Twenty-eight. Ten years is a pretty big age gap. Not that it's important, Geralt's just the guy with the horses.
He's also pretty sure that 'gym rat' isn't a compliment, because generally rats are not complimentary things to be compared to? But he lets it slide, because this is a customer and Geralt has learned to pick his battles. Things that aren't worth the argument-- the precise definition of a gym rat.
The musician slows Pegasus close enough to the rail to lean over and hand something to Geralt, which he takes because he has been trained to accept anything that's handed to him. A phone-- one of those fancy smartphone things, like the one that Yen had gotten for Ciri, in the sparkly case that he'd seen earlier. The camera app is helpfully open for him, which is good because no one wants to see a ranch dad bumblefuck his way through the iPhone home page, looking for the camera.
Jaskier backs Pegasus up a bit, and his repositioning also has the added benefit of putting him into better lighting. The mid-morning sun is streaming just right through the trees that shade the arena, bathing the musician's boyish features in a soft golden glow. There are motes suspended in the sunbeams-- probably pollen, it's getting to be that time of year, but it lends a certain ethereal effect to the picture.
Geralt snaps a few photos. These iPhones have small screens and small buttons, though, and he accidentally closes out the app right after the pictures are taken. Jaskier's phone is full of icons from all the programs that he downloaded, and the picture he set as his wallpaper is himself with some lovely girl, cheek to cheek. A girlfriend, probably. They make for a nice pair, it's probably a good match. He seems high energy-- and high maintenance-- so she's probably much the same.
Why is he thinking about this, anyway? It doesn't matter who she is or what kind of person. That's not his business.
"Here." He hands the phone over once Jaskier comes back into arm's reach. "Looks fine."
no subject
He's also pretty sure that 'gym rat' isn't a compliment, because generally rats are not complimentary things to be compared to? But he lets it slide, because this is a customer and Geralt has learned to pick his battles. Things that aren't worth the argument-- the precise definition of a gym rat.
The musician slows Pegasus close enough to the rail to lean over and hand something to Geralt, which he takes because he has been trained to accept anything that's handed to him. A phone-- one of those fancy smartphone things, like the one that Yen had gotten for Ciri, in the sparkly case that he'd seen earlier. The camera app is helpfully open for him, which is good because no one wants to see a ranch dad bumblefuck his way through the iPhone home page, looking for the camera.
Jaskier backs Pegasus up a bit, and his repositioning also has the added benefit of putting him into better lighting. The mid-morning sun is streaming just right through the trees that shade the arena, bathing the musician's boyish features in a soft golden glow. There are motes suspended in the sunbeams-- probably pollen, it's getting to be that time of year, but it lends a certain ethereal effect to the picture.
Geralt snaps a few photos. These iPhones have small screens and small buttons, though, and he accidentally closes out the app right after the pictures are taken. Jaskier's phone is full of icons from all the programs that he downloaded, and the picture he set as his wallpaper is himself with some lovely girl, cheek to cheek. A girlfriend, probably. They make for a nice pair, it's probably a good match. He seems high energy-- and high maintenance-- so she's probably much the same.
Why is he thinking about this, anyway? It doesn't matter who she is or what kind of person. That's not his business.
"Here." He hands the phone over once Jaskier comes back into arm's reach. "Looks fine."