Do friends send each other pictures of themselves? Of other things, sure-- he'd sent Jaskier a picture or two of something that he'd thought the musician would enjoy, like the horses. His brothers would send him pictures of things sometimes, too, especially Lambert, most of the time if he found something funny or weird. Yen would send him pictures of Ciri, vacation photos from trips that he didn't go on. But none of them sent him pictures of themselves, and they certainly had never asked for him to do the same.
Is this what young people did now? Is this how he finds out for certain that he's gotten old?
There's a sudden sick twist in his gut, an uncomfortable possibility. He's not... he's not like one of those kinds of old men, going after people a whole decade younger than them because they're young and don't know what they want out of relationships yet. And sure, Jaskier's twenty-eight, not some barely-legal co-ed, but maybe it's overstepping some client boundaries to take him up the mountain alone for something that could, in the right context, look like a date-like activity. Though Jaskier couldn't have thought it was actually a date, he wouldn't have agreed to come if he'd thought that.
Still. He needs to be more careful. Like he'd said with the pictures-- someone could get the wrong idea.
"I'll take care of them later," he says. "Reception's shit up here."
The rest of their totally platonic picnic passes relatively easily-- Jaskier carries the majority of the conversation, being far better at small-talk and that kind of thing than Geralt's ever been. And Geralt tries to at least participate a little, even if he does have a tendency towards one-word answers. Evening's setting in by the time they pack everything up and head back down the mountain, the sunset painting the meadows in shades of red and gold.
The horses get put away for the night with their (lighter, since they'd been grazing all afternoon) dinners, seemingly content to be back in the barn after spending all day out doing... horse things. Mostly standing around and eating grass, but who knows what goes on inside the head of a horse during long summer afternoons.
This would be about the time that he would walk Jaskier up to where his ride would come to get him, then take the turn to head back to his own house. But Jaskier's very much a city boy, and Geralt's had enough city folk come down for trail rides to know that they aren't always aware of what needs to be done post-trail ride. Probably never had to deal with a tick in their lives. He imagines that Jaskier's probably much the same.
"You should tick check yourself before you go back home," he says. "You've probably got a few on you. Use my shower, if you want."
He's certain that Jaskier has at least one on him, because Geralt already picked one or two of them off of himself in the time since they'd come down off of the mountain. If he has them, the musician almost certainly does too-- ticks don't discriminate against prettyboys with guitars. Very egalitarian of them.
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Is this what young people did now? Is this how he finds out for certain that he's gotten old?
There's a sudden sick twist in his gut, an uncomfortable possibility. He's not... he's not like one of those kinds of old men, going after people a whole decade younger than them because they're young and don't know what they want out of relationships yet. And sure, Jaskier's twenty-eight, not some barely-legal co-ed, but maybe it's overstepping some client boundaries to take him up the mountain alone for something that could, in the right context, look like a date-like activity. Though Jaskier couldn't have thought it was actually a date, he wouldn't have agreed to come if he'd thought that.
Still. He needs to be more careful. Like he'd said with the pictures-- someone could get the wrong idea.
"I'll take care of them later," he says. "Reception's shit up here."
The rest of their totally platonic picnic passes relatively easily-- Jaskier carries the majority of the conversation, being far better at small-talk and that kind of thing than Geralt's ever been. And Geralt tries to at least participate a little, even if he does have a tendency towards one-word answers. Evening's setting in by the time they pack everything up and head back down the mountain, the sunset painting the meadows in shades of red and gold.
The horses get put away for the night with their (lighter, since they'd been grazing all afternoon) dinners, seemingly content to be back in the barn after spending all day out doing... horse things. Mostly standing around and eating grass, but who knows what goes on inside the head of a horse during long summer afternoons.
This would be about the time that he would walk Jaskier up to where his ride would come to get him, then take the turn to head back to his own house. But Jaskier's very much a city boy, and Geralt's had enough city folk come down for trail rides to know that they aren't always aware of what needs to be done post-trail ride. Probably never had to deal with a tick in their lives. He imagines that Jaskier's probably much the same.
"You should tick check yourself before you go back home," he says. "You've probably got a few on you. Use my shower, if you want."
He's certain that Jaskier has at least one on him, because Geralt already picked one or two of them off of himself in the time since they'd come down off of the mountain. If he has them, the musician almost certainly does too-- ticks don't discriminate against prettyboys with guitars. Very egalitarian of them.