[Jaskier, ever aware of his animal magnetism, doesn't miss that look. He gives him a grin between reaching for his half of bread, and a bit of cheese. Of course the food is much more varied here, and while Jaskier does enjoy it, there's nothing to him like the food they had on the road. It's nostalgic. And honestly, nothing beats fresh bread.
The bread lately has been staying quite fresh, too. He found a fallen roll on the floor and it was still soft somehow.
Jaskier gasps, banging the end of his knife on the table.] Geralt! Damn you, why didn't you say so? Fuck, that would've been fun. [He sighs, giving him a half-hearted hit on the shoulder.] Though, honestly, my arm feels loads better.
[The soreness was practically gone, the full feeling returned to his fingers. He'd need to make a habit of it, he expects, after performances, along with use of the salves Ciri has pushed upon him.] Ah, well. Next time.
[He gives Geralt a wink, popping the bread in his mouth. Ah. As soft as if it came out of the oven.]
[ Uh-huh. Geralt chooses not to explain why he didn't say so, since that necessitates explaining that the reason is because Jaskier's arm was more important. Though he'd gotten a tryst out of it nonetheless, so. One of the better decisions he's made. (A short list.)
Mostly, he's simply glad to see Jaskier both in better spirits and in less pain. He chews on bread that's too fresh for having sat about since yesterday. It's something he's noticed, almost immediately, if only because Geralt is long used to keeping an eye on stores of food. When you travel as much as he does, you know exactly how long certain rations last. And theirs have been lasting.
He almost doesn't want to ask. Unless Jaskier sold his soul to a demon, he's assumed this is just another spell Jaskier has picked up and hasn't said because it isn't flashy and interesting. Useful, though. ]
Don't get ahead of yourself, bard. [ That's not a no. ]
Distinctly not a no, dear Witcher. [Since he's already taken to calling Jaskier by his title, not his name. A shame. He did enjoy hearing the sound of it. Jaskier pulls a tiny piece of bread off and throws it at Geralt's face, laughing as he leans back in his chair.
It's light. He feels light. He feels as if the shadow of what happened to him will not linger for long. There is light on the horizon. Things will either remain the same, or they will get better. The firmer their foothold in this world becomes, the better.
He drinks his ale and tips his head back. Before he gets up to take over their bed first, he gives Geralt a pat on the shoulder -- and leans down to kiss his cheek. Because he can.] Don't let me occupy your dreams too long, Geralt.
Geralt bats the piece of bread aside, and ends up batting Jaskier aside, too, like a series of annoying flies. ] Fuck off.
[ It's about as amiable of a fuck off as he ever gives. He lets Jaskier take over the bed, which for tonight will be Jaskier's bed alone. He thinks Jaskier could use the room to stretch out his arm and beyond that, Geralt is content, feels generally at ease, and would rather not spend the night growing increasingly irritated at having a cold foot dug into his spine. (Somehow, Jaskier's feet are always colder than a wraith dipped in ice.)
He makes his bed on the floor instead, where he does half the time anyhow, a pillow propped under his head. If his sleep has been restless as of late, it's a bit less so tonight. ]
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The bread lately has been staying quite fresh, too. He found a fallen roll on the floor and it was still soft somehow.
Jaskier gasps, banging the end of his knife on the table.] Geralt! Damn you, why didn't you say so? Fuck, that would've been fun. [He sighs, giving him a half-hearted hit on the shoulder.] Though, honestly, my arm feels loads better.
[The soreness was practically gone, the full feeling returned to his fingers. He'd need to make a habit of it, he expects, after performances, along with use of the salves Ciri has pushed upon him.] Ah, well. Next time.
[He gives Geralt a wink, popping the bread in his mouth. Ah. As soft as if it came out of the oven.]
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Mostly, he's simply glad to see Jaskier both in better spirits and in less pain. He chews on bread that's too fresh for having sat about since yesterday. It's something he's noticed, almost immediately, if only because Geralt is long used to keeping an eye on stores of food. When you travel as much as he does, you know exactly how long certain rations last. And theirs have been lasting.
He almost doesn't want to ask. Unless Jaskier sold his soul to a demon, he's assumed this is just another spell Jaskier has picked up and hasn't said because it isn't flashy and interesting. Useful, though. ]
Don't get ahead of yourself, bard. [ That's not a no. ]
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Distinctly not a no, dear Witcher. [Since he's already taken to calling Jaskier by his title, not his name. A shame. He did enjoy hearing the sound of it. Jaskier pulls a tiny piece of bread off and throws it at Geralt's face, laughing as he leans back in his chair.
It's light. He feels light. He feels as if the shadow of what happened to him will not linger for long. There is light on the horizon. Things will either remain the same, or they will get better. The firmer their foothold in this world becomes, the better.
He drinks his ale and tips his head back. Before he gets up to take over their bed first, he gives Geralt a pat on the shoulder -- and leans down to kiss his cheek. Because he can.] Don't let me occupy your dreams too long, Geralt.
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Geralt bats the piece of bread aside, and ends up batting Jaskier aside, too, like a series of annoying flies. ] Fuck off.
[ It's about as amiable of a fuck off as he ever gives. He lets Jaskier take over the bed, which for tonight will be Jaskier's bed alone. He thinks Jaskier could use the room to stretch out his arm and beyond that, Geralt is content, feels generally at ease, and would rather not spend the night growing increasingly irritated at having a cold foot dug into his spine. (Somehow, Jaskier's feet are always colder than a wraith dipped in ice.)
He makes his bed on the floor instead, where he does half the time anyhow, a pillow propped under his head. If his sleep has been restless as of late, it's a bit less so tonight. ]