[Well, there's certainly no need to question further. He clears his throat. If you ask him, both of them would rather be dead than doing this, and somehow the light back and forth he's had with Ciri (that he's forced with her) feels like a dead weight they'd dropped somewhere far behind.
Yes, yes, there's no need for words, not when Something is happening.
But gods, he's tired.
He doesn't expect her to speak again, though he's satisfied enough to take her offering of more. However, her question sends the smallest spark of something in him. It's not hope, exactly, but it's close. As if she can pretend he's anything else but a burden, having come with her.
Yet he could not fathom being fucking left alone in Cadens, hoping that she finds him. Hoping this is all a mistake.]
Yes, of course. [He pauses. He can in their home, with little potted plants. Will they still appear here, where life itself is rare?] Er. I'm pretty sure.
[Something easy. He digs down a bit in the sand to reach something slightly cooler, cupping his hands, rings shining in the sunlight, over it. Jaskier closes his eyes, humming one of his songs under his breath. As he does, he pulls on that core, this slithering, tight mass of magic that lays in his chest, waiting for its change. As he pulls his hands up, a mess of thorny vines follows the movement. As it grows larger, spreading out, small and pale pink flowers begin sprouting, opening. Masses of red and black begin growing, weighing down the vines with berries. Blackberries.
There. Ooh. A surprisingly good amount, too. He releases a breath, sweat beading at his temples. His arm aches, but otherwise, the magic takes nothing else from him.] How's that?
no subject
Yes, yes, there's no need for words, not when Something is happening.
But gods, he's tired.
He doesn't expect her to speak again, though he's satisfied enough to take her offering of more. However, her question sends the smallest spark of something in him. It's not hope, exactly, but it's close. As if she can pretend he's anything else but a burden, having come with her.
Yet he could not fathom being fucking left alone in Cadens, hoping that she finds him. Hoping this is all a mistake.]
Yes, of course. [He pauses. He can in their home, with little potted plants. Will they still appear here, where life itself is rare?] Er. I'm pretty sure.
[Something easy. He digs down a bit in the sand to reach something slightly cooler, cupping his hands, rings shining in the sunlight, over it. Jaskier closes his eyes, humming one of his songs under his breath. As he does, he pulls on that core, this slithering, tight mass of magic that lays in his chest, waiting for its change. As he pulls his hands up, a mess of thorny vines follows the movement. As it grows larger, spreading out, small and pale pink flowers begin sprouting, opening. Masses of red and black begin growing, weighing down the vines with berries. Blackberries.
There. Ooh. A surprisingly good amount, too. He releases a breath, sweat beading at his temples. His arm aches, but otherwise, the magic takes nothing else from him.] How's that?