[What he's having is about the richest ale this tavern contains within it, which is about half as nice as the stuff he gets in ritzier places -- but it's good, and it isn't swill, and he's ordered a bit of buttered bread to go with it. Singing needs a throat well taken care of, and a belly that isn't empty. But it's simple fare that will go down easy.

And he hardly minds spending coin for the company of pretty voices and even prettier faces. Jaskier props his head up on a hand, pointedly gazing at his company. Taking him in.]

Catchy. [He repeats the word, a small twitch in his lips. Catchy is for nursery rhymes and ditties that warn children to stay out of the woods at night. He smooths his smile back onto his face. He understands that this man is not particularly talented with his words -- or reigning in his anxiety -- and so Jaskier gives him a berth for what is intended to be a compliment.] I'm glad you think so. The sort that you hum to yourself going about your day, hmm? [His gaze moves from Blake's eyes down to his lips.]

Now, I don't mind if you came to talk to me about my music -- as you can imagine, it's my favorite topic -- but I have an inkling you may have come to me with greater purpose, Blake. [He smiles again, raising his eyes.] You hardly need flatter me so for a bit of warmth in my bed.