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Geralt of Rivia x Reader -- Destiny ~ Part 1

A/N; Unlike the last, this will be a short chapter... I hadn't much time to fix it up, so this will be more or less an introduction to Reader-chan than the actual story. 

"4 Gulden." 

You grit your teeth together and wrap your fingers around the woolen scarf, glaring daggers into the blue eyes of the male before you, who stared around the tiny shop you owned with a lazy air surrounding his being. 

"You're kidding." Huffing indignantly, you snatch the scarf out of his reach, shooting glares in his direction. The man, who you assumed to be a bard due to the intricate lyre strapped to his back, blinked in shock at your unwelcoming response, cocking an eyebrow in the air as if questioning your logic. 

"My, what un-hospital reactions I am getting. Whatever are you being so sour for?" 

Taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it out, your grit your teeth and reach over to dig your fingers in the thick wool of the black sheep at your feet. It bays, nudging your hand with it's head and nipping at your skin affectionately. 

"As I am sure you have noticed, we have a shortage of wool at our hands here. This scarf? It's one of the very very few you will find, and 4 Gulden is completely ridiculous for this scenario. Do you know how hard it is to live in Rivia?" 

Without even batting an eye, he slid four more coins across the counter top, looking over the wooden surface and eyeing the now feeding sheep, who was tearing clumps of hay out of a small feedbag attached to the counter with a singular nail. 

"How you say you have a wool shortage, yet you have a donation right at your feet, not sheared."

"She is not for the business. She was a gift from my mother." You hiss defensively, nails digging into the fleshy skin of your palm. He, in response, put his hands up defensively and murmured an apology, before reaching his hand out to ask for the scarf. 

Deciding 8 gulden was reasonable, you reluctantly handed over the now purchased item, pocketing the money and glaring at the floor, dismissing the Bard. However, he did not take the hint, instead leaning over the counter, hand held out as if he expected you to shake it. 

"I am Jaskier. May I ask; what is troubling your land and reducing your crop of wool?" 

Frowning, you dismiss his hand, rather, reaching under the counter and taking a heavy swig of whiskey as soon as the bottle was uncapped. Humming from the heat, you lean back in your chair. 

"A Griffin. It's taking off with our livestock to feed it's dying father." 

"How could you possibly know that??" He asked, incredulously. You smirk in response, drinking from you bottle once more. 

"Seen it. It's too young to be on it's own, for that matter, eat 5 grown sheep in one day. It's a male, given by it's crest... Male's go off with their fathers, female's, with their mothers. You've no idea, do you?" 

"T-To young?! What-?!" 

"It hasn't developed it's white head...And I'm pretty sure that a yearling Griffin can't eat 5 to 7 grown sheep a day by it's lonesome. It couldn't be feeding any siblings either, because griffins only mate once a year, and brothers hunt in packs. So, conclusion being... Dying father." 

"How-?!" 

Your wolfish grin widens. Oh how the look of complete confusion sent your mind reeling with contempt. Standing up, you shift your heavy skirts to the side as you vault over the counter, landed by the door, and turned the wooden sign that said 'Open' to it's backside. 

"Never Underestimate a woman for what she knows. I'm sorry sir, but we're closed for the day. Kindly leave. And make sure no feathers become ruffled~"