As the bard's demeanor makes a mercurial shift, Blake's dark eyes follow the movements, taking in the boots and the attire — certainly nicer than his own — and eventually returning to make eye contact once more. If he had that kind of confidence, he supposed he'd be annoyed, too, if someone treated him like a messenger or errand boy.

"It's nothin' like that. Not this time," he says, tone lightening a hair as if to prove he's no threat at all. And truly, even with training, he'd very much fall short when faced against Geralt. Luckily, they don't really find themselves at odds (so far). "Just owe him a coupla favors and I had some ideas I wanted to run past him."

Blake squints a hair, considering, before finally admitting his stance with a vague gesture in Jaskier's direction. "I know you two're—" Friends? Companions? Blake doesn't fish for more, but he suspects if he's too off the mark he'll be corrected. "So that's why I asked. Maybe not the best way to meet a celebrity like you."

What's this? A drink to drown his sharpening tongue? Blake eagerly tucks in, if only to shut himself up. He's here for a reason, after all, and it doesn't do to drag out what appears to be growing misery on his companion's part.