They're going back towards the couch-bed-nest that Jaskier had prepared when the musician becomes deeply offended at the state of Geralt's hair. Apparently allowing it to air-dry is a travesty, despite the fact that Geralt basically never uses a hair dryer. He knows that he owns one, but it's in Ciri's bathroom because she uses it, and he wouldn't know what to do with it other than blast it at his own dumb head and turn his hair into a frizzy, but dry, mess. He hadn't combed it when he got out of the shower, unless combing it with fingers counts, but how could he? He didn't bring a comb with him.
Geralt finds himself holding Jaskier's mug of tea in one hand while he runs to the bathroom. He can hear the musician bang around in there for a little while, opening drawers and cupboards in search of whatever it is that he thinks is necessary for Geralt's hair. Geralt waits, for lack of anything better to do, until he returns with both a comb and a brush, along with what looks like some kind of hair cream. He sits when told, mostly because he doesn't particularly want to argue over something that he doesn't care much about. Even if his hair had dried into a mess by morning, he would've just thrown it up into a bun and not worried about it for the rest of the day and it would've been fine. It's not like Eskel cares if his hair's messy, and the horses sure as hell don't. Detangling it would've just been a problem for Future Geralt.
"You don't have to do anything to it," he says, somehow feeling like a twelve year old girl at a sleepover whose friend is going to give her a makeover despite being an almost forty year old man. "I can just pull it back if it's a mess."
Jaskier likely won't be deterred by that small of a complaint, though. It's been a long time since anyone had brushed out his hair for him, too, so... it's really not all that bad. (It feels a little like cheating, almost-- he likes when his hair is touched, but like this, he doesn't have to ask for it. He just has to go along with Jaskier's idea and no one will know that he wanted anything at all.)
There's still a mug in his hands. Without thinking much about it, Geralt drinks from it; its contents are warm and vaguely floral, which tracks because that's kind of how it smells, too. Geralt isn't much of a tea drinker, he usually prefers to take a big thermos of coffee down to the barn with him in the morning to drink while he starts his day. Considering that his sleep schedule is a mess on a good day, the caffeine that he gets from it is a godsend, even if it's just a band-aid on a much bigger problem. This stuff is... not bad. Nice, in a sort of warm, comforting way. A winding-down drink rather than a wake-you-up one.
Jaskier calls his hair starlight. Geralt snorts.
"It's gray. Started turning when I was sixteen."
Which, y'know, was really great for his high school experience. Not only was he the kid who sat in the back of the class and didn't talk and wore black all the time, he was also going gray before he was even eligible to vote. Just what he needed-- one more thing to make all the other students think that he was weird. By the time he was in his twenties, it was entirely gray, and he had gone from having to worry about asshole kids to... bigger problems. Ones that would land him in prison not that long after.
no subject
Geralt finds himself holding Jaskier's mug of tea in one hand while he runs to the bathroom. He can hear the musician bang around in there for a little while, opening drawers and cupboards in search of whatever it is that he thinks is necessary for Geralt's hair. Geralt waits, for lack of anything better to do, until he returns with both a comb and a brush, along with what looks like some kind of hair cream. He sits when told, mostly because he doesn't particularly want to argue over something that he doesn't care much about. Even if his hair had dried into a mess by morning, he would've just thrown it up into a bun and not worried about it for the rest of the day and it would've been fine. It's not like Eskel cares if his hair's messy, and the horses sure as hell don't. Detangling it would've just been a problem for Future Geralt.
"You don't have to do anything to it," he says, somehow feeling like a twelve year old girl at a sleepover whose friend is going to give her a makeover despite being an almost forty year old man. "I can just pull it back if it's a mess."
Jaskier likely won't be deterred by that small of a complaint, though. It's been a long time since anyone had brushed out his hair for him, too, so... it's really not all that bad. (It feels a little like cheating, almost-- he likes when his hair is touched, but like this, he doesn't have to ask for it. He just has to go along with Jaskier's idea and no one will know that he wanted anything at all.)
There's still a mug in his hands. Without thinking much about it, Geralt drinks from it; its contents are warm and vaguely floral, which tracks because that's kind of how it smells, too. Geralt isn't much of a tea drinker, he usually prefers to take a big thermos of coffee down to the barn with him in the morning to drink while he starts his day. Considering that his sleep schedule is a mess on a good day, the caffeine that he gets from it is a godsend, even if it's just a band-aid on a much bigger problem. This stuff is... not bad. Nice, in a sort of warm, comforting way. A winding-down drink rather than a wake-you-up one.
Jaskier calls his hair starlight. Geralt snorts.
"It's gray. Started turning when I was sixteen."
Which, y'know, was really great for his high school experience. Not only was he the kid who sat in the back of the class and didn't talk and wore black all the time, he was also going gray before he was even eligible to vote. Just what he needed-- one more thing to make all the other students think that he was weird. By the time he was in his twenties, it was entirely gray, and he had gone from having to worry about asshole kids to... bigger problems. Ones that would land him in prison not that long after.