Dandelion is certainly a fool, but he's Geralt's fool.
Jaskier takes obvious offense at Dandelion's previous assessment of his name, even going so far as to wag his finger in Geralt's direction. The witcher smiles at the display; it's so very familiar, so much like Dandelion that he couldn't help the way his expression goes soft. He takes the admonishment with all the grace that he would take it from his own bard, and makes note of his preferred name.
"Jaskier it is."
Jaskier's tongue pokes out over his bottom lip as he thinks. It's, again, something that Dandelion does when he's concentrating very hard on his verses, and something that Geralt finds stupidly endearing. For all the ways that Jaskier is not like Dandelion, there seems to be plenty of ways that they are so terribly, unbelievably similar.
They make it into the villa as Jaskier is explaining his problems with witches and portals, and Geralt can't fault him to sounding so aggrieved about it all.
"I fucking hate portals," Geralt says, because that's an opinion that absolutely needs to be voiced right now. "Well, if portals are at the root of this, I should call Yen. If she can't sort it out, Ciri ought to be able to."
He walks them into the dining room-- he has a fucking dining room, it still amazes him sometimes-- and breakfast is already out and piping hot. Geralt sits at the table like he owns the place, which he does, and forgets that Jaskier isn't the same man who would just take a seat across from him like he also owns the place (which he doesn't). Geralt is already buttering up multiple rolls to go with his small mountain of eggs and ham. Witcher appetite.
"You can drop your things anywhere. Dandelion lives here with me, so if the two of you have been swapped--" he waves his knife vaguely in the air and shrugs. Might as well stay until they sort it out, right? There's plenty of space here, and he might need to be in the same location to cross back into his own world anyway. Plus, when has a bard ever turned down free room and board?
There's a pot of herbal tea and pastries set on the other side of the table, awaiting their usual bard. Lavender and lemon balm tea in the pot, papal creams and apricot kolaczki on the plates.
"He usually eats sweet things for breakfast, but if you want something else, don't worry about it."
The benefit of having a kitchen staff. Granted, Geralt was probably the easiest person alive to cook for, he just wanted half a dozen eggs and a massive slab of ham for breakfast and he was content as a pig in shit. Dandelion-- and, he assumes, Jaskier-- has more expensive taste than he, and a more refined palate or whatever.
no subject
Jaskier takes obvious offense at Dandelion's previous assessment of his name, even going so far as to wag his finger in Geralt's direction. The witcher smiles at the display; it's so very familiar, so much like Dandelion that he couldn't help the way his expression goes soft. He takes the admonishment with all the grace that he would take it from his own bard, and makes note of his preferred name.
"Jaskier it is."
Jaskier's tongue pokes out over his bottom lip as he thinks. It's, again, something that Dandelion does when he's concentrating very hard on his verses, and something that Geralt finds stupidly endearing. For all the ways that Jaskier is not like Dandelion, there seems to be plenty of ways that they are so terribly, unbelievably similar.
They make it into the villa as Jaskier is explaining his problems with witches and portals, and Geralt can't fault him to sounding so aggrieved about it all.
"I fucking hate portals," Geralt says, because that's an opinion that absolutely needs to be voiced right now. "Well, if portals are at the root of this, I should call Yen. If she can't sort it out, Ciri ought to be able to."
He walks them into the dining room-- he has a fucking dining room, it still amazes him sometimes-- and breakfast is already out and piping hot. Geralt sits at the table like he owns the place, which he does, and forgets that Jaskier isn't the same man who would just take a seat across from him like he also owns the place (which he doesn't). Geralt is already buttering up multiple rolls to go with his small mountain of eggs and ham. Witcher appetite.
"You can drop your things anywhere. Dandelion lives here with me, so if the two of you have been swapped--" he waves his knife vaguely in the air and shrugs. Might as well stay until they sort it out, right? There's plenty of space here, and he might need to be in the same location to cross back into his own world anyway. Plus, when has a bard ever turned down free room and board?
There's a pot of herbal tea and pastries set on the other side of the table, awaiting their usual bard. Lavender and lemon balm tea in the pot, papal creams and apricot kolaczki on the plates.
"He usually eats sweet things for breakfast, but if you want something else, don't worry about it."
The benefit of having a kitchen staff. Granted, Geralt was probably the easiest person alive to cook for, he just wanted half a dozen eggs and a massive slab of ham for breakfast and he was content as a pig in shit. Dandelion-- and, he assumes, Jaskier-- has more expensive taste than he, and a more refined palate or whatever.