[Jaskier does not resist the urge to roll his eyes, and does so. Of course he isn't. He knows the sort that Geralt is, and it isn't a man who rolls into a party to kill the lord of it. (Unfortunate, for this moment, because Jaskier feels he could wring the man to death himself, given a chance.)
For his sake, he's focusing on that and not that -- the impossibility that Geralt is here, not just in this house, that he'd seen him at the window, but this city, this entire bloody sphere. What was one Destiny is suddenly beginning to feel like a curse.
Even if a part of him is glad to see his... friend.
Unluckily for Geralt, Jaskier hefts his lute onto his back and does follow him, because it comes so automatically for one, and because he does not want to be alone here, forced into another dance until his feed bleed.] Well, what's your plan, Witcher? Interrogate everyone here? Break his favorite lamp? Maybe it's cursed!
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For his sake, he's focusing on that and not that -- the impossibility that Geralt is here, not just in this house, that he'd seen him at the window, but this city, this entire bloody sphere. What was one Destiny is suddenly beginning to feel like a curse.
Even if a part of him is glad to see his... friend.
Unluckily for Geralt, Jaskier hefts his lute onto his back and does follow him, because it comes so automatically for one, and because he does not want to be alone here, forced into another dance until his feed bleed.] Well, what's your plan, Witcher? Interrogate everyone here? Break his favorite lamp? Maybe it's cursed!