[ Geralt's eyebrow arches as Jaskier steps on a magic leaf and rises towards him. The unrestrained fucking drama of it. He rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his drink.
He uses the new leafy platform to set the bottle on—until Jaskier snatches it up. ] Could be worse.
[ Whisky seems serviceable to him, but Geralt hasn't got Jaskier's particular palate. Or perhaps he's too tired to give a fuck. Nothing tastes like anything to him right now, and he doesn't much care. He's told Jaskier to stay away from poking into the demon's room—no point in listening to it speak bullshit—though he supposes it hadn't needed to be said.
He takes the bottle back. A heavy blanket of silence settles over them. He's worried about Ciri. He is concerned about what the process will result in. And he does not know if Dean will truly be all right at the end of it. Trapped in limbo and full of unknowns—he hates being here. ]
no subject
He uses the new leafy platform to set the bottle on—until Jaskier snatches it up. ] Could be worse.
[ Whisky seems serviceable to him, but Geralt hasn't got Jaskier's particular palate. Or perhaps he's too tired to give a fuck. Nothing tastes like anything to him right now, and he doesn't much care. He's told Jaskier to stay away from poking into the demon's room—no point in listening to it speak bullshit—though he supposes it hadn't needed to be said.
He takes the bottle back. A heavy blanket of silence settles over them. He's worried about Ciri. He is concerned about what the process will result in. And he does not know if Dean will truly be all right at the end of it. Trapped in limbo and full of unknowns—he hates being here. ]