So this isn't Geralt's first weed experience. Jaskier is a tiny bit disappointed over not being his first, but the feeling goes away rather quickly when he realizes Mr Responsible Mountain Man used to be, well. Less responsible. He wants to ask so many questions about Geralt's younger days, he doesn't even know where to begin.
Perhaps he shall start by just acknowledging what was just said, because getting any kind of new information out of Geralt is harder than tuning a saxophone.
"Being a dad doesn't mean you can't have fun," he replies after sipping his tea. "You still get breaks, I imagine. You're here tonight, aren't you? And I suspect that wasn't the first time you went to have a drink with your brothers. She doesn't need to know, mate."
And now he's wondering how much Geralt (and now Yen, he guesses) has told Ciri about this friendship. She knows he goes to the ranch often enough and that he's been reading her dad's favorite book, but acquaintances discuss media all the time. Has she picked up on the fact that beloved book is missing from her father's shelves? Is Geralt still protecting her from him?
That's when that little voice in his head that just happens to sound like his sister reminds Jaskier what an awful idea would be to date a father and owner of his own business (with living creatures, even). He's fucked people older than him, mothers and fathers both, but they had been just that - flings. This... this is one hell of a crush on a man that can't just receive a text from Jaskier on Wednesday night asking him to go out together for ice-cream at some stupid hour. So he should be glad for that wake-up call he got the other day, he should be working on absorbing that and moving on.
Geralt turning him down (indirectly, but still) should be a good thing, save them both a lot of drama. Yet it doesn't feel that way.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by Geralt's most boomer comment to date, and that sure is saying something.
"WHAT?! What the fuck, Geralt!" he asks as he throws his free hand in the air. Bewildered doesn't even start to describe his expression. "How can you put hard drugs on the same level than bloody weed? No! I don't do anything that isn't alcohol, weed or shrooms! Which reminds me--" He pokes Geralt's arm. Ugh, so thick and strong, how dare he. "No smoking allowed around me, no matter if it's marihuana or tobacco. Welcome to a new era, you old boomer, edibles are your friends."
His voice is precious to him, and so he must protect his throat. If Geralt ever even dares to take out a lighter around him, Jaskier will make sure to grab it and throw it in the fucking toilet.
"Here," he says as he pushes one of the cookies into Geralt's hand. "Simple, good, old fashioned kolaczki. Grandma's recipe. Don't disappoint her." Because he already worries he may be doing that 24/7.
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Perhaps he shall start by just acknowledging what was just said, because getting any kind of new information out of Geralt is harder than tuning a saxophone.
"Being a dad doesn't mean you can't have fun," he replies after sipping his tea. "You still get breaks, I imagine. You're here tonight, aren't you? And I suspect that wasn't the first time you went to have a drink with your brothers. She doesn't need to know, mate."
And now he's wondering how much Geralt (and now Yen, he guesses) has told Ciri about this friendship. She knows he goes to the ranch often enough and that he's been reading her dad's favorite book, but acquaintances discuss media all the time. Has she picked up on the fact that beloved book is missing from her father's shelves? Is Geralt still protecting her from him?
That's when that little voice in his head that just happens to sound like his sister reminds Jaskier what an awful idea would be to date a father and owner of his own business (with living creatures, even). He's fucked people older than him, mothers and fathers both, but they had been just that - flings. This... this is one hell of a crush on a man that can't just receive a text from Jaskier on Wednesday night asking him to go out together for ice-cream at some stupid hour. So he should be glad for that wake-up call he got the other day, he should be working on absorbing that and moving on.
Geralt turning him down (indirectly, but still) should be a good thing, save them both a lot of drama. Yet it doesn't feel that way.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by Geralt's most boomer comment to date, and that sure is saying something.
"WHAT?! What the fuck, Geralt!" he asks as he throws his free hand in the air. Bewildered doesn't even start to describe his expression. "How can you put hard drugs on the same level than bloody weed? No! I don't do anything that isn't alcohol, weed or shrooms! Which reminds me--" He pokes Geralt's arm. Ugh, so thick and strong, how dare he. "No smoking allowed around me, no matter if it's marihuana or tobacco. Welcome to a new era, you old boomer, edibles are your friends."
His voice is precious to him, and so he must protect his throat. If Geralt ever even dares to take out a lighter around him, Jaskier will make sure to grab it and throw it in the fucking toilet.
"Here," he says as he pushes one of the cookies into Geralt's hand. "Simple, good, old fashioned kolaczki. Grandma's recipe. Don't disappoint her." Because he already worries he may be doing that 24/7.