"That's what I said, isn't it?" he replies with a tone that can only be described as duh. "That's why I stayed, that's the logic I used for twenty years to keep myself convinced that I wasn't wasting my time. He said my singing is like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling, I just told him he needed a nap. I thought it didn't make sense back then either."

Fuck, this is the worst time to be remembering that horrible day - he can already feel the stretch marks on his throat tingling. Which is all in his head, he knows, but he can't exactly help it. It's not like he's feeling rational at the moment, or at all since he's arrived...

Hell, make it since he's come down that fucking mountain.

Huffing in frustration, he refills his glass with wine and drinks it all before letting his head rest on his crossed arms again. It says a lot about his mood that he is keeping his dramatics in check - Jaskier is supposed to be a loud drunk, just like he's loud about everything else in life.

That question takes him by surprise, both eyebrows quickly going up as he stares at Geralt to try to get a better feeling of the meaning behind it. He knows pretty well by now there is quite a number of differences between their worlds but... they can't be that many. Right?

"The entire dragon hunt was a fucking disaster. Are you saying it wasn't the same for you?"