The black coffee isn't a lie, exactly-- he'll drink coffee however he can get it, and sometimes it's easier to just ask for it black rather than to rattle off his preferred order. People take one look at him and make assumptions, because his big, brutish looks imply certain things about him. He doesn't always have the energy or desire to go against people's expectations of him-- and, really, what's one black coffee or one whiskey when he'd rather have a cocktail? He doesn't want the attention, the looks, the shit from Lambert if he orders something more complicated than a Jack and coke.

Jaskier has a moment of histrionics about the supposed betrayal of having to be coerced into trying his cookies-- which, really, he didn't, he ate them just fine. Especially after that weed had kicked in and he'd gotten hungry.

"Jaskier has better things to do than mess with my hair," Geralt says. The musician isn't a hairdresser, anyway, it's not his job to go around and make sure that Geralt looks presentable. He has music to write and... other things to do, presumably.

At least Jaskier finds it amusing.

"It wouldn't be a bad thing, Geralt, if you showed up to one of these meetings at least looking a bit presentable," Yen says. "That means wearing a shirt that has never been sullied by horse shit."

Geralt grunts in response and looks to see if the waitress is coming back with that drink yet. He could really use it, even if he couldn't drink very many of them because he'd driven.

"What were you here to talk to Mom about, Jaskier?"

Bless Ciri's little fangirl heart, for being willing to carry the conversation where Geralt wouldn't. She's over the moon right now, finally getting the chance to talk to one of her favorite music artists after weeks of being denied.