He will scream it to the skies. Not fucking again. After that fucking dwarven bridge, Jaskier had made a promise to himself. To the world. To Destiny herself: he would never be found, dead or alive, on another one of those tiny fucking bridges. Not after what happened to Borsch... whether he lived or not.
Not in a bloody century.
And yet, he stands somewhat near the path's edge, knowing that this stupid, insignificant, ridiculous, terribly carved path is what separates him from dragons. From true dragons. A beast he has been chasing his entire life to see. His heart is a terrified thumping caged thing in his chest. He approaches the edge, gives a startled gasp, then falls back.
This is worse. This doesn't even have a rope. Or a Geralt.
And yet, Melitele herself seems insistent to bless Jaskier in this moment, knowing his desire to meet a dragon is as unselfish as it comes -- and that he fully deserves it. Because as a hand offers itself, Jaskier sees who it is attached to, and that... oh, Melitele, bless you. That's a "yes" from him. An absolute yes. Speaking of yeses --]
Oh! Gods, yes. [The words are nearly a purr, but also real, actual relief. Jaskier takes the hand, clasping it with both of his own.] Yes. I mean, yes. I absolutely -- yes, I could use a little help, I'm afraid I'm not terribly great with heights, and -- oh, fuck, are you floating? Excuse me, levitating? Is that's what happening?
[Alucard has corrected him more than once on the difference.] You know what? It doesn't matter. I just want to be free from this. [He would gesture to the entirety of this path, but he's still holding onto him with both hands.]
no subject
He will scream it to the skies. Not fucking again. After that fucking dwarven bridge, Jaskier had made a promise to himself. To the world. To Destiny herself: he would never be found, dead or alive, on another one of those tiny fucking bridges. Not after what happened to Borsch... whether he lived or not.
Not in a bloody century.
And yet, he stands somewhat near the path's edge, knowing that this stupid, insignificant, ridiculous, terribly carved path is what separates him from dragons. From true dragons. A beast he has been chasing his entire life to see. His heart is a terrified thumping caged thing in his chest. He approaches the edge, gives a startled gasp, then falls back.
This is worse. This doesn't even have a rope. Or a Geralt.
And yet, Melitele herself seems insistent to bless Jaskier in this moment, knowing his desire to meet a dragon is as unselfish as it comes -- and that he fully deserves it. Because as a hand offers itself, Jaskier sees who it is attached to, and that... oh, Melitele, bless you. That's a "yes" from him. An absolute yes. Speaking of yeses --]
Oh! Gods, yes. [The words are nearly a purr, but also real, actual relief. Jaskier takes the hand, clasping it with both of his own.] Yes. I mean, yes. I absolutely -- yes, I could use a little help, I'm afraid I'm not terribly great with heights, and -- oh, fuck, are you floating? Excuse me, levitating? Is that's what happening?
[Alucard has corrected him more than once on the difference.] You know what? It doesn't matter. I just want to be free from this. [He would gesture to the entirety of this path, but he's still holding onto him with both hands.]