[ Ciri snorts, giving him a look. Amused, more than anything, as he obviously couldn't have known, but she thinks it's funny that's the first thing he asks. (She is also too dumb to realize he might have been asking on her behalf more than his own. Oops.) ]

She was just a girl. Couldn't have been more than fourteen summers old. [ Making the accomplishment even more impressive. ] Said it was some sort of... chemical reaction occurring from the types of... alloys? Used in the wire? It went a bit over my head, really.

[ Ciri moves into the kitchen as she talks, leaving the flowers in Jaskier's hands and forgetting to inform him that they are a gift, in the meantime busying herself pulling out the ingredients she'll need. It's not until Jaskier mentions braiding them into her hair that Ciri seems to realize they're not on the same page. Maybe she's just a little excited, or distracted, or both.

Ah. ]

Jaskier! [ There's been a misstep here. Ciri sets the bottle of milk on the counter, wipes her hands on her trousers, and comes back around to stand in front of the bard. Her fingers curl, gently, over his wrists, holding his hands around the flowers. This time, she holds his gaze. ]

No, you see... I picked them out for you. I thought you'd like--

[ She falters, suddenly embarrassed. ]

It's a bit silly, isn't it? But the color reminded me of you.