He swears, every time he surprises or embarrasses Estinien, it's even better than the last. Jaskier can't even say what did it this time. He only just notices because it's obvious on his face; otherwise Jaskier is so caught up in this new revelation that he's simply gone to. Staring. Drowning in the thud of his heart.

Waiting.

And being disappointed. Of course it shows, with a click of his tongue and a sweep of his arm. However, it's not with Estinien himself. It's with his lack of vision.

A call. A roar. Gods, he wants to hear it. The sort of thing Villentretenmerth would have shattered the skies with. A song, a call, and a scream all at once. (He should like to make that sort of rabble himself.)

"My dear, lovely, fair-faced, snow-haired, unimaginative friend. Please. We are in a place where we can literally make anything. Can you not recreate it? Even if it is not your voice that sings it?"

And as if in example, he holds out his hand between them. From nothing comes Villentretenmerth himself... or, at least, what he understood him to look like from the words of Geralt and the dwarves. A fierce, golden-scaled beast, with wings spread out as fire spits thick from his mouth. A beauty. A missed opportunity. And here, he fits on the palm of a hand.

"There is no better place to share our memories."