[Honestly, he's very satisfied with the comfortable quiet that falls between sips of the drink. It's delectable. Not only is it coating his mouth in this new, velvet texture, but his insides have gone warm. He's comforted by it, strangely.
When Ciri speaks again, he lowers the mug to the table, both hands lingering around it. The burn has left his finger by now. Honestly, he'd do it again just to see her reaction. ]
Meee...? [Oh no, she's doing that thing. Where the air stills, the world quiets, and he can only prepare himself for what's coming. After so many years with Geralt, he's very used to the feeling. Despite that, his heart tightens. She is not Geralt. And perhaps it is not something deeply meaningful that is coming.
Ah. Damn.]
Oh. That was not what I expected. [Oh, no. Why must this happen when he's already rather morose? With his magic fucking about, everything in him feels a bit off-kilter -- like how he is before coming down with a cold. Yet, right now, that cold doesn't touch him.]
Thank you, Ciri. [He meant it only to be a jest, yet she takes it so seriously. Jaskier reaches for one of Ciri's wandering hands, squeezing it. Of course he stayed. Where else would he have gone? Even if Geralt hadn't all but trusted him to take care of her. Funny enough, it makes him recall what Geralt had him swear, their first few weeks here. If he should return home, and Geralt did not, that he would find the girl. Find Ciri. His latest, and perhaps greatest, regret. Leaving her behind.
What a fucking mistake that Witcher made.] I want you to know that I will always stay. Despite whatever fuckery is coming our way. Or whether or not I'm particularly useful in the moment, which is debatable. I'll still be here for you, my dear. Someone must stick about and keep you all humble, after all.
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When Ciri speaks again, he lowers the mug to the table, both hands lingering around it. The burn has left his finger by now. Honestly, he'd do it again just to see her reaction. ]
Meee...? [Oh no, she's doing that thing. Where the air stills, the world quiets, and he can only prepare himself for what's coming. After so many years with Geralt, he's very used to the feeling. Despite that, his heart tightens. She is not Geralt. And perhaps it is not something deeply meaningful that is coming.
Ah. Damn.]
Oh. That was not what I expected. [Oh, no. Why must this happen when he's already rather morose? With his magic fucking about, everything in him feels a bit off-kilter -- like how he is before coming down with a cold. Yet, right now, that cold doesn't touch him.]
Thank you, Ciri. [He meant it only to be a jest, yet she takes it so seriously. Jaskier reaches for one of Ciri's wandering hands, squeezing it. Of course he stayed. Where else would he have gone? Even if Geralt hadn't all but trusted him to take care of her. Funny enough, it makes him recall what Geralt had him swear, their first few weeks here. If he should return home, and Geralt did not, that he would find the girl. Find Ciri. His latest, and perhaps greatest, regret. Leaving her behind.
What a fucking mistake that Witcher made.] I want you to know that I will always stay. Despite whatever fuckery is coming our way. Or whether or not I'm particularly useful in the moment, which is debatable. I'll still be here for you, my dear. Someone must stick about and keep you all humble, after all.