Jaskier laughs, and the sound makes something thrill along Geralt's spine, just for a moment. It's... nice, he supposes. The musician's got a nice laugh, throaty and delighted, and it's been a while since Geralt's met someone who's so completely unafraid of him right out of the gate. Maybe not since Yen. Pretty much everyone else takes one look at his massive frame and resting bitch face and pegs him as a brute.

This guy is teasing him. No one does that except for his foster brothers, and they only do it because they're just as big as he is and know that his bark is far worse than his bite. If Jaskier were a woman, some pretty little thing that he could pick up one-handed--

Well, he isn't. Jaskier's a man, and Geralt's not interested in big blue eyes and long legs on men.

"Don't even have a cell phone," he says, which isn't true at all but he's fucking with this guy. He does have a cell phone, but it's one of those flip phones with only the most basic functions. It makes calls and sends text messages, what else does he need? "Could get my Polaroid if you want a photo."

That's not actually a lie-- he does have an old Polaroid in his closet and some instant film packets in his fridge. And don't these hipster types love their vintage shit?

He comments on Geralt's indeterminable age and the fact that he's built like a brick shithouse, though he's much more complimentary than most people are. A Greek statue, he hasn't gotten that one before. (He's partly right-- there are many ways that Geralt is built like a Greek statue, and one very important way that he isn't. But Jaskier wouldn't be interested in that anyway.)

"Hm." Since Jaskier asked the million dollar question, though, he gets to deal with the consequences. "Guess."

Ball's in your court, musician, try not to offend the hot ranch dad.