Jaskier is often in-and-out as of late, with the recent agreement with Alucard, their finding the perfect office space, and Jaskier, after all this time, feeling a spark of inspiration with a new space to dedicate his interior decorating skills to. Not to mention more space for plants he can grow during the colder months -- not that it gets very frigid, but he's hoping he can pick out some rather festive plants to add to his next sale.

So it is on the floor, surrounded by any means of pots, bowl, and roundish holding dishes that Jaskier could get his hands on, filled with varying amounts of soil, with tiny green sprouts in most of them. And when the door opens, he barely looks up where he is carefully braiding ivy into a thick, coiled rope. Now that he's set up a few extra shelves in the office, he has room for the flora.

"Oi, watch your step! This is a delicate operation!" He tugs on the hanging piece of vine, the leaves beginning to flutter as he looks up to -- not Geralt, exactly. Geralt behind her.

Her.

Jaskier blinks.

"Rinwell?"

It is exactly the last face he expects to see. One, in fact, he has accepted he will never see again. The plants all around him begin to shift and rattle as his heart tumbles up into his throat. "Rinwell! My dear!" Jaskier is on his feet much faster than any man his age has a right to be, grabbing her and lifting her to spin her in a tight hug, if she doesn't fight him off first. He doesn't even think of asking. "I don't know how you're here, but I don't care! Oh, I've missed you, my dear, how are you? You look the same! You look wonderful!"