[For once in his life, Jaskier does not insist on the more expensive inn, even though it's always been him dragging Geralt to nicer accommodations (and usually paying for them, if one must be honest.) Until he can establish himself once more, it's best they budget their coin.
And honestly, anywhere that isn't that blasted room in Thorne is better.
He does, however, insist Cirilla should take her own room -- there's plenty for that, at least -- but, of course, she argues, because Jaskier cannot meet a simple person in his life who simply agrees with his suggestions. He huffs at her but lets it go, feeling a very harrowing sense of déjà vu.
The moment the door is closed, he removes his lute case, his shoulders aching, and sets it near the door. He can't hold back the huff of a laugh at Ciri's declaration.]
What, this is your first prison escape? [He actually doesn't know. Prior to this, they had been very limited in their conversation. There's a whole life to Ciri he doesn't know yet, isn't there? And the same is said of Geralt.
He eyes his friend steadily. This is, truly, the first time he's seen them together. The Witcher and his Child of Destiny.
He turns his back and sets out the food he's managed on their way upstairs, opting instead of eating for falling face-first onto the bed. He nudges his boots off, one after the other, and simply sinks into it. He'll move. Eventually.] This must be the first time in my life I've ever heard you recommend something even slightly akin to relaxation.
[Said into the pillow. Whatever, he knows Geralt can hear him. He lifts up just enough to turn his head to Ciri.] How are you doing, my girl? I'm afraid you didn't have the drawn-out introduction the rest of us did.
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And honestly, anywhere that isn't that blasted room in Thorne is better.
He does, however, insist Cirilla should take her own room -- there's plenty for that, at least -- but, of course, she argues, because Jaskier cannot meet a simple person in his life who simply agrees with his suggestions. He huffs at her but lets it go, feeling a very harrowing sense of déjà vu.
The moment the door is closed, he removes his lute case, his shoulders aching, and sets it near the door. He can't hold back the huff of a laugh at Ciri's declaration.]
What, this is your first prison escape? [He actually doesn't know. Prior to this, they had been very limited in their conversation. There's a whole life to Ciri he doesn't know yet, isn't there? And the same is said of Geralt.
He eyes his friend steadily. This is, truly, the first time he's seen them together. The Witcher and his Child of Destiny.
He turns his back and sets out the food he's managed on their way upstairs, opting instead of eating for falling face-first onto the bed. He nudges his boots off, one after the other, and simply sinks into it. He'll move. Eventually.] This must be the first time in my life I've ever heard you recommend something even slightly akin to relaxation.
[Said into the pillow. Whatever, he knows Geralt can hear him. He lifts up just enough to turn his head to Ciri.] How are you doing, my girl? I'm afraid you didn't have the drawn-out introduction the rest of us did.