[Of the joke, Alucard. Please. He's so desperately trying to hold onto his sanity through the use of ill-timed humor! And his gryphon. Who is currently trying his hardest to tangle himself permanently around the ribbon. Jaskier tugs it from the creature.
It's a point. He tips his head, scooping up the gryphon, to peer into the icebox next to Alucard. There's wine, too! There's always wine.] Normally, I would assume that is all it is. And I would be right. [And barring the fact he would consider it for himself -- if only so he could push a bit more influence for the Committee -- Jaskier himself is so bone-deep exhausted that the idea of peacocking, on purpose, makes him want to fall into bed.
He can do it easily on a good day. But he has not had a good day for half a season.] There is only this prickling in the back of my brain. I'm beginning to wonder if the governments of each faction may be understanding how much they underestimate the Summoned. That we found the people who were taken, and we saved those who could be saved, mostly without their help or guidance. The more of us who come here, the more power we will gain, and they will lose.
Perhaps this is their form of indulgence. If we are given some power through influence, we will become satisfied. That none will seek more.
[Mog wiggles until Jaskier releases him back onto the floor, where he begins to try to climb into the icebox.] It's only a theory, of course.
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[Of the joke, Alucard. Please. He's so desperately trying to hold onto his sanity through the use of ill-timed humor! And his gryphon. Who is currently trying his hardest to tangle himself permanently around the ribbon. Jaskier tugs it from the creature.
It's a point. He tips his head, scooping up the gryphon, to peer into the icebox next to Alucard. There's wine, too! There's always wine.] Normally, I would assume that is all it is. And I would be right. [And barring the fact he would consider it for himself -- if only so he could push a bit more influence for the Committee -- Jaskier himself is so bone-deep exhausted that the idea of peacocking, on purpose, makes him want to fall into bed.
He can do it easily on a good day. But he has not had a good day for half a season.] There is only this prickling in the back of my brain. I'm beginning to wonder if the governments of each faction may be understanding how much they underestimate the Summoned. That we found the people who were taken, and we saved those who could be saved, mostly without their help or guidance. The more of us who come here, the more power we will gain, and they will lose.
Perhaps this is their form of indulgence. If we are given some power through influence, we will become satisfied. That none will seek more.
[Mog wiggles until Jaskier releases him back onto the floor, where he begins to try to climb into the icebox.] It's only a theory, of course.