[ Ciri does not look amused. Her lips press together tightly, eyes fixed for a few moments longer on the scar before she shifts her gaze away.
Now we all match! He says it so easily. He says it because he already forgives her, because he can already move his arm again due to being magically healed, because it won't affect his playing and it doesn't disfigure him or hinder him. He is lucky; Ciri is happy that all of these things turned out to be true for Jaskier, and that any sense he may have had of how much worse it could have been has already fled him. To him, it can be a grand adventure, a new tall tale to spin for every pretty thing he's wooing who might ask him coyly where he got it.
Ciri knows he won't tell them the truth for her sake, and he'll hide the shameful thing with lies and stories, much the same way she pulls her bangs over her face and lines her eyes to distract and obscure. ]
Scars don't suit bards. And besides, you'll be singing a different tune [ no pun intended ] when you find your arm stiffening and itching and your range of movement impaired. I'll go to market, and I'll bring you something, and you'll use it. You'll still have enough left to tell your stories.
[ And it gives her something tangible to do, to help. Maybe it's selfish, her motivation equal parts desire to help Jaskier and the need to assuage her own guilt. Oh, well.
Ciri unfolds her legs from beneath her, moving to stand. ]
I think Geralt could use a hand with supper. You need your rest.
no subject
Now we all match! He says it so easily. He says it because he already forgives her, because he can already move his arm again due to being magically healed, because it won't affect his playing and it doesn't disfigure him or hinder him. He is lucky; Ciri is happy that all of these things turned out to be true for Jaskier, and that any sense he may have had of how much worse it could have been has already fled him. To him, it can be a grand adventure, a new tall tale to spin for every pretty thing he's wooing who might ask him coyly where he got it.
Ciri knows he won't tell them the truth for her sake, and he'll hide the shameful thing with lies and stories, much the same way she pulls her bangs over her face and lines her eyes to distract and obscure. ]
Scars don't suit bards. And besides, you'll be singing a different tune [ no pun intended ] when you find your arm stiffening and itching and your range of movement impaired. I'll go to market, and I'll bring you something, and you'll use it. You'll still have enough left to tell your stories.
[ And it gives her something tangible to do, to help. Maybe it's selfish, her motivation equal parts desire to help Jaskier and the need to assuage her own guilt. Oh, well.
Ciri unfolds her legs from beneath her, moving to stand. ]
I think Geralt could use a hand with supper. You need your rest.