2

                                    

                                          
Geralt's head was tilted to the side, but his eyes darted back to the barman as he spoke. 
                          
"You hear that? Go. On your own, or at the end of a rope, your choice." Geralt rose his eyebrows, as though he was amused by his words, although a smile did not grace his features. 
                          
"Not a hard choice." He replied at last, turning away from the bartender to leave the bar, seeing that he'd start an unnecessary fight on his first day here. 
                          
The bartender changed his mind almost instantly. "Yeah, fuck that. Kill him with your bare hands if you have to." Several more men stood up to join the pointless pursuit to murder Geralt. People around them looked at the soon to be fight, no one moving to help either party. Geralt doubted any of them would defend them even if they could hold a weapon. 
                          
"Come on Witcher, you're not scared of us, are you?" The man taunted, watching as Geralt mentally counted all of the poor men who'd be lying on the floor if a fight started. "Show us what you've got." 
                          
Before another word could be said, the door opened loudly and hit the stone wall with a thump. In came a person, tall and lean with the same, ominous black cloak over them as the Witcher. Everyone was silent as they watched the new arrival, who walked with an air of humble confidence. Boots heaved heavily on the floor, drawing attention from every pair of eyes in the room. They approached the bar, taking no notice of the looks they were given.
                          
"You're a Witcher too." The barman stated. The new arrival didn't comment. The barman angrily reached a hand over the bar to tear the hood from their face, although their hand shot out and grasped his wrist with an iron grip. Their fist clenched and squeezed, causing the bone to give a sickening crunch. 
                          
"Touch me and you die." The barman cried out, wrenching his hand from their grip and cradling it to his chest. The voice was so quiet in it's threat, Geralt barely even heard it. The voice was not one that he recognized. "Is it so hard to get bloody directions around here?" 
                          
The barman nearly spat in their face. "I don't serve mutants like him and you." He nodded his head to the Witchers in turn. The new arrival followed his eyes to Geralt, his face far more clear to the world than theirs. 
                          
"And I don't serve assholes like you, but without people like us, this world would be crawling with creatures that would toss your head from your shoulders half as quickly as I could." They quipped sharply to the barman, drawing a quiet laugh from Geralt. Geralt picked at the wood with gloved fingers, applying pressure to chipped areas to damage it even more for his own amusement. 
                          
The barman glared, gesturing for the men to close in on them. A man approached the new Witcher, grabbing them by the shoulder. The hooded figure gripped onto the man's hand with a leather glove, twisting it towards their head and breaking the man's wrist, before elbowing him in the face. He backed away instantly, holding a bloody nose and trying to support his broken wrist. While he howled in pain, the unnamed Witcher sat down quietly, glancing at Geralt. 
                          
Nobody so much as breathed in the direction of the stranger. It had been but two minutes since their arrival, and they already commanded the room. Geralt grinned from under his hood, very much aware that the Witcher could remove every man in the room without so much of a blink. 
                          
The bald man with the group of goons walked forward slowly, gaining confidence the more he was allowed to breathe. "You think you're tough, Witchers? Show us." He insisted. The stranger sighed from under the hood, cracking their knuckles together in preparation to kick everyone to next Thursday. 
                          
A woman from the shadows tossed down a piece of bread onto her plate, raising angrily from her chair. "Can you not leave it alone for a moment?" She said, clearly annoyed. Her voice matched her face; beautiful. Her hair was short and wavy, which accentuated her slim face and striking eyes. Everyone's eyes shifted to meet her. 
                          
"Witchers can't be trusted." The barman spat. The woman turned her gaze to him with fire in her eyes, daring her to defy her. The stranger smirked at her attitude. 
                          
"I wasn't speaking to you." She spat with venom. She turned calmly to the Witchers. "I apologize for my man's interruption in your days." The hooded Witcher scoffed quietly. 
                          
"I apologize that that's the man you're stuck with." The woman met the comment with a lopsided smile. 
                          
"Hopefully he can improve his behavior by tomorrow's market." She aimed her blunt reply to her partner, and he knew it. He stood down. 
                          
"Sorry, Renfri. Come on lads." He walked back to his table where his men sat, leaving just Geralt, the stranger, the barman, and Renfri to socialize among themselves. 
                          
"A beer each for my friends here and one for me." Renfri ordered. Geralt took the hood fully from his head, noticing the shift of power in the room. The barman stood still, his arms crossed stubbornly. "I am speaking to you now, good sir." Renfri said firmly. The barman reluctantly gave up, pouring three beers and giving them to both Witchers and Renfri, who ate her bread. 
                          
Geralt observed Renfri with piercing golden eyes, trying to figure her out. Renfri instead leaned over the bar to solve the enigma of the other Witcher, who's cloak still covered their face. 
                          
"Are you going to take off that hood, sir?" Renfri asked confidently. "I'd like to see the face of my new friend."
                          
The stranger hesitantly lifted up a hand, before grasping at the base of the hood and pulling the coarse black material over their head. Locks of deep sapphire blue showed themselves as they tumbled from the hold of the hood into tight curls. The front strands were tied back identically to Geralt's hairstyle, keeping the face clear of inconveniences. High cheekbones were revealed, as well as an averagely shaped and sized nose and full, plump lips as red as blood. A small pile of freckles dusted their cheekbones and cheeks, spreading a feeling of innocence over the Witcher.
                          
A set of incredibly piercing silver eyes met Geralt's golden ones. They were as though silver had been melted and molded into the blackest of black casts, creating beautiful contrast to the pale brown skin. Sapphire blue eyelashes blinked and covered the pools of beauty for one second, before raising once again to enchant those who looked into her eyes. 
                          
That wasn't what shocked Geralt the most. What shocked him the most was that this was the first Witcher he had seen in over a year. 
                          
And somehow, it was a woman.