And then it's back to talking about Yennefer. Mood whiplash, once again. One would think Jaskier would've learned to protect himself from it by now, but this bird is too foolish for that. He may've not been caged by the wolf, but he's definitely been tangled deep enough in his fur. No matter where he flies, there's always dog hair on him.
"She got a nickname the day you met her." He replies with a broken voice, defeated hands falling on his lap as his whole body deflates. "I wait twenty years for it, and I don't get to savor the moment."
This room needs pillows. Hundreds of them.
Each word Geralt pronounces is a hit after hit to his guts. Part of him wants to run, wants to grab a bottle of vodka and chug it down completely. Why did he allow himself to hope? Whatever you want. He snorts, to both himself and at Geralt - so foolish, falling for pretty words and gentle touches that were probably spoken out of guilt.
"The djinn did this, Yennefer decided that. I don't give a fuck about them, Geralt. It's YOU that matters to me!" He throws his hands in the air before they fall on his lap again. "And all I'm hearing is that you're allowing them to end things because that's how things are, but it doesn't sound like something you want. Be honest, Geralt of Fatuousness: if she showed up again, begging you to take her back, wouldn't you?"
Blue eyes lock on gold, waiting for the answer. He's nervous and afraid of what he may hear, and he doesn't want Geralt to see that on his face, doesn't want to have the witchers's expression as he turns him down engraved in his memory either, but he endures... because as much as it pains him, he knows he needs it, or he'll never move on.
Remember me I ask, remember me I sing... Give me back my heart you wingless thing!
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He called him Jask.
JASK.
So easily. Without Jaskier having to ask him for it.
JaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJaskJASK-!
And then it's back to talking about Yennefer. Mood whiplash, once again. One would think Jaskier would've learned to protect himself from it by now, but this bird is too foolish for that. He may've not been caged by the wolf, but he's definitely been tangled deep enough in his fur. No matter where he flies, there's always dog hair on him.
"She got a nickname the day you met her." He replies with a broken voice, defeated hands falling on his lap as his whole body deflates. "I wait twenty years for it, and I don't get to savor the moment."
This room needs pillows. Hundreds of them.
Each word Geralt pronounces is a hit after hit to his guts. Part of him wants to run, wants to grab a bottle of vodka and chug it down completely. Why did he allow himself to hope? Whatever you want. He snorts, to both himself and at Geralt - so foolish, falling for pretty words and gentle touches that were probably spoken out of guilt.
"The djinn did this, Yennefer decided that. I don't give a fuck about them, Geralt. It's YOU that matters to me!" He throws his hands in the air before they fall on his lap again. "And all I'm hearing is that you're allowing them to end things because that's how things are, but it doesn't sound like something you want. Be honest, Geralt of Fatuousness: if she showed up again, begging you to take her back, wouldn't you?"
Blue eyes lock on gold, waiting for the answer. He's nervous and afraid of what he may hear, and he doesn't want Geralt to see that on his face, doesn't want to have the witchers's expression as he turns him down engraved in his memory either, but he endures... because as much as it pains him, he knows he needs it, or he'll never move on.
Remember me I ask, remember me I sing... Give me back my heart you wingless thing!