[There is something to be said for them having done this a thousand times -- Geralt, killing something, while Jaskier makes sure he is well and truly out of the way, along with any bystanders -- but the thing he is used to is that once Geralt strikes a man, he stays down. Jaskier had not imagined the speed with which the corpse had pursued him; not if it gives Geralt pause.
(Dean was fine... he supposes. The light trick was handy. Jaskier will allow some credence towards his skills in that he put them towards aiding Geralt and not getting in his way, as most do.)
Jaskier, after silence pervades versus that dry huffing, approaches once he's calmed Faeinne and the horses.] Stay here, love. [He gives the girl a kiss on the beak, then carefully steps over one of the severed arms. It twitches suddenly, and he yelps, throwing himself past it as vines burst out of the ground to wrap around it, securing it against the sands.
Clearly it wasn't something he meant to do; it was sort of an instinctual reaction, like pissing oneself. (Which he did not do.)]
I miss when corpses stayed dead. [He peers down at the arm, which has gone still in the hold of his vines. Jaskier pokes it. It's dry to the touch, and very much old human skin. It doesn't react.] Was it -- do you think I'd piss on a moving body? [He doesn't wait for an answer.] The problem is, Geralt, I didn't see it. At first. Because I didn't expect a dried old corpse to be sleeping under desert brush. [He was a bit busy pissing at the time.] But I hadn't heard anything prior, and neither had my chocobo, so I think not. It sort of... activated... when the -- you know --
["When the piss hit it" is not a usual poetic line coming from him, so he refrains from completing the sentence.]
Anyway, come here. [He makes a grabby hand at Geralt's arm, but doesn't touch it, only leaves a hand hovering that collects a blue glow of magic.] I can at least stop the bleeding since you did all the hard work.
no subject
(Dean was fine... he supposes. The light trick was handy. Jaskier will allow some credence towards his skills in that he put them towards aiding Geralt and not getting in his way, as most do.)
Jaskier, after silence pervades versus that dry huffing, approaches once he's calmed Faeinne and the horses.] Stay here, love. [He gives the girl a kiss on the beak, then carefully steps over one of the severed arms. It twitches suddenly, and he yelps, throwing himself past it as vines burst out of the ground to wrap around it, securing it against the sands.
Clearly it wasn't something he meant to do; it was sort of an instinctual reaction, like pissing oneself. (Which he did not do.)]
I miss when corpses stayed dead. [He peers down at the arm, which has gone still in the hold of his vines. Jaskier pokes it. It's dry to the touch, and very much old human skin. It doesn't react.] Was it -- do you think I'd piss on a moving body? [He doesn't wait for an answer.] The problem is, Geralt, I didn't see it. At first. Because I didn't expect a dried old corpse to be sleeping under desert brush. [He was a bit busy pissing at the time.] But I hadn't heard anything prior, and neither had my chocobo, so I think not. It sort of... activated... when the -- you know --
["When the piss hit it" is not a usual poetic line coming from him, so he refrains from completing the sentence.]
Anyway, come here. [He makes a grabby hand at Geralt's arm, but doesn't touch it, only leaves a hand hovering that collects a blue glow of magic.] I can at least stop the bleeding since you did all the hard work.
[And Dean. Maybe.]