Vodka? That's incredibly impersonal, Jaskier thinks. Then again, if they were all trained under the same bullshit rules Geralt was, then the rest of the wolves probably don't have any hobbies either, no 'wants'. It frustrates the hell out of him, but he doesn't want to start that argument now, so he just nods in understanding - vodka it is. Maybe he can get to know the other witchers better by his own means when they get there.

"Yeah, you know..." Jaskier frees a hand from under his chin and makes a vague hand gesture, as if it was obvious. His eyes widen when he realizes Geralt is being extremely serious and literal with his question. "...or maybe you don't."

He suddenly pulls back to sit on his knees, letting out a mumbled ouch when his own lute hits his butt. He finally takes it off and leaves it on the pillow before turning to Geralt with his hands on his waist, his face as skeptical and worried as the day Geralt told him he was looking for a fucking djinn because he couldn't sleep. Melitele help him, this is an actual conversation that is happening right now.

"Geralt of Rivia, old friend, dear witcher, mighty wolf... are you telling me that you don't know women bleed once a month?" A pause. A gasp when he puts two and two together. Get ready for the high pitch. "Don't tell me you left her with a man that doesn't know this fact either!"

He throws his hands in the air, clearly exasperated. Witchers, sigh.