[He shakes his hand in the air with a soft ooo. It's. Fine.

Jaskier blinks at her at her exclamation, his finger only faintly warm now. What, is she... worried?] Ciri, I've been playing the lute for two decades. Do you really think I have any feeling in these fingers anymore? Gods, you could put a flame straight to one and I doubt I'd hardly feel a thing.

[It would be funny to stick his finger in the fire to display, but for the sake of, er, keeping his fingerprints, he will refrain. Besides, it's -- it's rather new, that showing of concern. He sort of likes it. Big tough monster hunter with a giant scar down her face, yet she worries over a small kitchen fire near... the grown adult bard.]

Whatever you've done with it, it tastes absolutely intriguing. Come on, then! Here's the mugs.