[Jaskier's smile will let Geralt know he's set himself up for this.] I think you know as well as I do how skilled I am at satisfying myself. However, occasionally I prefer company to my satisfaction.
[And Geralt is just that company. The bag slips out of Jaskier's hand as if he's thrusted his things at Geralt plenty of times (he has), shifting Mog on his hip a bit higher. The gryphon looks up at him with wide eyes, patting the edge of the bag with his talons before slipping his leg back in the bag.
Thanks the gods he trained him for this sort of travel. When he's not chasing down lizards, he's rather well-behaved.
Mog continues to do so as Jaskier insists they return to the market ("to see if any new merchants have showed," and then he sneaks Mog into a museum with a dedicated wing to sculptures, an art form that Jaskier has rare interaction with (mostly as decorations to castles and churches.) He keeps a hand in his bag for Mog to chew on so he makes no sounds, and Jaskier manages without getting kicked out. Then an open-air musical play for the next day, and a few hours in a sweltering sun.
He's getting a little more used to it, but the brims of his hats are getting wider to protect the bit of chest and shoulders he's begun to show off.
Still. Even with as long as they've been still here, Jaskier is eager to move on. He doesn't dally once they've decided to head off, and with Jaskier leading his horse at first and Mog running beside him, they set off.
Towards the coast.
At long last.]
You hid it from me this whole time? [He asks, aghast, as if he's not the one who asked after it then promptly let it go. (All good things come to Jaskier in time.) He runs his fingers over the carved silver wolf, the weight of it sturdy. Heavy. Much like Geralt's. (He knows it well, having moved it aside once it's hit him in the face during one of their friendlier, more naked encounters.)] It's lovely, Geralt. [He smiles, warm at this... this bond between his friend and Ciri. How much he clearly adores her.] She'll love it, I know it. I always knew all this time with me would finally rub off on your fashion choices.
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[And Geralt is just that company. The bag slips out of Jaskier's hand as if he's thrusted his things at Geralt plenty of times (he has), shifting Mog on his hip a bit higher. The gryphon looks up at him with wide eyes, patting the edge of the bag with his talons before slipping his leg back in the bag.
Thanks the gods he trained him for this sort of travel. When he's not chasing down lizards, he's rather well-behaved.
Mog continues to do so as Jaskier insists they return to the market ("to see if any new merchants have showed," and then he sneaks Mog into a museum with a dedicated wing to sculptures, an art form that Jaskier has rare interaction with (mostly as decorations to castles and churches.) He keeps a hand in his bag for Mog to chew on so he makes no sounds, and Jaskier manages without getting kicked out. Then an open-air musical play for the next day, and a few hours in a sweltering sun.
He's getting a little more used to it, but the brims of his hats are getting wider to protect the bit of chest and shoulders he's begun to show off.
Still. Even with as long as they've been still here, Jaskier is eager to move on. He doesn't dally once they've decided to head off, and with Jaskier leading his horse at first and Mog running beside him, they set off.
Towards the coast.
At long last.]
You hid it from me this whole time? [He asks, aghast, as if he's not the one who asked after it then promptly let it go. (All good things come to Jaskier in time.) He runs his fingers over the carved silver wolf, the weight of it sturdy. Heavy. Much like Geralt's. (He knows it well, having moved it aside once it's hit him in the face during one of their friendlier, more naked encounters.)] It's lovely, Geralt. [He smiles, warm at this... this bond between his friend and Ciri. How much he clearly adores her.] She'll love it, I know it. I always knew all this time with me would finally rub off on your fashion choices.