[A soldier? Oh, fuck. Right. He had mentioned that. It simply hadn't... settled right, considering. Jaskier is quite sure he's never met a soldier of any sort that once could describe as optimistic. And one who... who built the home inside his mind centered around such sentimental feelings...
He makes a small noise of affirmation.] Ah, so he told you. See? You are making friends.
[It's the most teasing he can do right now, he thinks, in another time where he would've shoved Geralt over and shared the bed simply for a few minutes of peace. Jaskier's lip twitches, and he flutters a hand at Geralt's response.] You always say that.
[This time he takes it without argument; even though Geralt was limping, it's not the wound that is wearing on him so much... so it must simply be healing. If his mutations are still affected, he must be marveling at how fucking slow all of it is. The process of healing.
Right. In there, he hadn't limped at all. In fact, it was the first time he'd seen the Witcher in quite a while totally uninjured. And the first time where he had felt... unburdened.
Now, Geralt carries even more weight than before.
Jaskier piles all the books on a small desk, pulling up a chair as he lifts the top one off, flipping back to the page he'd hastily dog-eared. If Geralt is going to rest, he certainly isn't going to be entertained by watching him sleep.
His finger drags along the handwritten lines to find where he's stopped.] Hm. Unless you mean Ambrose being quite satisfied with himself, then no. [He sighs, lifting his head, his nail clipping at the edge of a page to flick it back and forth. Jaskier has already spent plenty of time ruminating on what this means. He fully expects, as he suspects the rest of them do, that this power they'd had in Horizon would be harnessed somehow by this kingdom. Or perhaps it already has. Certainly it was not a success because their people had found a plane to use as an entertaining playground, traumatic fires and brimstone aside. And even now, as he feels a connection to it, despite the wonderful experiences he had there... Jaskier, truthfully, is afraid of it.
His chest burns with all the questions he knows will be answered with mere grunts. Do you still feel it? Do you remember? Will you go back? Can you, after losing her?
Jaskier licks his lips.] I have a date. [He turns to Geralt with a smile curling his lips, his eyes lighting up. Picking another topic rather than the one he really wants to discuss may as well be a natural talent by now.] A pretty necromancer. Now, before you say you disapprove, I promise he's very nice. And, from what he's said, only works his magic on animals. Which is very reassuring, of course.
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He makes a small noise of affirmation.] Ah, so he told you. See? You are making friends.
[It's the most teasing he can do right now, he thinks, in another time where he would've shoved Geralt over and shared the bed simply for a few minutes of peace. Jaskier's lip twitches, and he flutters a hand at Geralt's response.] You always say that.
[This time he takes it without argument; even though Geralt was limping, it's not the wound that is wearing on him so much... so it must simply be healing. If his mutations are still affected, he must be marveling at how fucking slow all of it is. The process of healing.
Right. In there, he hadn't limped at all. In fact, it was the first time he'd seen the Witcher in quite a while totally uninjured. And the first time where he had felt... unburdened.
Now, Geralt carries even more weight than before.
Jaskier piles all the books on a small desk, pulling up a chair as he lifts the top one off, flipping back to the page he'd hastily dog-eared. If Geralt is going to rest, he certainly isn't going to be entertained by watching him sleep.
His finger drags along the handwritten lines to find where he's stopped.] Hm. Unless you mean Ambrose being quite satisfied with himself, then no. [He sighs, lifting his head, his nail clipping at the edge of a page to flick it back and forth. Jaskier has already spent plenty of time ruminating on what this means. He fully expects, as he suspects the rest of them do, that this power they'd had in Horizon would be harnessed somehow by this kingdom. Or perhaps it already has. Certainly it was not a success because their people had found a plane to use as an entertaining playground, traumatic fires and brimstone aside. And even now, as he feels a connection to it, despite the wonderful experiences he had there... Jaskier, truthfully, is afraid of it.
His chest burns with all the questions he knows will be answered with mere grunts. Do you still feel it? Do you remember? Will you go back? Can you, after losing her?
Jaskier licks his lips.] I have a date. [He turns to Geralt with a smile curling his lips, his eyes lighting up. Picking another topic rather than the one he really wants to discuss may as well be a natural talent by now.] A pretty necromancer. Now, before you say you disapprove, I promise he's very nice. And, from what he's said, only works his magic on animals. Which is very reassuring, of course.