[He smiles, the squeeze enough to ease whatever spikes are still lodged in his heart.] You think so? Good care, I hope. And to recall my aunt once told me I could never be trusted around children, because I tended to find trouble for them when they couldn't find their own.

[Luckily, Ciri is very capable of finding her own trouble. Besides, it's quite easy to like her now that he's skipped all the awkward, bumbling teen years, but... he does wish he could know more of them. Of what this relationship could have grown from. Of course he could always ask her, but retold memories are so far from the real thing.

He finishes off his mug, mouth cloyingly sweet, but certainly considers a second either way. It doesn't hit the same as a fine liquor or a smooth wine, but there's plenty to appreciate in its taste --

He chokes on the last swallow, setting the mug down.] W-what? What makes you think anything is? [He looks at her, and she looks back, her green eyes unsettling bright. Keen. She's keen like Geralt, but unlike Geralt, she asks. Which is far more dangerous than anything being noticed at all.

Not that there's. Anything to notice.] You know, nevermind, I was thinking of something. [Jaskier moves on as if he's gone to master classes of spurring conversations onward, hopping over potholes in its path he wishes to avoid.] There's a bloody festival outside and we're in here. I don't agree with all their, er, quirks, so to speak, but I think what we need is something... nice. Like this drink. Warm, and comforting, with good company. What do you think? I bet we could drag Geralt out somewhere tomorrow night, once he's returned. There's not a chance he can say no to both of us.