Jaskier is clearly annoyed by Geralt's non-committal and briefly nonverbal answer, but he, just like everyone else in Geralt's life, is just going to have to get used to the grunting. It's one of his primary forms of communication, there's nothing anyone can do about it. He likely thinks that Geralt's just going to blow him off, and, yeah, he's kind of half thinking about it? Going into town is a pain in the ass, especially on the weekends when everything's packed, and parking is fuckoff expensive and most of the bars have cover fees for men. Sure, he could try to invite Triss or Keira along to lighten up the cost, but Lambert hates Triss and Geralt's about eighty percent sure he's fucked Keira, and he really doesn't want to have to deal with any of that shit.
But also, the guy needs people to show up to his gig. He's trying to make it or whatever and shit's hard, Geralt gets that. Can't really fault him for wanting as many people as possible to be there.
The musician decides that he's had enough of Geralt for the moment, though, and pops on a pair of nice-looking headphones. It shouldn't be surprising that he sings along with whatever he's listening to; Geralt would bet that he sings in the shower, too. Probably has whole damn concerts in the shower with himself. He's not sure if that's... endearing? Maybe. Depends.
By the time Jaskier starts breaking out the falsetto and the dirty songs, Geralt's decided-- it's not.
Thankfully, berry picking goes faster when you have two sets of hands instead of just one, and Geralt doesn't have to endure the piercing notes of Guns n'Roses for too long. He taps the musician's elbow to get his attention, pulling him out of whatever imaginary concert he's in the middle of. They set up their lunch, Jaskier spreading out a bright tablecloth and taking out a box of dainty finger sandwiches while Geralt deals with the wine bottle. It's got a cork instead of just a twist-off lid-- fancy-- so Geralt has to pull out his utility knife and pop out the corkscrew to open it. Even the most stubborn corks are no match for Geralt's well-muscled arms.
He holds both of the wine glasses in one hand to pour, putting a very generous portion of wine into each. Jaskier starts wheedling at him for Insta-whatever pictures the moment he hands the glass over, giving him his best sad eyes. Geralt, however, has a young daughter, and has developed some resistance to the Sad Puppy Eyes. Jaskier's eyes are extraordinarily blue, though, and the bridge of his nose is just starting to turn a bit pink from sun exposure, and Geralt's face twists into an annoyed expression because he knows he's folding. He's folding for this ridiculous hairy musician like he folds for Ciri. The universe is a cruel place to bring two people into his life who can make him give in to their absurd demands just by flashing a pair of big eyes.
"One picture," he says, setting down the wine bottle and his glass. "That's it."
He'll let Jaskier figure out the best light and angle and whatever the hell else he wants for his glorified selfie, and maybe he won't scowl too much during it.
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But also, the guy needs people to show up to his gig. He's trying to make it or whatever and shit's hard, Geralt gets that. Can't really fault him for wanting as many people as possible to be there.
The musician decides that he's had enough of Geralt for the moment, though, and pops on a pair of nice-looking headphones. It shouldn't be surprising that he sings along with whatever he's listening to; Geralt would bet that he sings in the shower, too. Probably has whole damn concerts in the shower with himself. He's not sure if that's... endearing? Maybe. Depends.
By the time Jaskier starts breaking out the falsetto and the dirty songs, Geralt's decided-- it's not.
Thankfully, berry picking goes faster when you have two sets of hands instead of just one, and Geralt doesn't have to endure the piercing notes of Guns n'Roses for too long. He taps the musician's elbow to get his attention, pulling him out of whatever imaginary concert he's in the middle of. They set up their lunch, Jaskier spreading out a bright tablecloth and taking out a box of dainty finger sandwiches while Geralt deals with the wine bottle. It's got a cork instead of just a twist-off lid-- fancy-- so Geralt has to pull out his utility knife and pop out the corkscrew to open it. Even the most stubborn corks are no match for Geralt's well-muscled arms.
He holds both of the wine glasses in one hand to pour, putting a very generous portion of wine into each. Jaskier starts wheedling at him for Insta-whatever pictures the moment he hands the glass over, giving him his best sad eyes. Geralt, however, has a young daughter, and has developed some resistance to the Sad Puppy Eyes. Jaskier's eyes are extraordinarily blue, though, and the bridge of his nose is just starting to turn a bit pink from sun exposure, and Geralt's face twists into an annoyed expression because he knows he's folding. He's folding for this ridiculous hairy musician like he folds for Ciri. The universe is a cruel place to bring two people into his life who can make him give in to their absurd demands just by flashing a pair of big eyes.
"One picture," he says, setting down the wine bottle and his glass. "That's it."
He'll let Jaskier figure out the best light and angle and whatever the hell else he wants for his glorified selfie, and maybe he won't scowl too much during it.