[ By the afternoon, Geralt's been tidied up a bit. By which he means, Jaskier braided his hair. The rest of him is a work in progress. (Either Julie or Jaskier are searching for a suitable shirt; he isn't certain who or both, but he's content to let someone else fuss with the question of clothes and outfits.)
He finds himself peering through the garden, curious to finally see Jaskier's work after his, mm. Absence. For the past few weeks. It's pretty. Plants and flowers that'd not normally exist in this place. For all that he isn't interested in celebrating, the feast makes for a decent distraction. Can't quite ride off into the desert just yet.
He's stepping around the ladder when—
Geralt catches the falling paper star as a familiar voice rings out. He glances up, glimpsing the flash of pink hair. Pink hair that does not belong to Julie. (This is the second time he's watched a pink-haired woman perched on a precariously tall ladder to hang decorations, which is a curious thing if he thinks about it.)
paper stars.
He finds himself peering through the garden, curious to finally see Jaskier's work after his, mm. Absence. For the past few weeks. It's pretty. Plants and flowers that'd not normally exist in this place. For all that he isn't interested in celebrating, the feast makes for a decent distraction. Can't quite ride off into the desert just yet.
He's stepping around the ladder when—
Geralt catches the falling paper star as a familiar voice rings out. He glances up, glimpsing the flash of pink hair. Pink hair that does not belong to Julie. (This is the second time he's watched a pink-haired woman perched on a precariously tall ladder to hang decorations, which is a curious thing if he thinks about it.)
He holds the star out. ] Hard at work?