[ Enough. Geralt accepts the answer for what it is. Jaskier's the only one who's even held any of the coins in his hand. This is the first he's seen of this sphere's money. The economy had not made its way down to the dungeons beyond old bread rolls and spare apples.
He stays with Ciri while Jaskier barters. Like her, he has his sights set on the rundown corners of the city—not only to save a few coins, but because they're least likely to draw attention there. He's zero interest in questions over how out of place the three of them are. And he still doesn't know about the magic that Thorne once used to track prisoners. If it holds—here, in the midst of enemy territory, it's unlikely they'll be pursued. Worth being cautious, though.
There's a quiet huff as he watches Ciri bully Jaskier (it's familiar); beyond that, he's silent. He hasn't got the energy to give two shits over how many beds. A part of him senses why Ciri is so adamant she not be put in a room of her own. It is, in some ways, the reason he feels the same. That he doesn't want either of them out of sight. And once they're in the room, something about her, he can see it—how she peers out the same windows; studies the same corners that he would've—
Fuck, it's too much to think about. (How long did they travel together? How long did she stay with him? Weeks, months? Years? How much did he teach her?)
He tests the latch on the door. Flimsy. As expected. Not worth doing anything about it, probably. If anyone he can't handle ever came through, then a sturdy lock wouldn't have stopped them in the first place. So. Good enough. Room, clothes. He doesn't sit, but he does lean against the wall by Ciri. ]
We eat. [ He eyes the portion of food in Jaskier's hands. The wine he knows is in that lute. A cork can't keep him from smelling it. ] Then sleep. I'll see to supplies tomorrow.
no subject
He stays with Ciri while Jaskier barters. Like her, he has his sights set on the rundown corners of the city—not only to save a few coins, but because they're least likely to draw attention there. He's zero interest in questions over how out of place the three of them are. And he still doesn't know about the magic that Thorne once used to track prisoners. If it holds—here, in the midst of enemy territory, it's unlikely they'll be pursued. Worth being cautious, though.
There's a quiet huff as he watches Ciri bully Jaskier (it's familiar); beyond that, he's silent. He hasn't got the energy to give two shits over how many beds. A part of him senses why Ciri is so adamant she not be put in a room of her own. It is, in some ways, the reason he feels the same. That he doesn't want either of them out of sight. And once they're in the room, something about her, he can see it—how she peers out the same windows; studies the same corners that he would've—
Fuck, it's too much to think about. (How long did they travel together? How long did she stay with him? Weeks, months? Years? How much did he teach her?)
He tests the latch on the door. Flimsy. As expected. Not worth doing anything about it, probably. If anyone he can't handle ever came through, then a sturdy lock wouldn't have stopped them in the first place. So. Good enough. Room, clothes. He doesn't sit, but he does lean against the wall by Ciri. ]
We eat. [ He eyes the portion of food in Jaskier's hands. The wine he knows is in that lute. A cork can't keep him from smelling it. ] Then sleep. I'll see to supplies tomorrow.