Exactly nothing sounds about right - a grunt isn't an answer, not a real one anyway. Jaskier wonders for a second if that's all he's getting, just Mr Adonis humoring him not to be rude to a customer. But then the guy is leaning against the railing next to him, which means Jaskier gets a lovely view from below of muscles flexing, and also... a real answer.
One bigger than he expected.
"...bollocks."
Jaskier's eyes are as wide as they can be, and they can't stop glancing from Geralt to Pegasus then back to Geralt again. He's left speechless for a moment, hand going to his chest, his heart clogging his throat. What Geralt describes... well, it's torture, plain and simple. The image of those two poor horses dying such slow deaths-- fuck, he won't be able to drop that mental image any time soon.
"So he's a rescue horse." The sadness in his voice is quite obvious. "I didn't think... never considered... people usually talk about rescue dogs or rescue cats, but horses..." Spoken like a true spoiled brat, he knows. Only finely bred stallions for the Pankratz kids. And then it hits him. "Bloody hell, Geralt. Are they all rescue horses? When I said you have something amazing here I didn't use enough words."
Words - he's good enough with those, so he does exactly what Geralt asked him to. Jaskier takes another picture of Pegasus and opens his Instagram again, calloused fingers typing at the speed of light, tugging heartstrings by adding poetics to the horse's origins.
"The real story is what both you and he deserve, and that's what the internet will get." He's about to press post but another idea comes to him, and he looks up at Geralt with raised eyebrows. "Is there anything else I can add to help promote this? A donation box perhaps?"
no subject
One bigger than he expected.
"...bollocks."
Jaskier's eyes are as wide as they can be, and they can't stop glancing from Geralt to Pegasus then back to Geralt again. He's left speechless for a moment, hand going to his chest, his heart clogging his throat. What Geralt describes... well, it's torture, plain and simple. The image of those two poor horses dying such slow deaths-- fuck, he won't be able to drop that mental image any time soon.
"So he's a rescue horse." The sadness in his voice is quite obvious. "I didn't think... never considered... people usually talk about rescue dogs or rescue cats, but horses..." Spoken like a true spoiled brat, he knows. Only finely bred stallions for the Pankratz kids. And then it hits him. "Bloody hell, Geralt. Are they all rescue horses? When I said you have something amazing here I didn't use enough words."
Words - he's good enough with those, so he does exactly what Geralt asked him to. Jaskier takes another picture of Pegasus and opens his Instagram again, calloused fingers typing at the speed of light, tugging heartstrings by adding poetics to the horse's origins.
"The real story is what both you and he deserve, and that's what the internet will get." He's about to press post but another idea comes to him, and he looks up at Geralt with raised eyebrows. "Is there anything else I can add to help promote this? A donation box perhaps?"