[The glass neck of the bottle whines under his grip. It is really that simple. He was worried.

Jaskier has had so little cause to ever worry the Witcher, he thinks. He stays out of the way. Out of danger. He has always stood several paces back behind him, where it is safe. And now, because he drinks wine and goes to taverns and lays in bed far after he's awoken, Geralt worries.

A second passes. Two. Moglad is quiet, but Jaskier feels the moogle's eyes on him.

He sets the bottle back on its shelf without pouring anything, the candles on the walls lighting up a little brighter.]

You know, I imagine it's a rare, rare chance for an outsider to ever witness Witcher training. [He turns back from the bar shelves as if he'd never approached them, taking out a chair across the table from Geralt and taking a seat. He kicks up his boots onto the table.] So you must show me how you've been training Moglad, to have him pick up the sword so quickly.

[Moglad stands, a light glowing in his pom. I'd be happy to show you, Master Jaskier!]