Jaskier wiggles his hand around in the air and Geralt doesn't even try to follow its path. He sounds... upset? Confused? Something. He's very emotional and tends to switch between them at a rapid fire pace, so Geralt just figures that if he waits for like ten seconds, he'll move on to something else. Turns out, he's right-- about ten seconds after he starts getting offended about like cocaine or something, he's moved on to talking about how there's no smoking in his apartment, regardless of what kind of lettuce you're blazing. Which is fine, he doesn't even smoke cigarettes and he hasn't had a joint in years. He's not bringing one over to Jaskier's place just to hotbox the apartment.
"You're calling it marijuana and I'm the boomer?" he says. "What are you, a narc?"
Nobody calls it marijuana, call it weed or pot like a normal person, you musical dork. The idea of Jaskier being a narc is funny enough for Geralt to huff a laugh, though, at his own stupid-ass joke. God, he's getting fucking high. This is the worst. At least once Jaskier pushes a cookie into his hand, he can put that into his mouth and not talk for a while.
"S' fine," he replies. They're good cookies. Maybe a little wonky in their construction, but it doesn't have to be perfectly pretty to taste good. Maybe there's something to that, that just because something is a little fucked up and maybe kind of unevenly baked doesn't mean that it can't still be good.
Hah, baked.
Christ, he's high.
Geralt tries to open the water bottle. It takes him a good twenty seconds to realize that he can't get it open because he's turning the cap in the wrong direction, but then he has a hard time figuring out how to make his hands go the other way without turning the bottle upside down. He leaves it as it is-- it's fine, he doesn't need water. This is fine. He can just distract from the fact that he's high as tits.
"Since I'm stuck here," he says, and come on, Geralt, make your brain come up with a normal thing that people do when they aren't high, "put on a movie? You have a collection."
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"You're calling it marijuana and I'm the boomer?" he says. "What are you, a narc?"
Nobody calls it marijuana, call it weed or pot like a normal person, you musical dork. The idea of Jaskier being a narc is funny enough for Geralt to huff a laugh, though, at his own stupid-ass joke. God, he's getting fucking high. This is the worst. At least once Jaskier pushes a cookie into his hand, he can put that into his mouth and not talk for a while.
"S' fine," he replies. They're good cookies. Maybe a little wonky in their construction, but it doesn't have to be perfectly pretty to taste good. Maybe there's something to that, that just because something is a little fucked up and maybe kind of unevenly baked doesn't mean that it can't still be good.
Hah, baked.
Christ, he's high.
Geralt tries to open the water bottle. It takes him a good twenty seconds to realize that he can't get it open because he's turning the cap in the wrong direction, but then he has a hard time figuring out how to make his hands go the other way without turning the bottle upside down. He leaves it as it is-- it's fine, he doesn't need water. This is fine. He can just distract from the fact that he's high as tits.
"Since I'm stuck here," he says, and come on, Geralt, make your brain come up with a normal thing that people do when they aren't high, "put on a movie? You have a collection."