[Well, at least she does stop her defensive posturing. Jaskier relaxes again, mirroring her movements to wipe his own fingers clean. His stomach begs for more, but they are. There's a plan. They're definitely sticking to it.
And he needs something else to focus on instead of how overwhelming this is. Geralt, the Witcher, Mr. I-don't-need-anyone-and-the-last-thing-I-want-is-someone-needing-me, said years and years ago, a mantra that he's sure the Witcher would repeat if the occasion called for her, for it does so tightly wrap up who he is.
The Witcher who would rather be alone... and the girl he raised into a woman.
Fuck. He feels a tad bad for Geralt, actually. And for her. For Geralt to not recall this.
What a fucking mess.]
Hah. You know, I hope you're not defaulting to sarcasm. Be gentle with me, I'm unused to so much praise. [He licks last one bit of sugar from his thumb, moving on through the stalls. Is it too much an ask for them to share a sword? Gods, he doesn't know shit about them. You stick the pointy bit in the meaty bit. How different could they all be? Maybe he should've gotten two knives.
Jaskier pauses in contemplation. Work? What sort of work?] With what, heavy lifting? [Not that she isn't quite the specimen, but...] Now that I think about it, you didn't claim otherwise, but... are you -- I mean, are you like him? [He looks at her.] I assumed no, because. [He gestures to his own eyes. Like he said. Bard, not Witcher.] Are you strong? Ooh, can you lift me? Now that would be a sight.
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And he needs something else to focus on instead of how overwhelming this is. Geralt, the Witcher, Mr. I-don't-need-anyone-and-the-last-thing-I-want-is-someone-needing-me, said years and years ago, a mantra that he's sure the Witcher would repeat if the occasion called for her, for it does so tightly wrap up who he is.
The Witcher who would rather be alone... and the girl he raised into a woman.
Fuck. He feels a tad bad for Geralt, actually. And for her. For Geralt to not recall this.
What a fucking mess.]
Hah. You know, I hope you're not defaulting to sarcasm. Be gentle with me, I'm unused to so much praise. [He licks last one bit of sugar from his thumb, moving on through the stalls. Is it too much an ask for them to share a sword? Gods, he doesn't know shit about them. You stick the pointy bit in the meaty bit. How different could they all be? Maybe he should've gotten two knives.
Jaskier pauses in contemplation. Work? What sort of work?] With what, heavy lifting? [Not that she isn't quite the specimen, but...] Now that I think about it, you didn't claim otherwise, but... are you -- I mean, are you like him? [He looks at her.] I assumed no, because. [He gestures to his own eyes. Like he said. Bard, not Witcher.] Are you strong? Ooh, can you lift me? Now that would be a sight.