[To Dean's credit, the absurdity of the statement actually gets him to smile. He hasn't done that since they returned, since he was forced back into an all too human body that was incapable of living with so much time inside of him.] Be as disgusting as you wish. I'd rather it didn't go to waste.
[The compliment is a polite one, and sorely needed. What would could be worse than putting all this effort into something only for it to be subpar? At least he's dedicated some fair amount of time in Abraxas to his cooking, and greater time still to his magic.
Jaskier pauses, placing a now filled bowl on their dining room table (also covered with spots of flour, but this one had a real attempt at being cleaned up at some point.)] I admit, it's giving me a sense of worriment that you would offer to listen to my feelings. [Like, how badly must he look right now? Surely there's a few new wrinkles around his eyes, some dark blemishes, overworked hands and a crick in his neck, but...
Hammers. Ah. He sounds like Alucard. Building things. Real rugged, simple things, but with a physicality he intimately understands now. There is something to a man who dedicates himself to making with his hands.] Building something? [He tilts his head to the table, now he's brought plates of pierogi and sauced ravioli to share between them, with an array of forks, a refilled pitcher of mead, and even some of the rolls.] Tell me about it.
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[The compliment is a polite one, and sorely needed. What would could be worse than putting all this effort into something only for it to be subpar? At least he's dedicated some fair amount of time in Abraxas to his cooking, and greater time still to his magic.
Jaskier pauses, placing a now filled bowl on their dining room table (also covered with spots of flour, but this one had a real attempt at being cleaned up at some point.)] I admit, it's giving me a sense of worriment that you would offer to listen to my feelings. [Like, how badly must he look right now? Surely there's a few new wrinkles around his eyes, some dark blemishes, overworked hands and a crick in his neck, but...
Hammers. Ah. He sounds like Alucard. Building things. Real rugged, simple things, but with a physicality he intimately understands now. There is something to a man who dedicates himself to making with his hands.] Building something? [He tilts his head to the table, now he's brought plates of pierogi and sauced ravioli to share between them, with an array of forks, a refilled pitcher of mead, and even some of the rolls.] Tell me about it.