Nailed Into Place | Geralt x Yennefer

Nailed Into Place

tags/warnings: modern new orleans au, inspired by s01e03 "betrayer moon", mishmash of nola folklore, I've altered the striga curse (pray I don't alter it further), references to s01e05 "bottled appetites", timeline what timeline, alcohol consumption, incest mention, pedophilia mention, injuries, blood, ableist language, a sprinkling of geralt/jaskier

-

Each night I am nailed into place / and forget who I am.

Anne Sexton, "Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty)"

-

Thursday, Faubourg Marigny

Jaskier sang from the taped off "stage" in the Apple Barrel Bar and threw him a wink. Evidently, we were feeling saucy tonight. The crowd ate it up; someone wolf-whistled.

It was absolutely the reason why Jaskier never missed an open-mic night. God forbid. Not that Geralt was complaining. Though he could complain about having to find some place to park in Marigny. But he wouldn't.

Geralt pretended not to notice the wink as the bartender set another beer in front of him. A crawfish-sausage-dog combo with chips from the restaurant next door followed shortly thereafter.

As Jaskier's short set came to an end, the crowd gathered close. For a moment, Geralt couldn't see him. He picked up the sausage-dog and took a bite, because it wasn't like they were going to have another Dragon's Den incident.

Jaskier had promised.

He was halfway finished by the time Jaskier plopped down on the empty stool next to him. His guitar case clunked against the bar between them. The bartender slid a cocktail in front of him without prompting. Jaskier softly thanked the bartender before turning to him.

"So... How'd I do?" Jaskier asked and stole a chip.

He grumbled, "Not as pitchy this time."

Jaskier's mouth dropped open in offense. "You should keep eating." He gestured with the stolen chip. "Need to get that blood sugar up."

He grunted and took another bite. He was hungry.

As the next performer set up, an overdressed man walked into the bar. The gray streaks in his hair and beard were too dignified. His well-tailored suit contrasted horribly with the hand-painted tables, multi-color rope lights, and dollar bills stapled above the bar.

The man gave the whole bar a once-over before his gaze settled on them. Sly recognition spread over his face—a familiar look. Geralt wondered whose wife Jaskier had seduced this time.

Jaskier noticed him taking notice of the newest customer and turned in his seat.

The man headed straight for them and offered his hand once near. "Geralt Rivia, I presume."

Geralt half-heartedly wiped his greasy hands on a napkin before shaking the man's hand. The air around the man stank of magic. With contact, he felt it slither under his leather jacket, wrapping around his forearm.

"Baron Ostrit," the man introduced himself and curled his now-greasy hand at his side.

Jaskier flirted, "Is Baron a title or a name?"

"Name."

"Jaskier," Jaskier chirped, holding out his hand to Ostrit.

Ostrit shook Jaskier's proffered hand. "Yes, I know."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Ostrit?" Geralt asked before Jaskier could derail the conversation. Though he could guess what Ostrit was doing in a dive bar on a weeknight.