[Consider him possessed by a demon and fully gone if he could truly ignore the sound of a lute in pain. Jaskier sighs, with a heaving of his shoulders; somewhat put upon as, he imagines, her "a little" is in the same way.
They've lived together far too long.
He washes his hands up, making sure he's picked out the little nodules of dough that keep getting stuck under his nails. This is why they stay dirty -- if they stay that way, he can't think of how dirty the bloody things got. How naked he feels without all his rings on.]
Go on, move over. [Is his answer. He takes a seat beside her, reaching over to place her hands correctly -- to twist the pegs to tighten the strings correctly. He tests the strum until he's satisfied, mostly muttering to himself as he walks them both through the steps of her tuning.]
She's dusty. You haven't even been cleaning her off?
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They've lived together far too long.
He washes his hands up, making sure he's picked out the little nodules of dough that keep getting stuck under his nails. This is why they stay dirty -- if they stay that way, he can't think of how dirty the bloody things got. How naked he feels without all his rings on.]
Go on, move over. [Is his answer. He takes a seat beside her, reaching over to place her hands correctly -- to twist the pegs to tighten the strings correctly. He tests the strum until he's satisfied, mostly muttering to himself as he walks them both through the steps of her tuning.]
She's dusty. You haven't even been cleaning her off?