[Jaskier's mouth opens in outrage.] Don't make me out to be some common thief! This was originally going to be a gift, thank you!
[With a huff, he moves to sit beside Ciri, his legs stretched out in front of him on this dusty, dirty inn floor. If they're going to share this bottle, he may as well. Already just seeing her take a swig makes him consider going downstairs. What was a few more coins at this point? Fuck it, he wants to feel something other than sober for once.
He ignores and decides it's simply easier to comment on how the girl looks as if she may cry, how she's clearly not comfortable here. Hard to tell if it's because it's here, or because of what happened, and... he's too tired to ask, assumes she's too tired to answer. They barely know each other still.
He hopes they'll have time to change that.
Jaskier turns his head to take them in, next to each other. Next to each other, they are two peas in a pod. Somehow Ciri's face looks far too close to Geralt's: their hair a similar color, sporting scars that mar otherwise perfect faces. It doesn't make sense that bright green somehow feels so close to bright gold.
He's not sure whatto make of this. The idea that there is a Princess Cirilla out there who... who's here, and old enough to have been on her own for quite a while. Attached to a witcher who, only a season ago, was telling him to fuck off and to leave him alone.
A Witcher who must have been alone. Returning to Cintra before it burned completely. There was so much he was missing here.
And yet he smiles at both of them. Did it turn out all right, then? That someone could be so attached to Geralt like this? Of course she must be, that she leans against him so easily.
Jaskier sits up on his own, pulling threads from the edge of his sleeve as he awaits his turn.
His draw isn't as deep as the other two, but gods. That wine tastes fantastic.]
Mages? [He lifts his head to glance at Geralt across Ciri between them.] Well, I told Hector where I was going... [He frowns, a little, wandering what Geralt may be getting at. He watches his expression.
Ah. He phrased it that way for a reason.]
Give me enough time, I'll find plenty of friends among the mages. [He gives one of his winning smiles, even if it's very tired at the edges.] Can't have targets on you forever, can you? If it helps, the magic here is... it's less. Perhaps you both can feel it. It may not even reach here.
no subject
[With a huff, he moves to sit beside Ciri, his legs stretched out in front of him on this dusty, dirty inn floor. If they're going to share this bottle, he may as well. Already just seeing her take a swig makes him consider going downstairs. What was a few more coins at this point? Fuck it, he wants to feel something other than sober for once.
He ignores and decides it's simply easier to comment on how the girl looks as if she may cry, how she's clearly not comfortable here. Hard to tell if it's because it's here, or because of what happened, and... he's too tired to ask, assumes she's too tired to answer. They barely know each other still.
He hopes they'll have time to change that.
Jaskier turns his head to take them in, next to each other. Next to each other, they are two peas in a pod. Somehow Ciri's face looks far too close to Geralt's: their hair a similar color, sporting scars that mar otherwise perfect faces. It doesn't make sense that bright green somehow feels so close to bright gold.
He's not sure whatto make of this. The idea that there is a Princess Cirilla out there who... who's here, and old enough to have been on her own for quite a while. Attached to a witcher who, only a season ago, was telling him to fuck off and to leave him alone.
A Witcher who must have been alone. Returning to Cintra before it burned completely. There was so much he was missing here.
And yet he smiles at both of them. Did it turn out all right, then? That someone could be so attached to Geralt like this? Of course she must be, that she leans against him so easily.
Jaskier sits up on his own, pulling threads from the edge of his sleeve as he awaits his turn.
His draw isn't as deep as the other two, but gods. That wine tastes fantastic.]
Mages? [He lifts his head to glance at Geralt across Ciri between them.] Well, I told Hector where I was going... [He frowns, a little, wandering what Geralt may be getting at. He watches his expression.
Ah. He phrased it that way for a reason.]
Give me enough time, I'll find plenty of friends among the mages. [He gives one of his winning smiles, even if it's very tired at the edges.] Can't have targets on you forever, can you? If it helps, the magic here is... it's less. Perhaps you both can feel it. It may not even reach here.