[ The temperature drops. Geralt lets his gaze finally drift towards Jaskier, something in it telling the bard to let this go. Not that he thinks Jaskier is deliberately picking at it; there are things Jaskier doesn't know, that even Geralt doesn't know. He's been navigating with a certain care himself. And he isn't interested in tensions rising just because they're all a combination of exhausted and full on wine and not enough food. So when Jaskier gets up for more alcohol, Geralt lets him go without comment.
Which leaves him alone with Ciri. He looks over at her. It's hard. He gets it. He searches for some way to reassure her, something he can say, but. Fuck, he's tired, too. He lays a hand on her arm instead, a rare gesture from him. At least at this stage. ]
I can tell him to sing instead of talk.
[ Maybe he'll do that either way. Seems like a solution for all involved, and Jaskier can always be goaded into a song. ]
no subject
Which leaves him alone with Ciri. He looks over at her. It's hard. He gets it. He searches for some way to reassure her, something he can say, but. Fuck, he's tired, too. He lays a hand on her arm instead, a rare gesture from him. At least at this stage. ]
I can tell him to sing instead of talk.
[ Maybe he'll do that either way. Seems like a solution for all involved, and Jaskier can always be goaded into a song. ]