I most definitely didn't fuck her, Geralt says as if it was obvious, as if that wasn't how they ended up every time they met, as if being upset with each other weren't how their entire relationship worked in the first place. The envy that slips into his scent isn't because of her this time, though, it's because of hearing how Dandelion got to be there - not only that, he got to help.
This alternate self of his has everything Jaskier has ever wanted and more. And while part of him is happy there's a Jaskier out there that is doing so good, it also stings a little. It makes everything that happened at home feel even worse, like he did something wrong not to get this ending too.
Geralt's last comment gets a snort from him, one quite bitter at that. "You think?"
That's the end of the story though, and Jaskier knows what the witcher expects next: his own. Fuck, he usually loves talking about himself and his aventures, and especially about his heartbreak, but usually his love shenanigans don't make him feel this... stupid.
He's going to need more wine.
Jaskier throws his head back and drinks directly from the bottle, which is then returned to the table. But his head stays back, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to meet golden eyes as he speaks. Which fucking sucks, because he's never been afraid of meeting Geralt's eyes, but there's only so much he can take to talk about this.
"It was Borch the fell off the mountain for us, and his warriors followed him. Obviously they turned out to be alright later, but... you know. We didn't know then." Not his best storytelling, that's for sure, and that says a lot about his current state of mind - alcohol probably not helping his case either. "Geralt wasn't taking it well - failed to save a life, you know how it goes. And I..."
He swallows and closes his eyes. Every interaction he's ever had with the witcher is being looked at in a new light now, and it stings.
"I tried to comfort him, I said... I said we should take a break. Go to the coast. My heart was in my bloody sleeve and he just fucking grunted and left to her tent! Which shouldn't be surprising because he had refused to do that fucking hunt until she showed up and then spent the entire trip being jealous of Sir Eyck of Fatuousness!"
...bollocks. He's ranting, and he hates it. He doesn't like being affected by these things, jealousy has always been a secondary emotion to him. It was there, a little annoyance at the back of his head, but he never let it get the best of him - he supported Geralt going to brothels, encouraged him even, tried to play wingman when in taverns with no luck. He had been rather supportive during the trip as well, he would like to think, but the way he's telling the story now is probably not painting him in a good light.
It's probably the alcohol's fault.
He drinks more anyway.
"I knew not to expect big gestures from him, but was an actual fucking considerate answer so much to ask for, even if it was a negative? My hopes for the beach trip were tiny yet he somehow managed to destroy them anyway." Ignored and dimissed as if he had offered him dirty water and not his heart. His body slumps on the table then, cheek against the wood, blue eyes staring at nothing but the memories in his own head. "I woke up on my bedroll to find everyone gone. The dwarves told me later that Yennefer froze them and she and Geralt defended the dragon against the Reavers. They got the teeth they wanted so they didn't give a fuck about the rest. And instead of seeing the action I got to see that fucking witch yell at him, dump him and then get the heat and the blame for the djinn and the Child surprise and because apparently whenever he's covered in shit I'm the one shoveling it."
If life could give me one blessing... New Geralt has already heard that. No point in repeating it. He may guess Jaskier is thinking it, though, just by how sour his scent becomes.
"That was a month ago. I stayed in Hengfors to earn some coin for my trip back to Oxenfurt." A sigh. "I just wanted to start over."
Is it possible at fucking forty? He doesn't know, but he's gotta try.
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This alternate self of his has everything Jaskier has ever wanted and more. And while part of him is happy there's a Jaskier out there that is doing so good, it also stings a little. It makes everything that happened at home feel even worse, like he did something wrong not to get this ending too.
Geralt's last comment gets a snort from him, one quite bitter at that. "You think?"
That's the end of the story though, and Jaskier knows what the witcher expects next: his own. Fuck, he usually loves talking about himself and his aventures, and especially about his heartbreak, but usually his love shenanigans don't make him feel this... stupid.
He's going to need more wine.
Jaskier throws his head back and drinks directly from the bottle, which is then returned to the table. But his head stays back, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to meet golden eyes as he speaks. Which fucking sucks, because he's never been afraid of meeting Geralt's eyes, but there's only so much he can take to talk about this.
"It was Borch the fell off the mountain for us, and his warriors followed him. Obviously they turned out to be alright later, but... you know. We didn't know then." Not his best storytelling, that's for sure, and that says a lot about his current state of mind - alcohol probably not helping his case either. "Geralt wasn't taking it well - failed to save a life, you know how it goes. And I..."
He swallows and closes his eyes. Every interaction he's ever had with the witcher is being looked at in a new light now, and it stings.
"I tried to comfort him, I said... I said we should take a break. Go to the coast. My heart was in my bloody sleeve and he just fucking grunted and left to her tent! Which shouldn't be surprising because he had refused to do that fucking hunt until she showed up and then spent the entire trip being jealous of Sir Eyck of Fatuousness!"
...bollocks. He's ranting, and he hates it. He doesn't like being affected by these things, jealousy has always been a secondary emotion to him. It was there, a little annoyance at the back of his head, but he never let it get the best of him - he supported Geralt going to brothels, encouraged him even, tried to play wingman when in taverns with no luck. He had been rather supportive during the trip as well, he would like to think, but the way he's telling the story now is probably not painting him in a good light.
It's probably the alcohol's fault.
He drinks more anyway.
"I knew not to expect big gestures from him, but was an actual fucking considerate answer so much to ask for, even if it was a negative? My hopes for the beach trip were tiny yet he somehow managed to destroy them anyway." Ignored and dimissed as if he had offered him dirty water and not his heart. His body slumps on the table then, cheek against the wood, blue eyes staring at nothing but the memories in his own head. "I woke up on my bedroll to find everyone gone. The dwarves told me later that Yennefer froze them and she and Geralt defended the dragon against the Reavers. They got the teeth they wanted so they didn't give a fuck about the rest. And instead of seeing the action I got to see that fucking witch yell at him, dump him and then get the heat and the blame for the djinn and the Child surprise and because apparently whenever he's covered in shit I'm the one shoveling it."
If life could give me one blessing... New Geralt has already heard that. No point in repeating it. He may guess Jaskier is thinking it, though, just by how sour his scent becomes.
"That was a month ago. I stayed in Hengfors to earn some coin for my trip back to Oxenfurt." A sigh. "I just wanted to start over."
Is it possible at fucking forty? He doesn't know, but he's gotta try.