[Jaskier is not so drunk that he misses Geralt's reaction. It is a lot for the witcher. A lot of reaction. A lot of warmth.
It would be so easy to tease him for, but it's so fucking genuine. Jaskier grins.]
You know that makes no sense, right? They're all Roach! [He leans back on a hand, tipping the rest of his beer into his mouth. He sets the glass behind them, struck by the sight of the small horse -- created entirely on a whim -- paw at Geralt's palm, her tail of petals whipping behind her.
Jaskier pushes him with an arm.] Stick to killing monsters, not humor. [That same glow of pride he felt when Sam liked his bird. Magic isn't so bad, when one can create things like this.] As I said. The finest steed.
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It would be so easy to tease him for, but it's so fucking genuine. Jaskier grins.]
You know that makes no sense, right? They're all Roach! [He leans back on a hand, tipping the rest of his beer into his mouth. He sets the glass behind them, struck by the sight of the small horse -- created entirely on a whim -- paw at Geralt's palm, her tail of petals whipping behind her.
Jaskier pushes him with an arm.] Stick to killing monsters, not humor. [That same glow of pride he felt when Sam liked his bird. Magic isn't so bad, when one can create things like this.] As I said. The finest steed.