Jaskier points at the pillows as though Geralt is a dog who will just do whatever he asks, and... like a dog, Geralt does exactly what he asks. Eskel watches him the whole time, just gives him the most shit-eating grin as the big bad witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, sits on the edge of the bed next to his bard. And he hadn't even slept with him yet, though not for lack of trying.

"Drowners barely count," Geralt huffs, pulling at the pillows under the pretense of rearranging them for sleep.

Then Jaskier says he has a question about the Path, and both Geralt and Eskel go still, listening. Humans don't ask about the Path, but, of course, Jaskier isn't just any human. After two decades of following Geralt up and down the Continent, he knows more about what the Path is like than anyone else who isn't an actual witcher--

Geralt sighs. Should he have expected more from Jaskier than taking this opportunity to ask about his own songs? Probably not.

Eskel, at least, laughs. "You mean aside from me nor anybody else being able to get the damn thing out of our heads? Yeah, there were a few things. I went into a town and they actually wanted to pay me the agreed upon price, in full. The innkeeper let me stay for free. Somebody bought me an ale."

He shakes his head, as though still marveling at the experience even though it was years ago. "Thought the whole damn town was cursed."

So there it is-- right from the witcher's mouth. Toss a coin did more than just make money for Jaskier, it lined the pockets of other witchers, too. Made the world a little softer towards them, for a little while.

"It wasn't like that in every town, but enough. Kinda been dyin' down lately, though."

A year of not singing the praises of witchers would do that. Humans had short memories, after all, and they might forget about tossing coins to their witchers if it's not stuck in their heads.