Jaskier gathers his things and the scent of him keeps getting worse and worse, despite all of Geralt's efforts to be kind. It's as though the kindness is the problem, or that Geralt is, just inherently hurting him through existing. It's a hard thing for him to wrap his head around, this younger version of his dearest friend who can barely look at him without smelling like pain.
Stop being so bloody nice, he says, then continues on with some absolute rot about avoiding Geralt for the rest of his time here. Telling him that he'd be out of his hair, as though the witcher would want or expect the bard to be anywhere but. Geralt basically invites Dandelion to be, on a daily basis. What would he do with his life if he didn't have a chatty musician in it?
The delicate approach-- admittedly not Geralt's strong point, even on the best days-- has not been particularly effective. Fine, then, he'll just have to try what usually works better for him, which is asking blunt questions until he gets answers. Works on monster hunts, it'll work on the bewildering interpersonal relations of the alternate universe counterparts of himself and his bard. Geralt stands, the legs of his chair squeaking on the floor from the abrupt movement, and crosses the room; it takes him no more than three strides. His body is between Jaskier and the hall. The bard could get around him if he must, but he couldn't take the direct route out of the room.
"What did I do to you, Jaskier?" he asks, voice low and imploring. Talk to me, it begs. "Tell me. What did the man in your world who has my name do to you?"
Yennefer is under the impression that she must simply exchange one bard for another-- perhaps Geralt will need to tell her that she has to bring another witcher into the world, solely for him to have the unique experience of being able to literally beat the shit out of himself.
no subject
Stop being so bloody nice, he says, then continues on with some absolute rot about avoiding Geralt for the rest of his time here. Telling him that he'd be out of his hair, as though the witcher would want or expect the bard to be anywhere but. Geralt basically invites Dandelion to be, on a daily basis. What would he do with his life if he didn't have a chatty musician in it?
The delicate approach-- admittedly not Geralt's strong point, even on the best days-- has not been particularly effective. Fine, then, he'll just have to try what usually works better for him, which is asking blunt questions until he gets answers. Works on monster hunts, it'll work on the bewildering interpersonal relations of the alternate universe counterparts of himself and his bard. Geralt stands, the legs of his chair squeaking on the floor from the abrupt movement, and crosses the room; it takes him no more than three strides. His body is between Jaskier and the hall. The bard could get around him if he must, but he couldn't take the direct route out of the room.
"What did I do to you, Jaskier?" he asks, voice low and imploring. Talk to me, it begs. "Tell me. What did the man in your world who has my name do to you?"
Yennefer is under the impression that she must simply exchange one bard for another-- perhaps Geralt will need to tell her that she has to bring another witcher into the world, solely for him to have the unique experience of being able to literally beat the shit out of himself.