[Jaskier slaps a wave of water towards him.] You're hilarious, really!
[His heart is still pattering hard enough he can feel it, but it isn't so desperate. He has to remind himself this is nothing compared to going from a... a normal, magic-less person to one who can wield it with literally no training. (It's not going to be the first time he thanks the gods Yennefer is not here to see him like this.)
So he can make plants. That's. Completely normal. Isn't it? For a magic person? Fuck, he doesn't know how chaos works. He's pretty sure it doesn't work this way.
Actually, perhaps Yennefer's presence would be helpful. Though he doubted she would help him, even if her life were on the line.
He sighs, setting the grass aside. Now there's a pile of plants next to their tub, completely incomprehensibly.]
You might? For what? [His brain is firing too much and not enough. He busies himself by pulling the drain, draining the water to refill it with fresh, hot water. A bath in the middle of the bloody night gives them the opportunity, and he's not leaving until he's scrubbed every spot of dirt off of himself, until his skin has rubbed raw, if he must.] Well, suppose we could add a bit of spice to our food.
[Maybe. He isn't sure. What this means. Where it's come from. Geralt, he imagines, would tell him it doesn't matter: it's here now. He grabs some oil and begins massaging it into his wet hair, combing through the wet, curled strands. Careful to not think of plants in particular.] I suppose I have to practice it now. [It is a talent that may help them in the future. And considering this place is surrounded by desert... it's something to keep in mind.] Somehow we find ourselves on something resembling your Path again, but it's all cocked up.
no subject
[His heart is still pattering hard enough he can feel it, but it isn't so desperate. He has to remind himself this is nothing compared to going from a... a normal, magic-less person to one who can wield it with literally no training. (It's not going to be the first time he thanks the gods Yennefer is not here to see him like this.)
So he can make plants. That's. Completely normal. Isn't it? For a magic person? Fuck, he doesn't know how chaos works. He's pretty sure it doesn't work this way.
Actually, perhaps Yennefer's presence would be helpful. Though he doubted she would help him, even if her life were on the line.
He sighs, setting the grass aside. Now there's a pile of plants next to their tub, completely incomprehensibly.]
You might? For what? [His brain is firing too much and not enough. He busies himself by pulling the drain, draining the water to refill it with fresh, hot water. A bath in the middle of the bloody night gives them the opportunity, and he's not leaving until he's scrubbed every spot of dirt off of himself, until his skin has rubbed raw, if he must.] Well, suppose we could add a bit of spice to our food.
[Maybe. He isn't sure. What this means. Where it's come from. Geralt, he imagines, would tell him it doesn't matter: it's here now. He grabs some oil and begins massaging it into his wet hair, combing through the wet, curled strands. Careful to not think of plants in particular.] I suppose I have to practice it now. [It is a talent that may help them in the future. And considering this place is surrounded by desert... it's something to keep in mind.] Somehow we find ourselves on something resembling your Path again, but it's all cocked up.