[He laughs, but it's quiet, and more like an exhalation. At least some things don't change.] I hate being right.
[He looks up to the sky above them -- even as the grass under his feet that always grows begins to turn sour and yellow -- and he can see them now. The things he was avoiding, the things he kept his eyes on the ground to avoid. The cracks between the lightning. The sky itself breaking, as if the world is ending.
And there, in the middle of it all, is the Singularity. The very thing that sent him to this world -- a world where he'd had a life he built from the ground-up, specifically the very life he wanted. One where he was himself, but with family. A house with Geralt, with Ciri. A connection with Yennefer. People in the Free Cities he looked after, that he loved. An office he shared with Alucard, their ridiculous collection of portraits of each other. The way they bloody saved the art world. Kol, the baker down the street, who once looked at him with fear.... until Jaskier worked him over enough for Kol to forgive him.
A place where horrible things happen, of course, but also wonderful ones -- all completely out of his control. Where he can meet new people, and watch them leave, and live without relying on the whims of humans to exist.
When he looks back to John, it strangely does feel like a weight has been lifted off of him. The idea of no longer being tied to prayers and wishes -- gods, that would be lovely, wouldn't it? He lives for being selfish.]
Then I should like to leave it. [It isn't perfect. It had all its cracks. And he will never be able to forget seeing Geralt and the Wolf no longer recognizing him. He can live in no perfect world where his closest friend in this world -- or any other -- could forget who he was through mere accident.
He smiles, and his hold on John is no longer a deathgrip.] I don't suppose I could convince you to wake me with a kiss? All good stories have one.
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[He looks up to the sky above them -- even as the grass under his feet that always grows begins to turn sour and yellow -- and he can see them now. The things he was avoiding, the things he kept his eyes on the ground to avoid. The cracks between the lightning. The sky itself breaking, as if the world is ending.
And there, in the middle of it all, is the Singularity. The very thing that sent him to this world -- a world where he'd had a life he built from the ground-up, specifically the very life he wanted. One where he was himself, but with family. A house with Geralt, with Ciri. A connection with Yennefer. People in the Free Cities he looked after, that he loved. An office he shared with Alucard, their ridiculous collection of portraits of each other. The way they bloody saved the art world. Kol, the baker down the street, who once looked at him with fear.... until Jaskier worked him over enough for Kol to forgive him.
A place where horrible things happen, of course, but also wonderful ones -- all completely out of his control. Where he can meet new people, and watch them leave, and live without relying on the whims of humans to exist.
When he looks back to John, it strangely does feel like a weight has been lifted off of him. The idea of no longer being tied to prayers and wishes -- gods, that would be lovely, wouldn't it? He lives for being selfish.]
Then I should like to leave it. [It isn't perfect. It had all its cracks. And he will never be able to forget seeing Geralt and the Wolf no longer recognizing him. He can live in no perfect world where his closest friend in this world -- or any other -- could forget who he was through mere accident.
He smiles, and his hold on John is no longer a deathgrip.] I don't suppose I could convince you to wake me with a kiss? All good stories have one.