[In a surprise to no one but himself, since their discovery of Geralt's camp, Jaskier has been both sullen and sleepless, which is particularly annoying because he has made it a note to not lose sleep over Geralt, ever. He's never needed to. Which is funny, considering even on the Continent they were often plying powers that were larger than themselves. They simply were not interested in fucking about with a Witcher and a bard quite so often.
This is the best option, he reminds himself, pulling himself out towards that cemetery with Ciri. This is the better option than perhaps seeking out Hector and asking, specifically, how many bodies he can raise, how long it may take, and, ah, would bandit bodies that laid in the desert for a few days be sufficient?
It's terribly morbid. And unrealistic. There is no where to order them to go. Geralt has confirmed he's alive, but beyond that, he's offered them no clues.
Extremely helpful, by the fucking way.
Jaskier looks far from the coiffed perfection he often appears in, even considering his last foray into visiting Alucard in his extremely depressing prison slash bedroom. It's cold and smells of dirt. He really doesn't get it.
Yet there the wolf is. It's not terribly hard to find him, considering the color of his coat.
Sorry, Alucard. It's not accidental.] Er. Hi. [It feels nearly an invasion, bringing Ciri along with him. It's not as if they're friends, and Alucard is... well, saying he's prickly isn't exactly accurate, and it's also too generous.] Hello, Alucard.
[There's always the feeling in the back of his brain he may one day accidentally talk to a real wolf, but he highly doubts even the canines of the forests would be inclined to sleep here.] As loathe as I'm sure you are to hear it, we've come to ask a favor. Though you needn't, ah, transform, if you wish. We --
[He rubs his fingers together. This is never fun to bring up, so he sort of gets right to the point.] Geralt's missing, and we'd like to borrow your nose. So to speak.
please alucard at least get a pillow or a small dog mat
This is the best option, he reminds himself, pulling himself out towards that cemetery with Ciri. This is the better option than perhaps seeking out Hector and asking, specifically, how many bodies he can raise, how long it may take, and, ah, would bandit bodies that laid in the desert for a few days be sufficient?
It's terribly morbid. And unrealistic. There is no where to order them to go. Geralt has confirmed he's alive, but beyond that, he's offered them no clues.
Extremely helpful, by the fucking way.
Jaskier looks far from the coiffed perfection he often appears in, even considering his last foray into visiting Alucard in his extremely depressing prison slash bedroom. It's cold and smells of dirt. He really doesn't get it.
Yet there the wolf is. It's not terribly hard to find him, considering the color of his coat.
Sorry, Alucard. It's not accidental.] Er. Hi. [It feels nearly an invasion, bringing Ciri along with him. It's not as if they're friends, and Alucard is... well, saying he's prickly isn't exactly accurate, and it's also too generous.] Hello, Alucard.
[There's always the feeling in the back of his brain he may one day accidentally talk to a real wolf, but he highly doubts even the canines of the forests would be inclined to sleep here.] As loathe as I'm sure you are to hear it, we've come to ask a favor. Though you needn't, ah, transform, if you wish. We --
[He rubs his fingers together. This is never fun to bring up, so he sort of gets right to the point.] Geralt's missing, and we'd like to borrow your nose. So to speak.