[He stares at her.] Why the fuck is it called a peanut, then? [There's no heat in the question, only mild confusion. Ah, well. He isn't looking a gift horse -- or woman -- in the mouth, so he takes the shelled things and lays them in his (still somewhat sticky) lap. The more food he tries, the greater his palate, and perhaps the less likely she'll remember the whole explosion thing.

As instructed, he cracks it open. The noise is rather satisfying, and inside? Salty, again, but less overwhelming. It's almost... refreshing. Interesting.]

They're a lakeside city, aren't they? I suppose it's not surprising. Not much land to grow such frivolous things. [He doesn't say it, but he can't help worrying about those still so close to Thorne. Technically still fallen under the kingdom's lands.

Yet... a few complains about a lack of flavors is hardly a real problem to him. At least they can eat and work. It's been a long time since then, but Jaskier still recalls a time where he would go days, if his performances went badly, without eating.

Jaskier gives her a tip of his head. It's a strange sort of feeling, seeing those notebooks in someone else's hands. Only one part of the culmination of his life, and she's to read them to chase away boredom. Well. That's the point of entertainment, isn't it?] I... don't know what that means, but I think he should have set his expectations for you a bit higher. Besides, you can let me know if it gets too dry. I couldn't help but add a bit of my own spark to it.

[It's definitely informative, and what he's written is true to the best of his knowledge, but occasionally there's, like, a dirty joke, or a picture of a slightly familiar, scowling man on the back of a page.]