took a rather large and quirky key out of his pocket. He opened the door with it.

Inside, the house looked like a ghost hostel.

Jaskier didn't have time to explore much, Renfri made him climb the stairs, made of crisp, dry wood, up to the second floor. There, in addition to the aforementioned second bathroom, there was a corridor with seven little rooms where, with luck, a bed would fit. In some of them there were small closets. Jaskier chose one of the rooms with a wardrobe, which had one of the windows with flower curtains overlooking the square.

"Remember, at dawn," Renfri said, before he went down the stairs back to the bottom floor.

Inside his new tiny room, Jaskier heard the sound of a door closing. When he was sure Renfri would not return, he sighed deeply, left his bag on the bed, a mattress with no sheets or blankets ready, and closed the window. He also drew the curtains. The window faced north, so it wouldn't get much light during the day, but.

He didn't think he'd be spending much time in that room anyway.

He took the bag off the bed and opened the closet. He found several bed sets, so he picked the first one in the pile and he laid out the sheets, the pillow, and the quilt. Then he opened his bag and took out what little clothing he had brought with him. Only clothes, no personal belongings that were not strictly necessary. He found his toothbrush and toothpaste at the bottom of the bag, along with the hairbrush. Jaskier brushed his teeth while filling the bathtub. He was grateful to find soap in the bathroom cabinet. He also took note of the first aid supplies he had. He assumed Renfri didn't spend much time in the house either, judging by how poorly conditioned it was. It didn't matter. Jaskier took a towel and his pajamas into the bathroom.

It took him a lot less time than it used to at home to take a bath, and not because he was sleepy.

When he came out of the bathroom, with his pajamas on and the towel over his shoulders, he walked down the hall and past the empty rooms quickly to his own. He closed the door and breathed a long sigh. Even if he did not smell closed or old, or a house that had not been used in a long time, Jaskier sensed an energetic tension in there.

He couldn't explain what it was.

Bit it was… nasty.

He turned off the light and got into bed looking at the door. There was silence, a tight silence. Jaskier gripped the sheets with his fingers. With all his senses alert, he only heard that silence. Not the crickets outside, not Renfri at the bottom floor. He held his breath.

But he was tired, so he soon closed his eyes, and his mind wandered into forests full of crisp leaves, vampires serving beer, and golden-eyed white wolves. It was fast.

That night Jaskier did not dream, exhausted, and slept soundly.

So soundly that he did not notice that, after midnight, the door of his room opened slowly with a faint squeak and stayed open all night.

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher au #wardens of magic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #gerlion

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helianthus-hellion · 5 years ago

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a scrapped excerpt from the upcoming third chapter of my East of the Sun, West of the Moon Geraskier AU - the second chapter just went up today, will reblog with the link

[B]ut he didn’t leave the piano either, letting his fingers dance gently over the keys instead, humming softly to the new tune he played. Eventually he found a rhythm to it, found the series of chords that felt right, and he began to put lyrics to the notes, murmuring them quietly to himself, a song about snow and the roots and seeds that lay below the frozen earth, waiting to bloom in the sun they could only hope would come.

When he felt the song was done, he did stand, turning to find a pencil and some paper and stumbling back to see the wolf standing in the doorway, staring as if he could see right through him. “Is there something I can do for you, or are you just going to stand there ominously?”

Wanted to listen. The wolf had the grace to look marginally chagrined, at least, which only served to embolden Jaskier.

“Right, well, show’s over and I need to write that down before I forget it, so if you’ll excuse me.” He opened the door wider, pushing brazenly past the wolf, figuring if it hadn’t killed him yet it was unlikely to do so now, and going back to his room. He fished through his pack for his journal and a pencil, opening to the first blank page and pausing, pencil poised above the page in his shaking hand. The facing page held a sketch Natalia had done when he had first visited her after Cecylia’s birth, of him holding his infant niece like she was the most precious thing in the entire world. A sob choked its way from his throat, tears blurring the sketch from his vision even as he traced his fingertips over the pen strokes. The full weight of all he had lost hit him like a physical blow to the chest, squeezing his heart behind his ribcage, and he crumpled to the floor, wracked with sobs.

#tiny writes #the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt

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ohnomybreadsticks · 3 years ago

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Since I’m actually starting to enjoy writing again I thought I’d treat myself to something I always love: some AUs! :D

Back in August 2019 I wrote 31 unique pairing/AU combos for DBH, and I’ve decided to do that again for the Witcher! I made a list of 30 AUs and 30 pairings and mashed them together for maximum challenge fun. I won’t be publishing every day cause that’s just not reasonable for me rn, but I’ll just keep chipping away at it till they’re all gone c:

Without further ado, here is the list I’ll be working with:

Modern Witchers AU: Geralt/Renfri

Role reversal AU: Ciri/Cerys

Wild west AU: Lambden

Tolkien AU: Geraskier

Robot AU: Yennskier

Steampunk AU: Yenralt

Angel and Demon AU: Geskel

Cryptid/ghost hunter AU: Lamskel

Youtuber AU: Geralt & Ciri

Bodyguard AU: Geralt/Borch

Succubus AU: Lambert/Eskel/Cahir/Aiden

College AU: Eist/Calanthe

Coffeeshop AU: Platonic wolfpack

Popstar AU: Geralt/Regis

Merpeople AU: Fringilla/Renfri

Farmer’s Market AU: Jaskier/Vesemir

Home renovator AU: Yennefer/Istredd

Pirate AU: Jaskier/Filavandrel

Detective AU: Keira Metz/Lambert

Reincarnation AU: Yennefer/Tissaia

Elder gods AU: Vesemir/Luka

Gothic prairie horror AU: Geralt/Triss

Fandom AU: Fringilla & Cahir

Onlyfans AU: Geraskefer

Shapeshifter AU: Jaskier & Yennefer

Petshop AU: Trisskel

Spy AU: Jaskier/Chireaden

Equestrian AU: Vesemir/Filavandrel

Long distance AU: Trissefer

Biker AU: Yengilla

#bready blabs #Bready’s witcher AU challenge

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na-mmu · 3 years ago

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BACK TO WEST - Geraskier modern AU

オーストラリアを舞台にしたgeraskier現パロ小説。ギター片手に一人旅をするヤスキエルと休暇中のゲラルトがシドニーで出会い、目的地のパースへ向けてキャンピングカーでオーストラリア横断の旅に出る物語です。 ※左右表記は、ゲラ/ヤスからのゲラ/ヤス/ゲラ(リバ)です。（この物語上ではゲラ/ヤスの部分のみになります。ややこしくてすいません）

Chapter 1　黄色のゴミ収集車

Chapter 2　旅の計画

Chapter 3　旅の始まり

Chapter 4　ハングリーバード

#geraskier #modern au #Back to West - geraskier au #australia #road trip #this fic is written in only Japanese sorry #wish i could translate my fanfic into English

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na-mmu · 3 years ago

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BACK TO WEST 4 - Geraskier modern AU

Chapter 4　ハングリーバード

「君の髪、すごく綺麗だね」　組んだ手の甲に顎をのせながらうっとりとした顔でヤスキエルが言うと、向かいの席に座る白い髪の男――ゲラルトは、眉を寄せて手元のメニューから顔をあげた。「それって染めてるわけじゃないんだよな？」「ああ…地毛だ」「そうなんだ、珍しい色だよね。光に照らされるとさ、銀色に光ってとても奇麗だよ」　ゲラルトは目線だけを横へ向けると「…ありがとう」と居心地の悪そうな顔で返事をした。「よく言われるだろ？」「…そうでもない」「ほんとに？こんなに素敵なのに」　ヤスキエルが驚いたように返すと、ゲラルトは何も答えず固い表情のまま手元のメニューへと視線を戻した。ヤスキエルはすでに注文する料理を決めていたので、メニューを見る代わりに海へと視線を向けた。太陽の光を受けた水面がキラキラと輝いている。　二人はレストランのテラス席に座っていた。と言っても店の前の歩道にテーブルが並べられているだけの簡素なテラス席だった。テーブルの間を縫うように進む通行人が二人の横を通り過ぎていく。少し落ち着きはないかもしれないけれど、オーストラリアの陽気を堪能しながらランチを味わうにはこのテーブルがもってこいだろう。すぐそばに立つ、葉の生い茂った街路樹が二人のテーブルに心地よい日陰を作っていた。木漏れ日がゲラルトの頭に降り注ぎ、日の当たるところだけその白い髪が銀色に光っている。その光景が美しくて、いつまでも眺めていられそうだとヤスキエルは思った。　レストランの向かいには、ターコイズブルーの海をたたえたシドニーの入江が広がっていた。　ヤスキエルとゲラルトは、まだシドニーにいたのだった。　意気揚々とローチ――ゲラルトのキャンピングカーに乗り込んだものの、出発してから五分も経たないうちにヤスキエルの腹が盛大に��ったので、まずは先にランチを済ませておこうとローチを停めて近くのレストランへ入ったのだった。The Butcher's Blockと店名の書かれたレストラン正面の大きなガラスが太陽を反射し眩しく光っていた。　体長が五十センチメートル以上はありそうな大きな鳥が、ゆっくりとした動きでテラス席の間を歩いていた。長いクチバシの先端から首の途中までが真っ黒で、頭部についているはずの目がその黒に埋もれて少し不気味な印象を与えている。体は汚れているのかくすんだ白色で、尾羽は黒かった。その大きな鳥が食べ物を探すようにテーブルの下を彷徨っている。ゲラルトは特に気にしていない様子なので、どうやらその辺によくいる鳥のようだ。昨日もホステルの近くで見かけたのを思い出した。こんなに大きな鳥が当たり前に近くにいる事がなんだか不思議だった。イギリスだと動物園か、よっぽど自然の多い場所でしか見られないだろう。　少しすると、さっき二人を案内してくれたラテン系の若い女性スタッフが黒い巻毛のポニーテールを揺らしながらオーダーを取りにやってきた。ヤスキエルはビーフバーガーを注文し、ゲラルトはブルスケッタを頼んだ。女性スタッフは訛りのあるアクセントで陽気に返事をすると、蛍光色のスニーカーをキュッキュッと鳴らしながら店内へと戻っていった。「ブルスケッタってどんな料理だっけ？」　ヤスキエルはテーブルの上のメニューに視線を落とした。「スライスしたパンの上に具材が色々のってる。ここのブルスケッタはフェタチーズと生野菜と…確かポーチド��ッグだ」「ふーん、なんか朝食みたいだね。ランチにしては少なさそうだけど…肉も魚もないし。君ってベジタリアンなの？」「違う、腹が減ってないだけだ。…お前と違ってな」　ゲラルトは、こんなに早くランチにするのは不服だと言いたげな顔をしていた。「仕方ないよ、昨日遅くまでナイトクラブで遊んじゃったんだから。寝坊してホステルの朝食逃したんだよ。わざわざ朝食付きのとこに泊まったのにさ…スタッフの子が余ったクロワッサンくれたから良かったけど。今日はまだそれ一個しか食べてないんだからお腹も空くよ」　当然の事だと言わんばかりにヤスキエルは口を尖らせた。　昨日はホステルの十人部屋に宿泊し、着くなり同室の若者数人と仲良くなったので彼らと一緒にシドニーの街へ繰り出したのだった。最初にシーフードマーケットへ行き、実のたっぷり詰まったロブスターと殻付きの大きなホタテを堪能した後、バスでボンダイビーチ��向かって観光客で賑わう浜辺に腰をおろし、海を眺めながらパッションフルーツ味のアイスクリームを楽しんだ。日が暮れてからはライトアップされたオペラハウスを横目にバーとナイトクラブをはしごした。晩ご飯はほとんど食べていなかった。ホステルに戻ったのは午前三時を回っていただろう、そのまま服も着替えず寝てしまい、朝起きたらチェックアウトぎりぎりの時間になっていたのだった。パサパサのクロワッサン一個だけでは空腹が満たされる訳もなかった。　ヤスキエルはテーブルに置かれたグラスを手に取り水を一口飲んだ。氷の入っていない液体はこの暑さでは物足りなく感じる温度だった。「まあ、ブルスケッタでお腹いっぱいにならなかったら、僕のビーフバーガー分けてあげてもいいよ」「牛肉は食べない」　ゲラルトは言った。静かな、しっかりとした口調だった。「そうなの？」ヤスキエルはきょとんとした顔を向けた。「それって…環境のためとか、そういうやつ？」「ああ、そうだ」「なんだっけ、牛の吐く二酸化炭素のせいで温暖化になっちゃうんだっけ？」「少し違うな。牛のゲップに含まれるメタンが地球温暖化の原因の一つになっている」「ふーん、メタンね。…メタンとサタンで韻踏めそうだな…でもちょっとクドいか…まあいいや。でもさっきベジタリアンじゃないって言ってたよね。牛肉食べないなら何の肉食べるんだ？豚肉？鶏肉？」「豚はたまに食べるが、大体は鶏肉だな。あとは…」ゲラルトは海の方へ顔を向けると、思い出したように視線をヤスキエルへと戻した。「カンガルーだ」「そうだ、カンガルー！」　ヤスキエルは興奮気味に指をパチンと鳴らした。「オーストラリアじゃカンガルー食べるって聞いたんだよ！僕も食べてみたいと思ってたんだ。あ、もしかしてメニューにカンガルーあったのかな？くそう、それにすれば良かった」　ヤスキエルは悔しそうにメニューを覗きこんだ。カンガルーなんて他ではまず食べられそうにない。ぜひ試してみたかったけれど、メニューのどこを見てもカンガルー料理は載っていなかった。このレストランでは扱っていないようだ。「別に今食べなくてもいいだろう。スーパーに行けばいくらでも売ってる」「そうなの？じゃあ、君がカンガルー料理作ってくれるのか？」　ヤスキエルが期待のこもった表情で顔をあげると、整った顔を胡散臭そうに歪めた男は「俺じゃない。お前が、作るんだ」と言った。「ああ…そうだった」　ローチに乗せてもらう条件としてヤスキエルが道中の料理担当になっていたことを思い出した。「まあ、他のお肉と変わんないよね。なんとかするよ」　ヤスキエルはメニューを脇へ押しやりながら軽い調子で言った。「でもさ、カンガルーってこの国の固有種だろ？そんな貴重な存在食べちゃっていいの？しかもあんな風にぴょんぴょん跳ねて可愛いのに、可哀想だと思わない？」「地産地消は良い事だと考えている」　��ラルトは確信を持ったような表情で答えた。この男は、自身が口に運ぶものに対して彼なりの信念を持っているようだ。「なるほどね…そういう考え方もあるか」　体を椅子の背もたれにあずけて店内へ目をやると、スタッフが特大のスペアリブステーキを運んでいるところが見えた。　ゲラルトはグラスから水を飲むと、思いついたように口を開いた。「イギリスだってウサギを食べるだろう？あいつらも跳ねるぞ」「確かに…それは考えたことなかった。可愛さで言ったら、どう見てもウサギの勝ちだもんな」納得した顔で頷いた後、ヤスキエルは反論するように口を尖らせた。「でも可哀想かもしれないけど、ウサギのシチューは美味しいよ」　ウサギのシチューはヤスキエル��父方の祖父母の家に行くといつも出される定番メニューだった。トロトロに煮込まれたシチューの中のウサギのモモ肉のほろほろとした食感と、鶏肉よりも野性味の強い味がヤスキエルは好きだった。「…というか、なんで僕がイギリス出身だって分かったの？言ってなかったと思うけど」「お前のアクセントを聞けば分かる」　ゲラルトは大したことじゃないという風に言った。「ああ、なるほど。そりゃそうか」　考えてみれば出会って間もないとはいえお互い第一言語は同じなのだから、アクセントから出身地が分かってもおかしくはなかった。「そういえば君もさ、ちょっとイギリス訛りがあるよね？」「父親がイギリス人だ」「あーやっぱり！」　ヤスキエルは嬉しそうにテーブルを叩いた。振動でゲラルトの前に置かれたグラスから水がこぼれた。「そういう事だろうなって思った。イギリスには住んでたことあるの？」「ああ…生まれたのはイギリスだ」　ゲラルトはこぼれた水に眉を寄せながら答えた。「俺が七歳の時に家族でオーストラリアに越してきた。母親がオーストラリア人なんだ。それからは、ずっとここだ」「そっか。イギリスではどこに住んでたの？」「ブライトンだ」「わあ、いいとこじゃないか！海辺の街なんて憧れるよ。あそこはビーチの近くにステージがあるから良いよなあ、前に行った音楽フェスも最高だった」　ロンドンで生まれ育ったヤスキエルからすると、ブライトンは独自の文化を持った開放的で魅力的な街だった。このオーストラリアで知り合ったばかりの目の前の男が、ヤスキエルの憧れるブライトンに子どもの頃住んでいたというのは不思議な感じがした。彼はそこでどんな子供時代を過ごしたのだろうか。　ゲラルトは目の前の入江を眺めていた。ブライトンの海を思い出しているのかもしれない。イギリスの中でいえば、ブライトンの持つ雰囲気はオーストラリアらしいと言えなくもなかった。「そういえばブライトンのフェスに一緒に行った女の子のママが、ウサギのシチュー作ってくれたことあったな」　ヤスキエルがポツリと言うと、海を見ていたゲラルトがヤスキエルに視線を戻した。「その女の子とは半分付き合ってるような感じで、大学の夏休みにその子の実家に行ったんだけど、その時にウサギのシチューを出してくれたんだ。シチューのはずなのに異様に辛くてさ、もしかてあれはカレーだったのかな？とにかく、もうどうしようもないくらい辛くて…何とか全部食べたけど、次の日僕のお��は一日中火を吹いてた。あれは悪夢だったね…」　あの時はシチューの中の強烈な香辛料にヤスキエルの胃腸が根をあげたので、翌日タバスコを直接塗られたとしか思えないほどの痛みを尻の穴に感じながら一日中トイレに篭る羽目になった。悪夢というよりは何らかの地獄だった。「同じもの食べたのに彼女と彼女の家族は全員なんともなくてさ…みんな胃袋どうなってたんだろ。でも…彼女自体は優しくていい子だったなあ。トイレに篭りっぱなしの僕のことすごく心配してくれたし」　ヤスキエルは頬杖をつきながら、ため息をついた。「…でも結局、彼女とはうまくいかなかったけどね」「また辛い料理を食べさせられそうになったのか？」「違うよ、振られたのは僕の方だ」「…何をしたんだ？」「あー…」ヤスキエルは気まずそうに肩をすくめた。「僕が…彼女のいとこと寝ちゃったんだよね」　二人でベッドにいるところを見つかって、怒り狂う彼女に全裸のまま外へ追い出されたことを思い出して、ヤスキエルは苦い顔をした。ゲラルトへ目線を向けると、唖然とした顔がヤスキエルを見ていた。「そんな顔しなくてもいいだろ。その子とはまだちゃんとした彼氏彼女になる前だったし、それにそのいとこの彼すっごく可愛かったんだよ！笑った顔がちょっとハリー・スタイルズに似ててさ。しかもキスが天才的に上手いんだ。そんなの抗えると思う？」「…彼？」「そうだよ。まあ彼とはその後何回かデートして良い雰囲気だったのに、向こうが他の男と仲良くなっちゃって僕はあっさり捨てられたけどね。ほろ苦い思い出だな…」ヤスキエルは想いを馳せるように遠くを見た。「ああ…でも彼とのキスは最高だった…」　甘美な記憶を引きずりながら目の前の男へ視線を戻すと、ゲラルトはほんのし少しだけ気まずそうな顔をした。大きな手で水の入ったグラスを持ち直すと、気まずさを悟られまいとするように口を開いた。「お前は、バイセクシュアルなのか？」「あー、そうだね。うん、僕もずっと自分をバイだと思ってた」　ゲラルトとは正反対に、ヤスキエルはあっさりとした口調で返した。「…思ってた？」「うん。でも最近はパンセクシュアルなんだろうなって思ってるんだよね。そっちの方がしっくりくるから」「…パン…なんだって？」「ああ、パンセクシュアルを知らないか」　思わず驚いたような声が出ていた。普段、身の周りでヤスキエルのセクシュアリティを知らない人はいなかったので、自身の性的指向が認知度の低いものだということを忘れていた。少し新鮮な気がした。「…まあ、そうだよね。君っていかにも典型的なストレートの男って感じだし、LGBTQの文字の後にずらずら続いてるアルファベットに関心なくても、別に驚かないよ」　ヤスキエルのためらいのない物言いにゲラルトは気を悪くしたように眉を寄せた。後ろにアルファベットが続くことを知らない、という顔かもしれなかった。知らない人も多いのだろうとヤスキエルは想像した。LGBTQの後に続く頭文字は年々増え続けていて、それは多様な仲間を��ひとり取りこぼさないようにするためだという事を。　ヤスキエルは大げさに両手をあげると、全く悪びれない調子で言った。「ごめん、人のセクシュアリティを見た目で判断しちゃいけないよな。悪かったよ」　ゲラルトは言いたい事はそれじゃないという顔をしたが、ヤスキエルは気にせず続けた。「パンセクシュアルってのは、どんな性別でも恋愛対象になる人のことだよ」「それは…バイセクシュアルとは違うのか？」「うーん、ちょっと違うんだよね。何て言えばいいのかな…恋愛する相手の性別には拘らないし、好きになる基準にはならないって感じかな。たとえ男だろうと女だろうと、ノンバイナリーだろうとね」「ノンバイナリー？」「あー、それもか」ヤスキエルはまた驚きの声をあげていた。「えっと、ノンバイナリーは性自認が男でも女でもない人の事で…まあ、詳しい事は自分でネットで調べてよ。たぶんウィキペディアに詳しく書いてるから。LGBTQほにゃららの、ほにゃららの部分をいちいち君に説明してたらキリないからさあ」　ヤスキエルは片手をひらひらと振りながら、もう片方の手でグラスを取るとぬるい水を口に含んだ。「僕のセクシュアリティに話を戻すとさ、恋愛に関して言えば僕にとって性別は服みたいなもんなんだよね。その人がたまたま身につけてるものっていうか。相手がどんな服を着ていようと構わないんだ」　グラスをそっとテーブルに置く。「別にその相手が途中で服を着替えても気にならない。着てる服は重要じゃないんだよ。だって、僕が見てるのはその人自身だからね。その相手が素敵だと思ったら…」ヤスキエルは首を傾け、ゲラルトの目を見つめると微笑んだ。「好きになっちゃう」　ゲラルトは少し驚いたようにその黄色みがかった目を開いた。そして、考えるようにして目線を下へ向けた。「…なるほど」「まあ、別に理解してくれなくてもいいよ。そういう人がいるんだって思ってもらえればさ」　ヤスキエルはゲラルトを見つめたまま口の両端を上げ、ニッと笑った。ゲラルトはまだ思案するように沈黙していたが、しばらくしてから口を開いた。「…その…悪いが俺は…」「…何？」「お前とは…」　歯切れの悪い調子だった。「ん？」「そういうつもりでお前をバンに載せたわけじゃ…」「ちょっと、もしかして僕が君を口説こうとしてると思ってるのか？まさか！それだったらとっくにそうしてるよ！」　ヤスキエルは笑い声を出していた。ゲラルトは納得がいかないように、じとりとした目をヤスキエルに向けた。「何？」「…俺の髪を褒めただろう」「はは！あんなの口説いたうちに入んないよ！君の白い髪が素敵だって思ったから、その通りに言っただけだ。良いと思ったら僕は誰に対してもあんな風に褒めるんだ」「…なら、本当にそういうつもりじゃないんだな？」　ゲラルトはまだ少し疑わしげな様子で、念を押すように聞いた。「ないよ」　ヤスキエルはきっぱりと答えた。　目の前の男に対して本当にそういう気がないのかと言われると嘘になったけれど、それは隠しておくことにした。まだシドニーすら出ていないのに、ここで旅の仲間を解消される訳にはいかなかった。自分の気持ちを優先したせいでイギリスに帰れなくなるなんて事は避けたい。「そうか」　ゲラルトは小さく息をついた。その表情から安堵した様子が伺え、ヤスキエルは思わず目を逸らしていた。長いくちばしの大きな鳥がまだ食べ物を探し回っているのが視界に入り、何故かそれからも目を逸らした。　気まずい雰囲気を打ち消すかのように、さっきの女性スタッフが軽快にスニーカーを鳴らしながら二人のテーブルまで料理を運んできた。「はい、お待たせ」　ゲラルトの前にグレーのプレートを置く。「ブルスケッタと…こっちのバーガーはあなたね」　ヤスキエルの目の前にビーフバーガーとフライドポテトの載った木製のプレートが置かれた。バーベキューソースと揚げたてのフライドポテトの香りがヤスキエルの鼻をくすぐる。ゲラルトの頼んだブルスケッタも、トーストされたパンの上に飾りつけられたトマトやケールの彩りが美しく、想像していたよりもずいぶん美味しそうだった。「あ、メニューを下げるの忘れてた。もらっておくね」　スタッフがテーブルの反対側に置かれたメニューを取ろうと手を伸ばしたので、ヤスキエルの目の前にあらわれた彼女の二の腕にタトゥーが彫られているのが見えた。水彩画のようなタッチで繊細に描かれた薔薇と、美しい幾何学模様が組み合わさったデザインだった。「わお…君のタトゥー素敵だね」　ヤスキエルが感嘆の声をあげると、メニューを手に取ったスタッフは嬉しそうにちょこんと肩をすくめた。「ありがと」「君によく似合ってるよ。このタトゥーが君の美しさに文字通り華を添えてるって感じがするね」　ヤスキエルはにっこりと笑顔を作った。「ありがとう！でもそうやってナンパしようとしても無駄だからね。残念だけど私にはもうボーイフレンドがいるの」　彼女は陽気な、しかし釘を刺すような声で言うと、くっきりとした濃い眉をあげた。「だろうな、君みたいな人を放っておくやつがいるわけないよ。君のボーイフレンドはとってもラッキーだな」「そうよ」　チャーミングな笑顔を見せると、スタッフは踊るようなステップで店の中へと戻っていった。ヤスキエルが彼女の揺れるポニーテールからテーブルの正面へ視線を移すと、呆れた顔をしたゲラルトと目があった。「…お前の言ってることがよく分かった…」「だろ？僕はいつもこうだ。良いと思ったらそれをすぐ口にする。さあ、料理も来たんだし、早速食べようよ」　両手をイタリア人のような仕草で動かし「ボナペティート！」とデタラメなアクセントで言うと、ヤスキエルはビーフバーガーを両手で持ち上げた。厚みのあるフライドオニオンの下には、こんがりと良い色に焼けた肉厚のパティが鎮座し、その上のチーズがとろりと溶けてパティの下のシュレッドビーフに垂れている。それが全て白ゴマと黒ゴマのたっぷりついたバンズに挟まれていた。この大きさならナイフとフォークを使った方が奇麗に食べられるだろうけれど、この料理の美味しさを本当の意味で味わうなら、手でつかんで食べるのが正解のような気がした。溢れだす肉汁と濃い色のソースが絡みあって下へと垂れ、そのしずくがバーガーを持つヤスキエルの指をつたってポタポタとプレートの上に落ちた。　ヤスキエルは大きく口をあけた。　勢いよくかぶりつく。　噛みごたえのある食感と共に、がつんとくるような濃厚な牛肉の味と、ジューシーなバーベキューソース、揚げた玉ねぎの甘く香ばしい香りが口の中いっぱいに広がった。「オーマイグッドネス…」　ヤスキエルは天を仰いだ。「なんて美味いんだ…」　ビーフバーガーは信じられないほど美味しかった。こんなにもしっかりと肉そのものの味を感じたのは初めてだった。今まで自分が美味しいと思って食べてきた牛肉は一体なんだったのだろう…イギリスに戻ったら牛肉を口にする度に今食べている肉の味が恋しくなってしまいそうだった。「オーストラリアのビーフがこんなに美味しいなんて知らなかったよ…」　ヤスキエルは目を閉じてビーフバーガーの味を堪能しながら、ほとんど喘ぐような声を漏らした。「君がこれを食べることがないなんて残念だ…こんなに美味しいのに」「牛肉が美味いのは知ってる…昔は普通に食べていたからな」　ヤスキエルは夢から覚めたように目を開けた。「美味しいって知ってるのに、食べたくならない？」「自分の好みよりも、優先すべきものがある」「…ふーん」　素っ気なく返事をすると、ヤスキエルは二口目にかぶりついた。ビーフの肉々しい味が口の中を満たし、ヤスキエルはまた知らずに目を閉じていた。　自身の信条に基づいて食べるものを取捨選択するという感覚がヤスキエルにはよく分からなかった。周りにベジタリアンやヴィーガンの友達は多いけれど、ヤスキエル自身は食べるものについて気にかけた事はない。食べたいものはなんでも食べる。ヤスキエルはそうやって生きてきた。　ビーフバーガーをじっくり味わっていると、アジア系の三人組がレストランから出てきたのが目に入った。はしゃぐように歓談しながら、食事をするヤスキエルたちの横を通りすぎていく。ヤスキエルは口をモグモグと動かしながら彼らの会話に耳をすませてみた。けれど、彼らが何語を話しているのかヤスキエルにはさっぱり分からなかった。　プレートから綺麗な狐色に揚がったフライドポテトをつまみ上げる。「あの子たち、どの国から来たんだろ」　ゲラルトは目だけをちらりと向けると「…さあな」と興味なさげに答えた。「昨日さ、ホステルで同じ部屋になった子たちと一緒にシーフードマーケットに行ったんだよ。彼らは確か韓国から来たって言ってたかな…違う、中国？いや、台湾だ」　ヤスキエルは頭の中の地図を確認するように目を上へ向けながら言った。数ヶ月に渡ってアジア諸国を旅したはずなのに、ヤスキエルの脳内にあるアジアの地図はいまだに霧がかかったみたいにぼんやりとしていた。「そのシーフードマーケットでさ、カウンターで注文して待ってる時に僕の横にアジア系の小柄な女の子が二人並んだんだ。どっちもおしゃれで可愛いらしくてさ、僕はニーハオって声かけたんだよ。そしたら二人ともそれまで楽しそうにお喋りしてたのに急に黙って、愛想笑いしながらどっかに行っちゃったんだ」　ゲラルトは不思議そうに眉を寄せた。「まあ…僕が悪かったんだけどね。一緒にいた子たちが、あれは日本人だよって教えてくれたんだ。なんで分かるのって聞いたら、話してる言葉と、あと服装で分かるって言ってた。日本人だったらコンニチワって言わなきゃいけないのに、僕が勝手に一緒にいた子たちと同じ中国人だって思いこん��ニーハオって言っちゃったんだよ。だって僕には見た目だけじゃ全然違いが分からなかったからさ」　ゲラルトは黙って話を聞いていたが、静かに口を開いた。「確かにヨーロッパから見れば、アジアの国なんてどれも同じに見えるだろうな」　ヤスキエルは首を傾げた。「オーストラリアは違うの？」「まあ、物理的に距離が近い分、アジアひとかたまりで見ることはない…おそらく」「へえ、じゃあ君は見ただけで、誰が中国人か日本人か分かるってこと？」　ヤスキエルが興味深そうに聞くと、ゲラルトは何も答えずに肩をすくめた。「それは…分かるって意味？それとも分からないって意味？ジェスチャーだけで何が言いたいか理解できるほど、まだ君と充分な時間過ごしてないんだけど」　ゲラルトは小さくため息をつき、少し考えたあと口を開いた。「分かる時もあれば、分からない時もある。分からなければ何も言わないか…」ヤスキエルに目線を合わせると、響くような、低い声で言った。「直接相手に聞くだけだ」　ヤスキエルはしばらくゲラルトの黄色い目を見つめ返した後、鼻から息を漏らしながらドサリと椅子の背にもたれた。「人を見た目で判断するな…か」思案するように上を見上げる。「僕が入れるタトゥーのフレーズはこれで決まりかもね…」「タトゥーを入れたいのか？」「まさか！タトゥーは格好良いけど、針で体を引っ掻かれるのは嫌だよ。なんでそんな痛い思いをしてまでタトゥーを入れたがるのか僕には全然分かんないな。自虐趣味があるとしか思えない」　ヤスキエルが言い切ると、ゲラルトはまた肩をすくめ何も言わずにブルスケッタの残りを食べ始めた。ヤスキエルも食事に戻ろうとしたが、ふと手を止めて、顔をあげた。「…待って。もしかして君…タトゥー入ってるのか？」「…さあな」　ゲラルトは顔を上げずに答えた。「誤魔化すって事はやっぱり入ってるんだな。入ってなかったら、入ってないって言うはずだ。どこ？どこにタトゥー入れたんだ？」「お前に関係ないだろう」「言いたくないような際どいとこ？お尻とか…まさかペニスじゃないよね？分かった！元カノの名前入れちゃって後悔してるパターンだな。今だったら消す方法もあるみたいだよ、高いらしいけどね。調べてみたら？」　勝手な決めつけでペラペラと喋るヤスキエルを睨みつけると、ゲラルトは怒ったように鼻から唸り声を出した。獰猛な野獣が威嚇するような声だった。「わお凄いね、そんな恐ろしい音どうやって顔から出すの？」ヤスキエルの感心したような声に、ゲラルトはすでに深く刻まれた眉間の皺を更に深くさせた。「悪かったよ、もう言わない。君のプライバシーを尊重する。それに、これから四六時中一緒にいるんだ、君のタトゥーを見るチャンスなんていくらでもあるしね」　ゲラルトがまたじとりとした目を向けたので、ヤスキエルはうんざりした声をあげた。「だから、そういうつもりじゃないって。僕にだって好みがあるんだから。あのさ、毎回このやり取りするの面倒だからさっさと僕に慣れてくんないかな？」　ゲラルトは鼻からふん…と音を漏らすと、フォークでトマトを突き刺し口に入れた。ヤスキエルもポテトを乱暴につかむと口に突っ込んだ。二人ともしばらく黙って口の中のものを咀嚼した。「Hola！」　少し離れたところで元気の良い声がしたのでそちらを向くと、レストランの入り口で先ほどの女性スタッフが、同じラテン系の若い男に抱きつき頬にキスをしていた。どうやら彼が、彼女のラッキーなボーイフレンドのようだった。　その足元に視線を落とすと、テーブルの周りをずっとうろついていた大きい鳥が、誰かが落としたらしいソーセージのかけらをその長いクチバシでつついていた。この鳥はヤスキエルと同じように目の前に出されたものなら、なんでも食べそうだった。「あの鳥はなんて言う名前なの？」　つまんだフライドポテトで鳥を指しながら、ヤスキエルはゲラルトに顔を向けた。「…ああ、あれはビンチキンだ」「ビン…チキン…？ビンって、ゴミ箱のビン？ゴミ箱のニワトリってこと？」「そうだ。あいつらはそこらじゅう徘徊して、人の食べ残しを狙ってゴミ箱を漁るからな。好かれてはいない。元々は魚や貝をつかまえるためにあれだけ長いくちばしになったんだろうが、今は人間が出したゴミを漁るのに便利に使っている」「へえ、なんか皮肉だね。チキンって名前だけど、見た目はニワトリっぽくないよね」「ああ、種類でいうとトキの仲間だ。正式名は…たしかオーストラリアン・ホワイト・アイビスだ。おそらくシドニーには年中いるが、南の方に生息してるやつらは、冬になると北のあたたかい場所へ移動する。寒さにはあまり強くないからな」「ふーん、よく知ってるね。君って鳥とか動物に詳しいの？」「少しな」「じゃあ僕にオーストラリアの動物のこと色々教えてよ」「興味あるのか？」「もちろん。こんなに見たことない生き物がいっぱいいる場所は初めてだ。知らないことなら僕は何でも知りたい」「…そうか」　ゲラルトは薄く口角を上げた。その表情が少しだけ嬉しそうに見えて、ヤスキエルも自然と笑顔になっていた。　ゲラルトの額にかかる細い髪の束が日に当たって銀色に輝いている。柔らかくウェーブしたその髪は絹糸のようにも見えた。もし彼の髪に触れたら、その肌触りもやはり絹のように滑らかだろうか。「あのさ」ヤスキエルは口を開いた。「あらためて言うけど、僕をローチ…君の車に乗せてくれてありがとう。君は命の恩人だよ。教えてくれたら料理だってすぐ上手くなるし、僕の歌で稼いだお金で最高級の料理をご馳走するから、楽しみにしててよ。もちろん牛肉抜きのやつ」　顔をあげたゲラルトは少しの間ヤスキエルを見つめていたが、テーブルへ視線を戻すとフォークをパンのかけらに刺した。「…分かったから、黙って食べろ」「うん」　ヤスキエルも下を向いた。木製プレートの上のビーフバーガーはあと一口になっていた。名残惜しい気持ちでそれを口に放り込み、モグモグと顎を動かしながらその味を噛みしめた。　残り少なくなったフライドポテトを掴もうとした時、ビーフバーガーのソースで濡れた指が滑りフライドポテトが一本テーブルの下にぽとりと落ちた。すると、とっくにソーセージを食べ終えていたビンチキンがそれに気付いたように目ざとく首を持ち上げた。ゆっくりとその大きな��を揺らしヤスキエルの元へやってくると、落ちたフライドポテトを長く黒いクチバシで持ち上げ、羽を広げながら器用に喉の奥へと放り込んだ。背の部分とは違い、広げた羽の内側は新しいシーツのように真っ白で、ふわふわとした羽毛が心地よさそうだった。ヤスキエルは目の端でそれを眺めながら小さく笑んだ。　顔を海へと向ける。　遊覧船らしきフェリーが横切っているのが見えた。　キラキラと光る海面が眩しくて、ヤスキエルは思わず目を細めた。　街路樹の葉のさわさわと揺れる音が、鳥たちのやかましい鳴き声と共に聞こえる。　そこらじゅうに漂うオーストラリアの陽気が、ヤスキエルに笑いかけているようだ。　その空気をしばらくじっと味わった。　楽しい旅に、なりそうだと思った。

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The Butcher's Block - シドニーのレストラン https://goo.gl/maps/kJVjGhAioJEKAout7

#geraskier #modern au #Back to West - geraskier au #australia #road trip

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na-mmu · 3 years ago

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BACK TO WEST 2 - Geraskier modern AU

Chapter 2　旅の計画

　ヤスキエルがこの旅を計画した当初、オーストラリアへ行こうなんて考えもしていなかった。　昔、オーストラリアの危険な野生動物を捕獲するという趣旨の娯楽番組をテレビで見て以来、オーストラリアは、大きい毛むくじゃらのタランチュラみたいな蜘蛛や、猛毒を持った恐ろしい蛇が藪の中に隠れている場所なのだという印象を持っていた。確かにカンガルーやコアラなんかの可愛らしい生き物がいる事も知っていたけれど、ヤスキエルの頭の中ではその番組に登場する危険な生物のイメージが先行していた。その娯楽番組自体は面白かったが、テレビで見る分には良くても実際にそんな危険な生き物のいる場所に行ってみたいとは思わなかった。　気が変わったのは、Skyscannerで格安航空券を探していた時スクロールしたスマートフォンの画面に現れた広告がきっかけだった。その広告に使われていた写真には、地平線の上に巨大な台形の山が超然と浮かびあがり、その横から太陽がまばゆい光の筋を何本も放ちながら昇っている様子が写っていた。青い空が下へ行くにつれてサーモンピンクから黄色へ柔らかく色を変えており、その下を散り散りに漂う雲が太陽の燃える色を反射して濃いオレンジ色になっていた。その土肌が剥き出しの大きな山も、太陽の輝きを吸うように、深く濃い朱色に染まっていた。荘厳な風景だった。　最初、山だと思ったそれは、後で調べると山じゃない事が分かった。　それはオーストラリア大陸のど真ん中に位置するエアーズロック――今はウルルと呼ばれる――巨大な、巨大な一枚岩だった。　その写真の鮮烈なイメージに、ヤスキエルは一瞬で心を奪われた。絶対にこの景色を生で見たいと思った。この目で見るまでは死ねないような気さえした。　こうしてオーストラリアは、あっさりとヤスキエルの旅の計画に含まれたのだった。　その後、最初に見つけた一番安価な航空券がパース・ロンドン間のフライトだった。すぐにチケットを予約して、そこを起点に旅のスケジュールを立てた。といっても、要所要所の航空券を事前に購入しただけで、後はその時の気分で行く場所を決めながらふらふらと旅をした。　まずはインドからスタートして内陸に進み、東南アジア、東アジアを巡ってまた東南アジアに戻り、インドネシアから長距離フライトでニュージーランドへ飛んだ。台湾でフィリピン行きの飛行機を逃したときは心底焦ったけれど、便を振替できる航空券だったので何とかなった。購入していたチケットはほとんど振替のきかないものばかりだったのに、その航空券だけはなぜかグレードアップして購入していたので振り替えてもらえたのだ。こういった強運を持っているところが、ヤスキエルにはあった。　そしてこの旅の最終目的地となるオーストラリアに、ついに昨日到着したのだった。　シドニーの空港に降り立った時、ニュージーランドに比べるとずいぶん気温が違うことにヤスキエルは驚いた。オーストラリアの方が断然、暑い。Google Mapで見てみるとオーストラリアはニュージーランドよりも北に位置しているので、それもそうかと納得した。ここは南半球なのだ。北へ行くほうが気温は高くなる。　自分の生まれたイギリスと比べると、話されている言語が同じとはいえあまりの気候の違いにびっくりしていた。なんだか太陽の明るさも違う気がした。目に入る全ての色が、鮮やかに見えた。　昨日はホステルに泊まった。今日はバスに乗って移動する予定だった。　朝になって市街地の少し外れにあるホステルを出た後、徒歩でバス停まで向かっている途中で荷物の整理をしておこうと思い立ち、足を止めた。すぐそばに緑の蓋がついた、腰の高さほどのキャスター付きのゴミ箱が三つ並んでいたので、ひとまず手に持っていたKANKENのリュックをそのうちの一つに載せ、歩きながら食べていたパンの包み紙は隣のゴミ箱へ捨てた。小ぶりのリュックとは別に、着替えや寝袋などが詰め込まれた大きいバックパックを背負っていたのでそれを地面におろし、肩から下げていたギターもその上に置いた。　ヤスキエルはこの旅にギターを持ってきていた。荷物になることは分かっていたけれど、これだけは置いていけなかった。　ヤスキエルにとって音楽は、人生になくてはならないものだった。　子供の頃ピアノを習い始めたのをきっかけにして、音を奏でることの楽しさを知った。自分の動かす指をつたって黒い木製ピアノの中から重厚感のある弾んだ音が飛び出してくるのを聴くと、とてもワクワクした。あっという間にのめり込み、毎日毎日ピアノを弾いた。　結局、ピアノだけでは飽き足らず、フルートやヴァイオリン、ギター、ベース、ドラムと一通りの楽器に手をだした。ポーランドに住む祖母がリュートを持っていたので、弾き方を少し教えてもらったこともあった。ギターと似たようなもんだろうと舐めていたら、弦の数がギターよりも多いので上手に弾くのはなかなか難しかった。でも、その音色が好きだと思った。ヤスキエルは歌うのも曲を作るのも好きだったから、中世の吟遊詩人がこのリュートを片手に物語を歌にのせて人々に伝えながら旅をしたのだと思うと、とても憧れた。　そしてヤスキエルは、ギターと一緒にこの旅に出ることを決めたのだった。吟遊詩人のような気分を味わってみたい、そう思った。自分が社会人として働き始めてしまったら、もうこんなことはできない気がした。　行く先々で自分の見たものや聞いた話をもとにして歌を作りながら、この旅を続けてきた。そこで生活する人々や建物を見て歩くと、自然と身体からメロディが溢れてくるようだった。自分はこんなにも世界を知らなかったのかと驚くことばかりで、何もかもが新鮮だった。その感動をメロディと歌詞にして、歌という形に落とし込んでいくのが楽しかった。　ニュージーランドのホステルに滞在した時、ホステル主催のバーベキューパーティでこの旅の中で作った歌を披露させてもらった。ホステルに宿泊しているのはヤスキエルと同じような若者が多く、みんなノリがよくて、口笛を鳴らす人もいれば踊りだす人もいた。ヤスキエルが歌い終わると大きな拍手と歓声があがった。みんなの興奮したような笑顔を目のあたりにして、全身に鳥肌が立った。学生時代にバンドを組んでライブハウスで演奏した時とは全く違った感動が、ヤスキエルの胸にはあふれていた。ロンドンにいたままでは絶対に味わえない体験だった。　この旅にギターを持ってきて良かったと、心から思った。　ヤスキエルは地面におろした荷物の上にギターを置くと、その場にしゃがんでバックパックの横についたポケットのジッパーを開けた。中からパスポートとロンドンへ帰るための飛行機のチケットを取り出す。チェックアウトの時間ギリギリまでホステルに居座ってしまい、荷物を慌てて準備したのでその時とりあえずここに仕舞ったのだった。その二つをリュックへ移そうと思った時、開いたままのバックパックのポケットから何かがひらりと落ちた。　五ポンド札だった。　おそらくイギリスを出るときに空港で水を買って、お釣りをそこに突っ込んだのだ。もう三ヶ月以上もこのバックパックを背負って旅をしてきたのに、今までずっとこの五ポンド札がそのポケットに入っていたことに気づかなかった。その事がなんだかおかしくて、小さく笑った。同時に、自分はあと少しでイギリスへ戻るのだという事を思いだした。不思議な気がした。　落ちた五ポンド札を拾おうと手をのばすと、それはふわりと風に持ちあげられ、ひらりと舞いながらヤスキエルの元から離れていった。慌てて追いかけると、お札はヤスキエルをからかうように��しげにひらひらと飛び、五メートルほど行ったところで、エリザベス女王の描かれた面を上にして地面に着地した。これ以上風に飛ばされないよう急いで駆け寄り、そのエメラルドグリーン色のお札を拾いあげた。　その時だった。　ガシャンと大きな金属音がした。　振り返ると、黄色のゴミ収集車が鉄のアームを使って沿道のゴミ箱からゴミを回収しているところだった。さっき歩いている時にも見かけて感動したところだ。何回見ても面白くて、またそれをぼうっと眺めていた。　ふと、ゴミ箱の蓋の上に置いたヤスキエルのリュックが、ずり落ちそうになっているのが目に入った。思わずあっと声をあげた時、ヤスキエルのリュックは隣のゴミ箱へすべり落ちた。そのゴミ箱だけは緑の蓋があいたままになっていた。パンの包み紙を捨てた時、ヤスキエルが蓋を閉めるのを忘れたのだった。　そして止める隙もなく、鋼鉄の二股アームはその身を振動させながら、沿道のゴミ箱をがっしりと掴むと宙��持ち上げた。逆さまになったゴミ箱からヤスキエルの鮮やかな色のリュックが飛び出し、ゴミ収集車の大きくあいた口の中へ落ちていった。　一瞬の出来事だった。　こうして、ヤスキエルの財布とスマートフォンが入ったリュックは、眩しいほど元気な黄色をしたシドニーのゴミ収集車に回収されてしまったのだった。

Next → Chapter 3　旅の始まり

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na-mmu · 3 years ago

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BACK TO WEST 1 - Geraskier modern AU

Chapter 1　黄色のゴミ収集車

「ジーザスファッキンクライスト！」　　シドニーの街に、良く通る声が響いた。　街中でファッキンなんて汚い言葉を叫ぶもんじゃないという事は分かっていたけれど、今のヤスキエルはそんな事を気にしている場合じゃなかった。　鮮やかな黄色をしたゴミ収集車は、財布とスマートフォンの入ったヤスキエルのリュックを飲み込んだまま、無情にも目の前から走り去っていった。唖然として、ヤスキエルはその場に立ち尽くした。「ウソだろ…」　遠のいて行くゴミ収集車をただ口をあけて眺めていると、沿道に出されたキャスター付きのゴミ箱の前で、その黄色の車体が一時停止したのが見えた。住人が出した家庭ゴミを回収しようとしているのだ。　ヤスキエルは全力で走り出した。まだ間に合うかもしれない。もしゴミ収集車に追い付いたとしても、自分のリュックを取り出すにはその中のゴミのプールに飛び込まなければいけないだろうが、構ってはいられなかった。昨日オーストラリアに着いたばかりなのに、金も連絡手段もない状態でどうやってこれからの二週間を過ごせというんだ。それに、あのKANKENのリュックはお気に入りだったんだ。限定ものでもう買えないやつだ。　ヤスキエルはなりふり構わず走った。　ゴミ収集車はまだ停車している。収集車は車体の横から先が二股になった鉄製のアームを突き出すと、緑色の蓋のゴミ箱をそのアームで器用に挟んで持ち上げ、車体の上の大きくあいた口に勢いよくゴミ箱の中身をぶちまけた。重力で開いたゴミ箱の蓋が大きく揺れる。今さっき運悪くゴミ箱に落ちてしまったヤスキエルのリュックは、全く同じ方法でこの走る有能なゴミ収集マシーンに取り込まれてしまったのだった。オーストラリアのゴミ収集車がロボットみたいで格好良いと興奮したのはつい五分くらい前の事だったけれど、今はその鋼鉄のアームが憎くてしょうがなかった。　必死に走った。歩道を歩くタンクトップの若い女の子が驚いた声をあげてヤスキエルをかわした。ゴミ収集車だけを見つめながら無我夢中に足を動かす。こんなに本気で走ったのは九歳の時に犬に追いかけられて以来だった。真っ黒な体の怖い顔をしたドーベルマンだった。足の裏がジンジンと痛み出し、太ももが限界を迎えそうだったが、それでも走った。　もう少しで追い付きそうだと思った瞬間、急に誰かの腕がヤスキエルの身体を遮った。「危ない、轢かれるぞ」「あー！でも、でも！」　ヤスキエルの前を猛スピードで車が走り抜ける。身体がびくりと跳ねた。胸の前に出された腕を振り払おうとしたが、その筋肉質な腕はびくともしなかった。　更に何台か通り過ぎ、ハアハアと肩で大きく息をしながらそれを見送っているうちに、ゴミ収集車がその車体を震わせ発車するのが見えた。「あー、行っちゃう…」　黄色いゴミ収集車はヤスキエルのリュックをその腹に収めたまま、角を曲がり、見えなくなってしまった。「あー…」　崩れるようにヤスキエルはその場にうずくまった。「信じられない…」　信じられなかった。自分がこんな目に遭うなんて思いもしなかった。この旅の途中で、飛行機に乗り遅れたりデート詐欺にあったりそのせいで全財産の半分を失いそうになったりと大変な事は色々と起きたけれど、これが一番最悪だと言えた。　あと二週間だった。あと二週間で、ヤスキエルはオーストラリアのパースから飛行機に乗って、ロンドンに戻るはずだった。この四ヶ月にわたる、ヤスキエルが社会人になる前の最後の旅が、それで終わる予定だったのだ。なのに、今ヤスキエルは無一文になり、それを家族や友達に連絡することも出来ず、この残りの二週間を生き延びる方法どころか自分の国に帰れるかすら分からなくなってしまった。この旅は、最後の最後で悪夢へと変わったのだった。ジリジリと熱を放つアスファルトをただひたすら見つめる事しかできなかった。　ヤスキエルの打ちひしがれた心とは裏腹にオーストラリアの空はからりとした快晴で、そんなのは大したことじゃないと笑うように元気よく太陽光を降り注いでいた。　後頭部が熱くなるのを感じた。　夏も終わりに近づく季節だったが、それを全く感じさせないほど日差しは強かった。　聞いた事のない鳥の鳴き声が、シドニーの街のビルの間にこだました。「終わった…ぜんぶ終わった…」　しゃがんだ両膝の間に顔をうずめたままでいると、ヤスキエルの目の前に人型の影が差した。「大丈夫か？どうしたんだ？」　顔を上げると、今さっきヤスキエルが車にぺしゃんこに轢かれてしまうのをその逞しい腕で防いだ男が、ヤスキエルを覗き込んでいた。嘘みたいに端正な顔をした、それと同時にワイルドな雰囲気も感じさせる、白い髪の男だった。

Next → Chapter2　旅の計画

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オーストラリアが舞台の現パロGeraskierです。ロードムービー的なお話になる予定。完結できたらラッキーくらいの気持ちで、気ままに書いていきま��。

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na-mmu · 3 years ago

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BACK TO WEST 3 - Geraskier modern AU

Chapter 3　旅の始まり

「いや…大したことじゃないんだ…大丈夫…」　財布とスマートフォンを失ったショックで歩道にしゃがみ込んでいたヤスキエルは、白い髪の男に手を貸してもらいながら立ち上がった。顔から出ている涙とも鼻水ともつかない液体を、花柄のプリントシャツの端で拭う。ズズッと鼻をすすった。「ありがとう…大丈夫…全然大丈夫だ…」　鼻声になっていた。しばらく下を向いて息を整え、落ち着いたところで顔を男へ向けた。「全然大丈夫じゃない！」　勢いよく顔をあげたせいで、また鼻水が出た。ズッと鼻を吸い上げると、白髪の男は可哀想なものを見るような目で、持っていたタオルをヤスキエルに渡してくれた。「…ありがとう」　受け取って鼻をかむと、ライトグレーのタオルからは優しい洗剤の香りと太陽の匂いがした。少しの間、タオルに顔をうずめていた。「…ふー」　タオルから顔を離し、息を吐きながら空を見上げると、見た事のない鮮やかな鳥が空を飛んでいるのが見えた。さっき聞こえた鳴き声は、あの鳥のものかもしれない。　少しすっきりした気がして、顔を男の方へ向けた。「落ち着いたよ、ありがとう」「そうか、良かった」　男が小さく笑んだ。　日の下でその白い髪の男をあらためて見ると、やはり信じられないほど整った顔をしていた。目元の彫りは深く、しっかりとした顎と通った鼻筋が美しい。まるで大英博物館に展示されているギリシャ彫刻が、そのまま展示室から動き出してきたようだった。もしミケランジェロがこの男を一目でも見たら、その手から創り出す人物の彫刻はすべてこの男と同じ顔になってしまいそうなほど完璧な顔立ちだ。うっすらと生えた髭が野性的で、その端正な顔と絶妙なバランスを保っており、黄色みがかった珍しい虹彩をもつその瞳は神秘的ですらあった。一見、白に思えるその長く柔らかそうな髪は、光の加減で銀やグレーにも見える。逞しい腕の筋肉と、厚い胸板が黒いシャツ越しに窺え、ボタンを二つほどあけた胸元から見える胸毛がセクシーだった。「で、どうしたんだ？」「あっ、いや、その…」　すっかりその男に見とれてしまっていた。　目の前の男に自分の哀れな状況を訴えようとした時、ぱさりと何かがヤスキエルの足元に落ちた。音のした方を見下ろすと、それはヤスキエルのパスポートとロンドン行きの航空券だった。風に飛ばされた五ポンド札を追いかけようとした時、無意識に尻のポケットに入れていたのだろう。それが落ちたようだった。「良かったぁ！」思わず大声をあげると、ヤスキエルは飛びつくようにパスポートと航空券を拾いあげた。「君たちは残ってくれたんだな、ありがとう！良かった！ほんとうに良かった！」　今さっきまで地面に落ちていたことも気にせず、天を仰ぎながらワインレッド色のパスポートに何回もキスをした。「…大丈夫、なんだな…？」　男は少し訝しそうな顔をしながら、ヤスキエルに聞いた。「え？ああ、うん、ありがとう！大丈夫だ。いや、ほんとは全然大丈夫じゃないけど、まあとりあえず大丈夫だ」　ヤスキエルは手をひらひらと振りながら、男へ笑顔を向けた。　ひとまずロンドンへ帰るために必要なパスポートと航空券が無事で良かった。正直なところ、この東海岸からオーストラリア大陸の正反対に位置する西海岸のパースまで、どうやって二週間以内に辿り着けば良いのかは分からなかったが、なんとかしてパースの空港に着きさえすれば自分の国へ帰ることは出来る。どうするかはこれから考えようと思った。　ふと、男が手にドライバーらしき道具を持っているのが目に入った。「あー、僕のことはいいけど、君は何してるんだ？何か困ってるなら手伝うけど？」　ヤスキエルの視線に気付いた男は「ああ…」と手元の工具を見た。「俺は、車を修理していたところだ。後ろのタンクが水漏れしてたからな。もう治ったから問題ない」　男は自身の後ろを親指でさした。そちらへ目を向けると、大きな白いバンが男のすぐ後ろに停まっているのが見えた。さっきまで自分のことで精一杯で、その大きい車がすぐそこに停まっていることに全く気づいていなかった。白いボディの下側に黒のラインが入ったその車は、通常のバンと比べるとかなり奥行きがあるようだった。どことなく、使い古した感がある。「これって、キャンピングカー？」「ああ、そうだ」「格好良いね。旅をしてるんだ？」「いや、今から旅に出るところだ」「ふーん、そうなんだ。じゃあ君はこの街の人なんだね」「いや、違う。シドニーは仕事で来ただけで、普段は別の場所に住んでる。休暇を取って、このバンで旅行しながら帰るつもりだ」「いいなあそれ！キャンピングカーでホリデーなんて楽しそうだよ、憧れるなあ。どれくらい旅する予定？」「十日��どだ。家がパースの近くなんだが、ちょうどシドニーからだと大陸を横断する形になる。せっかくだから、ウルルに寄ろうかと考えてるところだ」　男はその少しくたびれた車体に手をついた。「こいつは買ったばかりの中古車だが、まあなんとか走ってくれるだろう」　そう言いながらヤスキエルの方へ顔を向けた男は、訝しそうにその黄色い目を細めた。「…どうして、そんなに笑顔なんだ？」　ヤスキエルの薄い唇はきれいな三日月のように、にんまりとしていた。　訝しげな顔をした男を尻目に、ヤスキエルはミュージカルでも演じるようにくるりと回転しながら移動すると、男の後ろへまわった。バンに片手をつくと、空いた手を優雅に広げる。「人助けをしたくないか？」　男は訝し気な表情のまま、厚みのある逞しい体をヤスキエルの方へ反転させた。「…誰の？」「僕だ」　ヤスキエルは歌うように答えた。更に手ぶりをつけながら続ける。「このうるわしい哀れな青年は、彼の命綱となる財布とスマートフォンを、シドニーの街にはびこる凶悪なゴミ収集ロボットカーに今しがた奪われてしまったところだ。無一文になった上に連絡手段も断たれて、手元にあるのはパスポートと、二週間後にパースを出発するこの飛行機のチケットだけになってしまった」パスポートと航空券を持った手を仰々しく天に掲げ、もう片方の手をドラマチックに胸にあてた。「そして、なす術もなく打ちひしがれていたところに、君が颯爽と現れた。偶然にも君もパースに向かうというじゃないか。もしここで、君がほんのちょっと、ほんのちょっとだけこの可哀そうな青年に情けをかけてくれれば、二週間後には飛行機に乗って自分の国へ帰ることができる」　ヤスキエルは優雅なしぐさで今度は両手を広げると、笑みを見せながら男の顔を見据えた。「さあ、助けたくならないか？」「…つまり、俺のキャンピングカーでお前をパースまで連れていけというのか？」「その通り」　ヤスキエルはウィンクをした。　男は首をかたむけ、ヤスキエルを見返すと口を開いた。「…その前に、電話を貸してやるから家に掛けて事情を説明したらどうだ。ウエスタン・ユニオンを使えば海外送金してもらえるぞ」　ヤスキエルは広げていた手をおろすと、目をくるりと回した。「あー…実はいま、うちの家族もホリデーで家を空けてるんだ。みんなでポーランドのおばあちゃんの家に行ってる」「じゃあ、その祖母の家に電話を掛ければいい」「誰が自分以外の家の電話番号覚えてるっていうんだ？全部スマホが記憶してくれるじゃないか。まあ…そのスマホは今この街のどっかを走ってるロボットカーの中だけど」「なら、そこにある図書館に行け。無料で使えるパソコンが置いてあるから、それでFacebookでもなんでも使って家族か友達に連絡すれば良い」「ログインパスワードを覚えてないよ。というか今はなんでも二段階認証だから、どっちみちスマホがないとどのSNSにもログインできない」　男は目を上へ向けながらため息をつき、バンに手をついた。「お願いだ、この青いつぶらな瞳の、哀れで無力な青年を助けてくれ」　駄目押しで続ける。「じゃないと僕はこの見知らぬ土地でのたれ死ぬかも…」　懇願するような表情で、男を上目遣いに見た。　男は少しの間ヤスキエルを見つめ返していたが、顔を下へ向けると再度ため息をついた。片手をバンに置いたままもう片方の手でその白い髪をかき上げ、ヤスキエルへ視線を戻した。「…ギブアンドテイクだ」「…うん？」「乗せて欲しければ、お前も何か役に立つことをするんだ」「オッケー…わかった。まあ、そりゃそうだよね。何をすればいい？」「料理はできるか？」「うーん…あんまり。でもパンケーキなら最高においしいのが作れるよ。ふわっふわのやつ」「三食パンケーキはごめんだ。…車の運転は？」「できる！免許を持ってないけど」「それだと意味がないだろ」　男は少し考える素振りをした。「じゃあ、車のメンテナンスなんか……出来る訳ないな」「まったく知識はないけど、手伝いなら任せて。前に自分で自転車のパンクを修理したことがあるんだ」　ヤスキエルは得意げに言ったが、そんなことで説得されるわけがないというように、男は鼻から唸り声を出した。　沈黙がおり、またさっきの鳥が鳴いたのが聞こえた。　その時、ふと男の後ろに視線を向けると、遠くの方で路上に放置されているヤスキエルの荷物が目に入った。ゴミ収集車がお気に入りのKANKENのリュックを連れ去ったその場所で、取り残された大きいバックパックと、その上の薄茶色のギターがじっとしていた。　ヤスキエルは男へ視線を戻すと、自信に満ちた顔でにっこりと笑った。「あと、歌が歌える」「…音楽は聴かない」「じゃあ、移動しながら路上で歌うよ。それでガソリン代を稼ぐのはどう？」「どうだろうな。うまくいくとは思えないが…」「君は僕の歌を聴いたことないだろ？僕がどれだけ才能に溢れてるか知ったら、君も納得するよ」　ヤスキエルは口の両端をこれ以上ないくらいに持ち上げると、男を見た。　男はバンに手をついたまましばらく考え込んでいたが、小さくため息をつくと観念したようにヤスキエルを見返した。「…分かった、乗せてやる。お前の才能は知らないが、その得意な歌で少なくとも自分の飯代は稼ぐんだな。あと料理を教えるから、お前が飯を担当しろ」「ああ！ありがとう、完璧だ！」　ヤスキエルは男に抱きついていた。「君が良い人だってことは会った瞬間から分かってたよ。それに、僕といれば楽しい旅になること間違いない。パースに着く頃には、オーストラリア紙幣で僕のポケットはいっぱいになってるから、君にフルコースの料理を奢ってあげられる！僕と一緒に旅をして良かったって絶対に思うよ」　更に男を強く抱きしめた。背に回した手から、黒いシャツ越しに男の鍛え上げられた筋肉のなめらかさを感じた。ヤスキエルの頬に男の柔らかい白髪が触れ、ハーブのようなシャンプーのかすかな香りと、ほんの少し汗の匂いがした。「分かったから、離れろ」　男はうっとおしそうに、体にまわされたヤスキエルの腕を引きはがした。「さっさと荷物を取ってこい。すぐに出発するぞ」「ああ、今すぐ取ってくる！」　ヤスキエルは荷物のほうへ走り出した。先ほどまでの絶望的な気持ちが噓のように消え、信じられないほど心がワクワクしていた。　あの白い髪の男とこれからキャンピングカーで旅をするのだ。しかもこの旅の一番の目的だった、あの大きな一枚岩のウルルも見に行けることになった。これまでの旅で作った歌を道中で歌って、自分自身が称賛のコインを得るに値するアーティストなのか試す機会も得られた。本物の吟遊詩人になったみたいだ。　ヤスキエルは自分の荷物の前までたどり着くと、バックパックを背負い、ギターを手に持った。　つい十五分くらい前にこの場所で、間違いなくこの旅の生命線だった財布とスマートフォンを失ったけれど、そんな事は些細な出来事のような気がした。　空を見上げる。　相変わらず太陽は、元気な光を地上に降り注いでいる。　さっき見た鮮やかな鳥が、何羽も沿道の木にとまっているのが見えた。ヤスキエルを囃すように高い声をあげて鳴いている。　こんなに心が弾むような気持ちは初めてだった。　笑顔になるのを抑えられず、ニコニコとしながら男の待つ白いキャンピングカーの方へ歩いていくと、男は車体の横に屈み何かやり残した作業をしているようだった。ヤスキエルはバンに手をついた。「よろしくな、ローチ」　そう言って、車体を励ますように叩く。男が立ち上がった。「ローチ？」「この車の名前だよ」「車に名前はつけない」「でもここにそう書いてある」　ヤスキエルはキャンピングカーの脇腹に貼られたステッカーを指差した。幅十五センチメートルほどの黒色のステッカーには、ちょっとくすんだ赤色でROACHと印刷されていた。ヘビメタを思わせるようなゴシック体だ。「バンドステッカーかなあ、これ」「前の持ち主が貼ったんだろう。俺じゃない」「いいじゃないか、ローチって。かわいいよ。この車の名前にぴったりだ。名前をつけた方がもっと愛着が湧いて良いと思うけど」　ヤスキエルはイタズラっぽい笑みで男を見た。男は、鼻から唸るような音を漏らすと「…好きにしろ」と言って、キャンピングカーのドアを開けた。乗り込もうと片足をかけたところで、ヤスキエルを振り返る。「そういえば、お前の名前を聞いてなかったな。なんて言うんだ」　ヤスキエルは目線をステッカーから男へ移すと、笑顔で答えた。「僕は、ヤスキエルだ」顔に笑みをのせたまま聞き返す。「君は？」　片足をステップにかけた姿勢のまま、男は尖った八重歯を見せると、「ゲラルトだ」と言い、その白く長い髪を揺らしながら、キャンピングカーに乗り込んだ。　ヤスキエルも男に続いて勢いよく飛び乗った。　二人の旅が、始まろうとしていた。

Next → Chapter 4　ハングリーバード

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