Jaskier's fingers start carding through his hair, separating out the parts that have already gotten knotted just from washing it and drying off his hair with a towel. He has very clever fingers, and they feel very nice against Geralt's scalp. He shouldn't let him do this. It's not worth the time it takes for him to do it, anyway.
Then he gets upset about the fact that Geralt's drinking the tea that he put in Geralt's own hand, and that only solidifies his decision to keep on drinking it. You gave it to him, Jaskier, so it's his now. While Jaskier tosses snacks at him and tells him about the dangers of mixing caffeine and weed, Geralt lifts the mug to his mouth, tips it back, and drains a good three-quarters of it in one go.
"It's chamomile, Jaskier," he says. "It doesn't have caffeine in it. That's the point."
But since there are snacks literally thrown into his lap, he'd open them up and try them. He was kind of hungry, anyway? He knows that it's the weed; back when he was a teenager, he could absolutely pack away entire pizzas when he had a case of the munchies. A few bags of chips is basically nothing in the face of two brownies' worth of pot. And there's something very satisfying about eating salty, crunchy, unhealthy food at stupid o'clock at night. Probably part of the reason why bar food is so popular, after a few beers and too many hours spent out, you just really need a plate full of something greasy.
That, combined with the almost meditative pull of the comb and brush through his hair, makes it easy to fall into companionable silence. Jaskier's much gentler about getting the knots out of his hair than he is, too-- he would just yank the comb through if he needed to de-tangle his hair and it was being stubborn. The musician holds locks of his hair and brushes from the bottom up so that it wouldn't tug on his scalp. Takes longer that way, but leaves him with fewer clumps of white hair on the floor. Again, it's really not necessary, Geralt is capable of dealing with a little discomfort, but it's considerate of him.
"Hm." More questions. Geralt's not entirely sure why Jaskier cares, but apparently he does. Or he just can't stand silence, that's also possible. "Brown. And yes, my dad was terrible at haircuts."
He learned from a very young age that it was better to just let his hair grow out than to trust Vesemir and his questionable scissor skills. And since they didn't have the money to take three rambunctious boys to a salon to get their hair cut every few weeks, it was either Vesemir or nothing. Eskel and Lambert got the scissor treatment until they were old enough to do it themselves. Which didn't necessarily mean that they made good hair decisions, but at least it wasn't their father's hair decisions.
no subject
Then he gets upset about the fact that Geralt's drinking the tea that he put in Geralt's own hand, and that only solidifies his decision to keep on drinking it. You gave it to him, Jaskier, so it's his now. While Jaskier tosses snacks at him and tells him about the dangers of mixing caffeine and weed, Geralt lifts the mug to his mouth, tips it back, and drains a good three-quarters of it in one go.
"It's chamomile, Jaskier," he says. "It doesn't have caffeine in it. That's the point."
But since there are snacks literally thrown into his lap, he'd open them up and try them. He was kind of hungry, anyway? He knows that it's the weed; back when he was a teenager, he could absolutely pack away entire pizzas when he had a case of the munchies. A few bags of chips is basically nothing in the face of two brownies' worth of pot. And there's something very satisfying about eating salty, crunchy, unhealthy food at stupid o'clock at night. Probably part of the reason why bar food is so popular, after a few beers and too many hours spent out, you just really need a plate full of something greasy.
That, combined with the almost meditative pull of the comb and brush through his hair, makes it easy to fall into companionable silence. Jaskier's much gentler about getting the knots out of his hair than he is, too-- he would just yank the comb through if he needed to de-tangle his hair and it was being stubborn. The musician holds locks of his hair and brushes from the bottom up so that it wouldn't tug on his scalp. Takes longer that way, but leaves him with fewer clumps of white hair on the floor. Again, it's really not necessary, Geralt is capable of dealing with a little discomfort, but it's considerate of him.
"Hm." More questions. Geralt's not entirely sure why Jaskier cares, but apparently he does. Or he just can't stand silence, that's also possible. "Brown. And yes, my dad was terrible at haircuts."
He learned from a very young age that it was better to just let his hair grow out than to trust Vesemir and his questionable scissor skills. And since they didn't have the money to take three rambunctious boys to a salon to get their hair cut every few weeks, it was either Vesemir or nothing. Eskel and Lambert got the scissor treatment until they were old enough to do it themselves. Which didn't necessarily mean that they made good hair decisions, but at least it wasn't their father's hair decisions.