Reciting poetry about Geralt's scars and heroics are a standard of Jaskier's as well, but at the moment he's a little distracted by the current... well, everything. It says quite a lot about how overwhelming and confusing it is to be touching and speaking to New Geralt like this, his mind trying to keep worlds apart from each other yet finding coincidences in every corner.
"Ugh, yes. Exactly that hunt, location included." Scent souring a bit at the memory, Jaskier closes his eyes and bumps the back of his head against the wall, swallowing the smell of Geralt's blood still engraved in his mind. "Most terrifying day of my life, and that's saying something considering the life I've lead next to a witcher."
The hand on Geralt's arm closes tightly, as if confirming he's there and alive. Jaskier has seen a lot of shit while traveling with Geralt, been threatened by monsters and humans alike, but nothing compares to having the witcher almost dying in his hands. Not even that day in Rinde when he actually thought he was dead - that had been a fast punch and the sadness hadn't lasted long. The bruxa wound had been continuous worry, hours of not knowing what would happen to Geralt, of seeing his best friend in pain and holding his very insides on his hands, hours of not-stopping torture.
Thankfully, New Geralt keeps talking, providing a good distraction and keeping him anchored to reality - even if this reality is quite messy in its own way, at least it's not the bloody kind of messy.
"Sure, as much care as the rules of 'witcher enduring' allowed him to." He says after snorting, irritation showing up in his voice. Dumb witchers. "Just like you, if your arm is anything to go by. I'm fine, Jaskier, witchers heal faster." The last part is said with his imitation of Geralt's deep voice as he shakes his head in disapproval. "The first time I stitched him, I puked right after. I thought he would tease me for it, he hadn't been very happy about all the camping stuff he had to teach me. But he didn't - he just passed me the water skin. Pointed at some puke on my doublet."
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"Ugh, yes. Exactly that hunt, location included." Scent souring a bit at the memory, Jaskier closes his eyes and bumps the back of his head against the wall, swallowing the smell of Geralt's blood still engraved in his mind. "Most terrifying day of my life, and that's saying something considering the life I've lead next to a witcher."
The hand on Geralt's arm closes tightly, as if confirming he's there and alive. Jaskier has seen a lot of shit while traveling with Geralt, been threatened by monsters and humans alike, but nothing compares to having the witcher almost dying in his hands. Not even that day in Rinde when he actually thought he was dead - that had been a fast punch and the sadness hadn't lasted long. The bruxa wound had been continuous worry, hours of not knowing what would happen to Geralt, of seeing his best friend in pain and holding his very insides on his hands, hours of not-stopping torture.
Thankfully, New Geralt keeps talking, providing a good distraction and keeping him anchored to reality - even if this reality is quite messy in its own way, at least it's not the bloody kind of messy.
"Sure, as much care as the rules of 'witcher enduring' allowed him to." He says after snorting, irritation showing up in his voice. Dumb witchers. "Just like you, if your arm is anything to go by. I'm fine, Jaskier, witchers heal faster." The last part is said with his imitation of Geralt's deep voice as he shakes his head in disapproval. "The first time I stitched him, I puked right after. I thought he would tease me for it, he hadn't been very happy about all the camping stuff he had to teach me. But he didn't - he just passed me the water skin. Pointed at some puke on my doublet."
A pause. A sigh.
"...I thought that had meant something."