[Jaskier smacks the Witcher's shoulder.] My friend, you've never had an eye for fashion in your life. And I'd prefer you keep your commentary to yourself until I've decided to make my entire wardrobe black and stained with blood.

[Absolutely, he is not removing it. It goes perfectly well with the dark blue doublet he's procured himself, embroidered with (expensive) teal loops at the collar. A bit of retail therapy is what it is, if he knew the term. Something to push the previous month even further out of his head.

Jaskier helpfully leads their merry band, though his steps are on par with Ciri and Geralt's both. He chatters airily about the show they're about to see, how he met Sypha, the mage who controls literal weather movements during the show. How it must be seen to be believed.

Though he stops them at a market stand full of glowing jewelry. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, even something akin to diadems. He laughs, picking up a necklace with a glowing circle on a long chain, passing a coin over to the market's owner.] If anything is to come of this horrid celebration, at least the decor has its flare. Would you like one, Ciri? I can already guess our grumpier company's answer.