Yes. Yes, I suppose that's the nature of healing, isn't it?
[He was healing. In some ways. The infection, the Coven witches assured him, was driven from his body -- aided by a resistance he'd built up with his frequent trips to the Cwylds and playing for the infected outside the cities. Jaskier, in all of this mess, has never really stopped and considered how he was almost one of them. Stripped of his home. Surviving on what was handed to him.
He goes quiet again, picking at the food without really thinking about it. No magic, very little eating, and he hasn't left the house. He feels he must be a ghost at this point, for how they treat him. For how he must be this terrible, soul-sucking thing to be around.
No. Geralt has never offered. Not in all the years he's known him. So when he does, it startles him. How bad must it be, for Geralt to change his ways after all this time?
He looks back at the rising shadow of their manor, the pool just beyond the barrier that protects them from snow now. Though he doesn't leave it now, it feels overwhelming to be in sometimes.
He thinks... Yennefer could use a break from him. From his presence. And though a pang of fear runs through him, he has never felt unprotected in Geralt's presence.] All right. [He sets the food aside, making as if to pick something up -- of course. He'd come out here with nothing. No lute, no notebook. He looks up to Geralt, a bland smile across his lips.] You're getting softer in your old age.
no subject
[He was healing. In some ways. The infection, the Coven witches assured him, was driven from his body -- aided by a resistance he'd built up with his frequent trips to the Cwylds and playing for the infected outside the cities. Jaskier, in all of this mess, has never really stopped and considered how he was almost one of them. Stripped of his home. Surviving on what was handed to him.
He goes quiet again, picking at the food without really thinking about it. No magic, very little eating, and he hasn't left the house. He feels he must be a ghost at this point, for how they treat him. For how he must be this terrible, soul-sucking thing to be around.
No. Geralt has never offered. Not in all the years he's known him. So when he does, it startles him. How bad must it be, for Geralt to change his ways after all this time?
He looks back at the rising shadow of their manor, the pool just beyond the barrier that protects them from snow now. Though he doesn't leave it now, it feels overwhelming to be in sometimes.
He thinks... Yennefer could use a break from him. From his presence. And though a pang of fear runs through him, he has never felt unprotected in Geralt's presence.] All right. [He sets the food aside, making as if to pick something up -- of course. He'd come out here with nothing. No lute, no notebook. He looks up to Geralt, a bland smile across his lips.] You're getting softer in your old age.