[Okay, he does tell people, but it -- it's making it worse, either way. He sucks in air between gritted teeth, staring at the petals -- he knows immediately they're from a wisteria. How the fuck is he making wisteria petals? What did this to him? Where did this magic even come from?

Jaskier jerks, the touch breaking him out of his thoughts. He looks at Geralt, staring into his eyes.

All he'd wanted was a nice, relaxing bath. And it had not been relaxing in any sense of the word.

But he does breathe. He shakes the petals off of his hand and rubs his face, shaking it off. Fine. He can do... petal magic. Great. That's really helpful.] Easy for you to say. What have you got? A bit of fire? Great. I can make some grass for us to chew on. I'm sure it will be very helpful for our future life of whoever-the-fuck-knows. Couldn't have been something wonderful, could it? Like magical ice spears? Or big, bright arrows?

[Look, those just sound sort of interesting. Also terrifying. Nevermind. He'd probably impale himself if that had been the case.]