[ Geralt waits, with his typical immovable patience, for Jaskier to finish speaking before he answers with precisely zero amount of detail. ] Come with me.
[ He gets up, leaving Jaskier to finish the ale if he wants or to simply follow. Either way, he pauses at the door to make sure Jaskier is keeping up before he steps back out into the night.
He'd not specifically planned to take Jaskier anywhere. He'd come to gauge the mood and maybe, if he has to admit, for company. He likes his solitude. He does. He will hold to that to his last breath. But the truth is, he occasionally wants...more. The strangeness of this world leaves him feeling out of sorts in a way he normally doesn't. On the Continent, he has familiar towns, familiar villages. Even familiar faces. He's lived a long time. It's impossible not to know a handful of folk, no matter how reluctant he is to make those connections. Out here, he hasn't got anyone. Not really. (He never made it home, for the winter. Sometimes he wonders if he ever will again.)
Since Jaskier is obviously having trouble with his newly healed injury, though, Geralt knows where to go. If the bard has at all grown familiar with the city, he might catch on. There's only one bathhouse in this area, within easy walking distance. He says little while they walk, answering with vague assent now and again. Only when they reach the doors of the bathhouse does he tip his head, indicating for Jaskier to go inside first.
It'll help. With the wound, that is, though he doesn't explain that that's the reason they're here. Either Jaskier will realize or he won't. Geralt has no desire to elaborate. It's not meant to be a gesture of any kind. He just thinks Jaskier needs a good soak. Fuck, he could use one, too. ]
no subject
[ He gets up, leaving Jaskier to finish the ale if he wants or to simply follow. Either way, he pauses at the door to make sure Jaskier is keeping up before he steps back out into the night.
He'd not specifically planned to take Jaskier anywhere. He'd come to gauge the mood and maybe, if he has to admit, for company. He likes his solitude. He does. He will hold to that to his last breath. But the truth is, he occasionally wants...more. The strangeness of this world leaves him feeling out of sorts in a way he normally doesn't. On the Continent, he has familiar towns, familiar villages. Even familiar faces. He's lived a long time. It's impossible not to know a handful of folk, no matter how reluctant he is to make those connections. Out here, he hasn't got anyone. Not really. (He never made it home, for the winter. Sometimes he wonders if he ever will again.)
Since Jaskier is obviously having trouble with his newly healed injury, though, Geralt knows where to go. If the bard has at all grown familiar with the city, he might catch on. There's only one bathhouse in this area, within easy walking distance. He says little while they walk, answering with vague assent now and again. Only when they reach the doors of the bathhouse does he tip his head, indicating for Jaskier to go inside first.
It'll help. With the wound, that is, though he doesn't explain that that's the reason they're here. Either Jaskier will realize or he won't. Geralt has no desire to elaborate. It's not meant to be a gesture of any kind. He just thinks Jaskier needs a good soak. Fuck, he could use one, too. ]