Eskel takes the bard's offered hand, giving it a brief but amiable shake. Those gold eyes meet the bard's with curiosity, and he might notice the flared nostrils and quick intake of breath that's very similar to how Geralt scents the air. Not a lick of fear. Eskel approves-- when Geralt had brought the little princess, she hadn't been afraid, either. Geralt has a knack for picking up companions who never learned to fear witchers.
"Trust me, if I'd known, I-- well, I'd have come in anyway, it's fucking cold out there. But look at the bright side, bard, now Geralt and I can keep you warm from both sides."
"Eskel--"
Geralt's voice is a low growl, the verbal equivalent of a warning. It's a noise that would've made lesser men run in fear, but Eskel only laughs at it, putting up both his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"I'm joking! It's a joke, Geralt," he says, then turns back to Jaskier and mouths 'grouchy' at him. "We've heard all about you, though, and not just because of that song I couldn't get out of my head for three weeks. But apparently there are a few things we haven't heard about--"
Eskel's eyes stray down to the bard's chest, where that wolf brooch is pinned. Geralt doesn't seem any more pleased that the topic of conversation has strayed into these waters, and tries to bring things around to neutral ground. Something that won't inevitably end with his asshole of a brother digging into things that he doesn't want to talk about or divulging things that he'd said to him when drunk off his ass on white gull, for instance.
"Are the paths ahead still clear?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, they're good enough, even for the horses. We're expecting the first big storm of the season by the end of the week, though, so a few more days and you would've been out of luck." Eskel spies the vodka bottle, then meanders over and swipes it up from the floor. "Your child surprise'll be happy to see you. Vesemir's been making her read bestiaries, I think she's about ready to crawl out of her own skin."
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"Trust me, if I'd known, I-- well, I'd have come in anyway, it's fucking cold out there. But look at the bright side, bard, now Geralt and I can keep you warm from both sides."
"Eskel--"
Geralt's voice is a low growl, the verbal equivalent of a warning. It's a noise that would've made lesser men run in fear, but Eskel only laughs at it, putting up both his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"I'm joking! It's a joke, Geralt," he says, then turns back to Jaskier and mouths 'grouchy' at him. "We've heard all about you, though, and not just because of that song I couldn't get out of my head for three weeks. But apparently there are a few things we haven't heard about--"
Eskel's eyes stray down to the bard's chest, where that wolf brooch is pinned. Geralt doesn't seem any more pleased that the topic of conversation has strayed into these waters, and tries to bring things around to neutral ground. Something that won't inevitably end with his asshole of a brother digging into things that he doesn't want to talk about or divulging things that he'd said to him when drunk off his ass on white gull, for instance.
"Are the paths ahead still clear?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, they're good enough, even for the horses. We're expecting the first big storm of the season by the end of the week, though, so a few more days and you would've been out of luck." Eskel spies the vodka bottle, then meanders over and swipes it up from the floor. "Your child surprise'll be happy to see you. Vesemir's been making her read bestiaries, I think she's about ready to crawl out of her own skin."