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The party around then is in full swing. There's more people than the Brotherhood's intel suspected, and it has gotten more rowdy than any royal banquet Geralt has ever attended in his long long life.
He's not a social person by nature. Add that to the mounting bad circumstances, and this is a job straight from the depths.
"Let me handle this one.”
Dandelion's voice comes from by his shoulder, and only decades of training keeps him from starting. Instead he just raises his eyebrows at him.
“My name is also on the line here, and this party requires a more… delicate touch."
There's no reason for a man that ostentatious to move that silently.
"I thought you specialized in firearms."
"Oh, my aim never disappoints. But you're not the only one that can adapt. And guns can be far too loud for this kind of work."
That's when Dandelion uncovers a set of twin blades from his sleeves. They're small and sleek and Geralt can tell they're razor sharp. He can't sense any magic on them, and the acrid-sweet smell of poison is absent from the air.
His eyebrows raise without his consent. It's impressive. Most people in their line of work use more than just their body and their wits. This man is walking around with just his impeccable aim and his audacity. It's as impressive as it can be incredibly annoying.
He gestures toward the dance floor, and the sparkling marks he'd been dreading mingling with. "They're all yours."
Dandelion grins. Like every other smile he has graced Geralt with, it is as sharp as the tips of his twin knives, but the look in his bright eyes is confident and full of unknown promises.
The knives disappear back into those colorful sleeves, and Dandelion slinks away into the crowd. Geralt is only able to keep up with him because the outfit he chose for this outing shimmers like a thousand stars. Despite his eye-catching attire, he moves like a snake through a den of rabbits.
Geralt catches sight of their mutual set of targets before Dandelion gets to them, but Dandelion isn't far behind.
He watches, entranced despite himself, as the couple goes from standoffish and rude to open and laughing. He knows, deep in his gut, that he wouldn't have been able to get them alone this easily.
It should rankle, but instead he's just impressed.
The trio starts to make their way towards a hidden hallway that Geralt had scoped out before. He isn't surprised that Dandelion knows of its existence, and the leer he's sending the couple as he ushers them toward the secluded area makes something twist in his gut.
He knows it’s part of the game. He knows what an awful idea it is to feel things for someone else in the game. What he knows doesn’t make a difference.
Then Dandelion looks over one shimmering shoulder and nods toward the door, winking as he opens it for his unsuspecting marks. Geralt can see his showman smile clean across the room, and he can also see the second it shifts from innuendo-laced playfulness to razor-edged satisfaction.
Dandelion aims the second of the two at him, over the heads of the crowd, and winks as he tilts his head toward the door.
There was never any doubt Geralt would follow.