[Jaskier's face pinches together, and he purses his lips with a sigh. He looks away, which, unfortunately, and awkwardly, has him staring at the wooden wall beside him. Which, at the very least, isn't too terribly stained.
He does not appreciate being wrong. (Because then Geralt couldn't even give him that much, could he?)
What once was comforting is now quickly becoming the opposite. He clears his throat, attempts to move over. There is nowhere to go.
What is it with people he knows cornering him? Does he simply give off the impression of some sort of bird, perhaps a fox? A fox simply begging to be caged?]
Yes, well, you and everyone, apparently, within a ten-mile radius. [It's the first edge to rise to his voice, brows turning into a frown. He occupies himself deeply with drinking, as if there is nothing more he should be doing. Nothing more to be looking at. Yes, practically everyone he's met once that he is running into again knows something is wrong with him. And as much as he does not want to be questioned or asked after, he cannot simply be. He is not that man anymore. He never can be again.
And in time, he imagines, there are plenty who will not want who he is now.
Yes, well. They'll have to line up behind Geralt, won't they? What's a few more heartbreaks on top of everything else?]
Ah.. Since Geralt failed to mention me, as per usual: I'm not fine, Sam. I'm not. I simply have no energy to pretend otherwise. But I don't want nor need to be cornered and interrogated about it, either. There's... [His fingers curl around the mug, and he spins it slowly for something for his fingers to do.] Nothing I say will change anything.
no subject
He does not appreciate being wrong. (Because then Geralt couldn't even give him that much, could he?)
What once was comforting is now quickly becoming the opposite. He clears his throat, attempts to move over. There is nowhere to go.
What is it with people he knows cornering him? Does he simply give off the impression of some sort of bird, perhaps a fox? A fox simply begging to be caged?]
Yes, well, you and everyone, apparently, within a ten-mile radius. [It's the first edge to rise to his voice, brows turning into a frown. He occupies himself deeply with drinking, as if there is nothing more he should be doing. Nothing more to be looking at. Yes, practically everyone he's met once that he is running into again knows something is wrong with him. And as much as he does not want to be questioned or asked after, he cannot simply be. He is not that man anymore. He never can be again.
And in time, he imagines, there are plenty who will not want who he is now.
Yes, well. They'll have to line up behind Geralt, won't they? What's a few more heartbreaks on top of everything else?]
Ah.. Since Geralt failed to mention me, as per usual: I'm not fine, Sam. I'm not. I simply have no energy to pretend otherwise. But I don't want nor need to be cornered and interrogated about it, either. There's... [His fingers curl around the mug, and he spins it slowly for something for his fingers to do.] Nothing I say will change anything.