[ What did he do? He isn't the one with a whipping prehensile tail and certainly not the one who hopped into a Witcher's arms without warning. (It may or may not have been Geralt's tail. He doesn't know nor care because he's absolutely pinning this on Jaskier by default in response to Jaskier not only blaming him immediately, but accusing him of wagging it. He does not wag any fucking tail, all right. That's his hard limit in wearing this damn outfit. Except...with Ciri, once, but that was for Ciri and Geralt is willing to do quite a bit more when it comes to the girl.)
He exhales sharply. His eyes roll to the colourful flashing ceiling. Where does he find the strength to exist around the bard. Why does this idiotic tail matter. It isn't even real. Nothing in here is, including Jaskier's nonsensical goat legs. (And thank fuck for that because as enjoyable as they were wrapped around his hips, he doesn't know what he'd do with his friend if he could spontaneously sprout hooves in reality.)
It's entirely possible he's especially irritated because he was getting into it and now he's. Mmh. He growls. ] Shut up. Give me that. Fuck.
[ He snatches the tail out of Jaskier's hand. Rarely does Geralt bother to extend the obvious powers of the Horizon, but now seems apt. He fluffs it until the stain seeps out of the white fur. Then he attaches it to his backside again with a stare that projects an exasperated, Satisfied?
At least where the tail is concerned. He's not addressing—what was disrupted. It's too late. He needs a drink. One that's not been spilled over the floor. ]
no subject
He exhales sharply. His eyes roll to the colourful flashing ceiling. Where does he find the strength to exist around the bard. Why does this idiotic tail matter. It isn't even real. Nothing in here is, including Jaskier's nonsensical goat legs. (And thank fuck for that because as enjoyable as they were wrapped around his hips, he doesn't know what he'd do with his friend if he could spontaneously sprout hooves in reality.)
It's entirely possible he's especially irritated because he was getting into it and now he's. Mmh. He growls. ] Shut up. Give me that. Fuck.
[ He snatches the tail out of Jaskier's hand. Rarely does Geralt bother to extend the obvious powers of the Horizon, but now seems apt. He fluffs it until the stain seeps out of the white fur. Then he attaches it to his backside again with a stare that projects an exasperated, Satisfied?
At least where the tail is concerned. He's not addressing—what was disrupted. It's too late. He needs a drink. One that's not been spilled over the floor. ]