Jaskier seems to approve of his house, which... shouldn't mean anything but kind of does, for some reason. Geralt just mentally brushes it off; no one would like it if someone thought that their house looked awful. It's nothing strange. And it doesn't matter much anyway, it's not as though Jaskier's going to be spending much time in Geralt's house. What would he be here for?
In response to his dinner comment, Geralt just gives him a single raised eyebrow-- he doesn't take it personally, it's the kind of horseshit that people say in this kind of situation. A way to break the weird tension of having to strip down in front of someone you don't know very well. Jaskier seems oddly flustered by the whole thing afterward, though. He still does what Geralt asked and takes off his shirt and jeans, tossing them into a pile, but he seems keen on inspecting his surroundings more than paying attention to his host. Geralt doesn't stop him; he has to get out of his own shirt so that Jaskier can check his hair and back as well, and to briefly go into the kitchen to fetch a paper towel. Needs to have something to squash the ticks in once he finds them, after all.
He asks about the bookshelves, which are, as he noticed, packed full-- fantasy, horror, classic gothic novels, a few shelves dedicated to those popular young adult novels that Ciri likes. Quite a few of the paperbacks are well-loved, with bent pages and cracked spines. Geralt steps behind him, reaching out with one hand to brush aside some of the hair at the nape of his neck so that he could look at his hairline. Start pushing his fingers through his thick, dark hair, feeling for any ticks that might be hiding there.
"Ciri is a very prolific reader," he says. "But I didn't lie to you. I don't read, I don't have time to anymore."
He used to read, a hobby that he'd really picked up while he'd been in prison. Not much else to do while he was there but exercise, read, and try not to get into any more trouble. Be a model prisoner and try to look nice for the parole board hearings.
"Hold still." There's a suspicious little bump in the hair just behind Jaskier's right ear. Geralt grabs it between thumb and forefinger and pulls, and-- yeah, there's one. First tick of the afternoon. Geralt deposits it on the paper towel and squashes it with a thumb.
no subject
In response to his dinner comment, Geralt just gives him a single raised eyebrow-- he doesn't take it personally, it's the kind of horseshit that people say in this kind of situation. A way to break the weird tension of having to strip down in front of someone you don't know very well. Jaskier seems oddly flustered by the whole thing afterward, though. He still does what Geralt asked and takes off his shirt and jeans, tossing them into a pile, but he seems keen on inspecting his surroundings more than paying attention to his host. Geralt doesn't stop him; he has to get out of his own shirt so that Jaskier can check his hair and back as well, and to briefly go into the kitchen to fetch a paper towel. Needs to have something to squash the ticks in once he finds them, after all.
He asks about the bookshelves, which are, as he noticed, packed full-- fantasy, horror, classic gothic novels, a few shelves dedicated to those popular young adult novels that Ciri likes. Quite a few of the paperbacks are well-loved, with bent pages and cracked spines. Geralt steps behind him, reaching out with one hand to brush aside some of the hair at the nape of his neck so that he could look at his hairline. Start pushing his fingers through his thick, dark hair, feeling for any ticks that might be hiding there.
"Ciri is a very prolific reader," he says. "But I didn't lie to you. I don't read, I don't have time to anymore."
He used to read, a hobby that he'd really picked up while he'd been in prison. Not much else to do while he was there but exercise, read, and try not to get into any more trouble. Be a model prisoner and try to look nice for the parole board hearings.
"Hold still." There's a suspicious little bump in the hair just behind Jaskier's right ear. Geralt grabs it between thumb and forefinger and pulls, and-- yeah, there's one. First tick of the afternoon. Geralt deposits it on the paper towel and squashes it with a thumb.