[That Geralt doesn't immediately bitch or mumble fuck off or snatch the drink back -- he certainly has the advantage over Jaskier's level of speed -- means he's thinking. And Jaskier already knows quite well what he must be thinking about, because that small knit between his brows is there. He knows it well.
It's annoying. He wants to pinch it. For once in his life, he does not want to be analyzed. There's nothing anyone can do about it. And he does not regret trying to help Ciri. Every bloody Witcher around here already has far too much guilt weighing them down, whether they'll admit it or not.
Geralt doesn't say it, because of course he doesn't. He doesn't need to say it for both of them to know he's sourced out what is happening already.
Jaskier doesn't want to bring it up, either. His fingers rub together, first on the table but then tucked under, the tick so obvious even he notices he's doing it. The pain has only lessened by a degree. And Geralt, well. He knows injuries well. But Jaskier does not desire for this to ever be a source of contention between himself and Ciri. Or Geralt, really. As a witcher's bard, it was inevitable. That one day he would be injured.
But before he can bring it up, Geralt asks... a rather honest question. Point-blank, as always.
He glances up to meet his eyes.]
Ah. No. [The surprise only lasts a moment.] And where is it you want to drag me to tonight? I do so know how you can't stand being alone. [He teases with ease, considering pulling away to order a drink, but stopping. Well, if they're going somewhere -- and there's no question he'll come along, of course. Why not?] Probably not a hunt, or you wouldn't specifically invite me. Oh, wait! Did you find a place here? With cocktails?
no subject
It's annoying. He wants to pinch it. For once in his life, he does not want to be analyzed. There's nothing anyone can do about it. And he does not regret trying to help Ciri. Every bloody Witcher around here already has far too much guilt weighing them down, whether they'll admit it or not.
Geralt doesn't say it, because of course he doesn't. He doesn't need to say it for both of them to know he's sourced out what is happening already.
Jaskier doesn't want to bring it up, either. His fingers rub together, first on the table but then tucked under, the tick so obvious even he notices he's doing it. The pain has only lessened by a degree. And Geralt, well. He knows injuries well. But Jaskier does not desire for this to ever be a source of contention between himself and Ciri. Or Geralt, really. As a witcher's bard, it was inevitable. That one day he would be injured.
But before he can bring it up, Geralt asks... a rather honest question. Point-blank, as always.
He glances up to meet his eyes.]
Ah. No. [The surprise only lasts a moment.] And where is it you want to drag me to tonight? I do so know how you can't stand being alone. [He teases with ease, considering pulling away to order a drink, but stopping. Well, if they're going somewhere -- and there's no question he'll come along, of course. Why not?] Probably not a hunt, or you wouldn't specifically invite me. Oh, wait! Did you find a place here? With cocktails?