[Jaskier keeps his remarks, remarkably, to himself, because the idea of Dean attempting to fight that worm on his own is bringing to image a butterfly beating itself against the face of an ogre. Of course, there may be some reason Geralt is bothering to train the man, but considering Jaskier's experience of him is flailing, flying terribly, and almost dying, well --
He's hardly the first man to stand around while Geralt does all the killing. (For clarity, Jaskier does not consider himself this man. His intended subjects are other useless people -- like knights claiming to slay dragons, and incompetent Nilfgaardian guards. Jaskier is excluded on the basis he has never claimed to slay anything except maidenly hearts.)
Unfortunately, they do run into the sand worm. Or another like it. Fortunate for Jaskier, and not for Dean, Jaskier is, actually, counting how many timers he lands on his ass, which he's sure to add to the song -- Thrice was he struck down / Once for each head / Hastily run out from under / The worm's tail to the ground -- scribbling the words into his head as he ducks behind a rocky outcropping nearby, peeking out only for a glimpse every now and then.
He is the only one who comes out of the battle without a hint of gore on him. Practice makes perfect, and he has had decades of it.
Jaskier packs the jewel and coin into a secret compartment of his lute case, and sets them up with a victorious dessert of fresh strawberries and wine (the former grown magically, the latter something he's packed.) Only once he's had his fill of dinner and dessert does he offer to take the first watch, setting up on the outskirts of the camp with Feainna's giant feathered body tucked up against him as she sleeps. The desert is hardly quiet even at night, but all the sounds are familiar -- skittering on the sands, the wind, even the dying crackles of a fire. Jaskier gently wakes the chocobo to be alert as he goes to relieve himself in some desert brush only a bit away.
He may have magic, but he's quite often used to traveling under the light of only the stars and moon, so surely it is not his fault he does not notice anything amiss until the sound his piss makes hitting the ground does not sound like sand or bush. Jaskier hits something with his boot, which makes a very solid clunk. Only when he squints does he reconize --
A foot.
Ah, fuck. He'd promised himself he would never accidentally piss on a corpse again --
But the sand slithers, and Jaskier hastily puts himself up as there is movement in the moonlight. A. A lot of movement. In fact, the foot slides itself out from under the bush and begins to show that is attached to quite a lot of body, actually.
Surely Geralt and Dean will be happy to awaken to the sounds of a running bard yelling:]
GERALT I PISSED ON A CORPSE --- GERALT! -- IT IS ALIVE NOW -- OH FUCKING FUCK WOULD YOU FUCK OFF ALREADY --
no subject
He's hardly the first man to stand around while Geralt does all the killing. (For clarity, Jaskier does not consider himself this man. His intended subjects are other useless people -- like knights claiming to slay dragons, and incompetent Nilfgaardian guards. Jaskier is excluded on the basis he has never claimed to slay anything except maidenly hearts.)
Unfortunately, they do run into the sand worm. Or another like it. Fortunate for Jaskier, and not for Dean, Jaskier is, actually, counting how many timers he lands on his ass, which he's sure to add to the song -- Thrice was he struck down / Once for each head / Hastily run out from under / The worm's tail to the ground -- scribbling the words into his head as he ducks behind a rocky outcropping nearby, peeking out only for a glimpse every now and then.
He is the only one who comes out of the battle without a hint of gore on him. Practice makes perfect, and he has had decades of it.
Jaskier packs the jewel and coin into a secret compartment of his lute case, and sets them up with a victorious dessert of fresh strawberries and wine (the former grown magically, the latter something he's packed.) Only once he's had his fill of dinner and dessert does he offer to take the first watch, setting up on the outskirts of the camp with Feainna's giant feathered body tucked up against him as she sleeps. The desert is hardly quiet even at night, but all the sounds are familiar -- skittering on the sands, the wind, even the dying crackles of a fire. Jaskier gently wakes the chocobo to be alert as he goes to relieve himself in some desert brush only a bit away.
He may have magic, but he's quite often used to traveling under the light of only the stars and moon, so surely it is not his fault he does not notice anything amiss until the sound his piss makes hitting the ground does not sound like sand or bush. Jaskier hits something with his boot, which makes a very solid clunk. Only when he squints does he reconize --
A foot.
Ah, fuck. He'd promised himself he would never accidentally piss on a corpse again --
But the sand slithers, and Jaskier hastily puts himself up as there is movement in the moonlight. A. A lot of movement. In fact, the foot slides itself out from under the bush and begins to show that is attached to quite a lot of body, actually.
Surely Geralt and Dean will be happy to awaken to the sounds of a running bard yelling:]
GERALT I PISSED ON A CORPSE --- GERALT! -- IT IS ALIVE NOW -- OH FUCKING FUCK WOULD YOU FUCK OFF ALREADY --