[Please do not attempt to solve elf hunger through jars of JIF and plastic pollution.]
Enough practice, I'm rather sure I could grow a peanut. It's only a nut, after all. They grow on trees! Literally. Sometimes vines. If my chaos decides to behave itself.
[It goes without saying he could not tell one how to make chocolate, nor what it grows on. He has some herbal knowledge, and more than he would estimate most here have thanks to his time with a Witcher, but he's still far from an herbalist.]
What have you been eating? Our food is perfectly wonderful. And my friend Alucard braises quite the rabbit. You know, it's a shame you aren't closer. There's plenty of spices in the market here.
[And then he can grow things to fill in the gaps... or he could, when his plants weren't dying from. Well, according to some, it was emotional magical constipation. And it was... annoying.
To say the least.
And he would deal with it.]
Oh? [He lifts his head, a little flutter in his heart. No one really asks about any of his writing, let alone if he writes something other than song. In fact, most assume that's all he does. As if poetry only had one form of it. As if a talent in one genre cannot extend to others.] When I was younger, for sure, I dabbled in whatever caught my fancy. It is funny you should ask, though... I'm not sure if it would interest you, but my longest project has been working on a sort of... bestiary. During our travels, I would often learn far too much about the creatures Geralt hunted. I assumed the truth might help the people, considering fact and fiction are so easily mixed up.
[He summons a few notebooks; a facsimile of the project left behind on the Continent. And if a real, true note of sadness crosses his face at the sight of these pale, leather-bound books, at least there is only one witness to it. They're tied together with leather cord, pages filled out with spaces between them. Quick notes of quill ink, Jaskier's attempts at sketching the monsters accurately. There are plenty of blank pages, even after all these years.] They're yours to peruse, if you'd like them.
no subject
Enough practice, I'm rather sure I could grow a peanut. It's only a nut, after all. They grow on trees! Literally. Sometimes vines. If my chaos decides to behave itself.
[It goes without saying he could not tell one how to make chocolate, nor what it grows on. He has some herbal knowledge, and more than he would estimate most here have thanks to his time with a Witcher, but he's still far from an herbalist.]
What have you been eating? Our food is perfectly wonderful. And my friend Alucard braises quite the rabbit. You know, it's a shame you aren't closer. There's plenty of spices in the market here.
[And then he can grow things to fill in the gaps... or he could, when his plants weren't dying from. Well, according to some, it was emotional magical constipation. And it was... annoying.
To say the least.
And he would deal with it.]
Oh? [He lifts his head, a little flutter in his heart. No one really asks about any of his writing, let alone if he writes something other than song. In fact, most assume that's all he does. As if poetry only had one form of it. As if a talent in one genre cannot extend to others.] When I was younger, for sure, I dabbled in whatever caught my fancy. It is funny you should ask, though... I'm not sure if it would interest you, but my longest project has been working on a sort of... bestiary. During our travels, I would often learn far too much about the creatures Geralt hunted. I assumed the truth might help the people, considering fact and fiction are so easily mixed up.
[He summons a few notebooks; a facsimile of the project left behind on the Continent. And if a real, true note of sadness crosses his face at the sight of these pale, leather-bound books, at least there is only one witness to it. They're tied together with leather cord, pages filled out with spaces between them. Quick notes of quill ink, Jaskier's attempts at sketching the monsters accurately. There are plenty of blank pages, even after all these years.] They're yours to peruse, if you'd like them.