It's generally well-known that bards love flowery compliments and effusive praise, that they blossom when they're showered with pretty words and fine flattery. Comes with the territory of being poets. One might think, then, that simply calling Jaskier attractive would be too bland, praise that lacks too much in sound and fury to faze him.
Geralt knows a secret about bards, though-- they understand the value of words, too. Praise from a mouth that rarely gives any is a far greater treasure than from a mouth that overflows with it at all times.
Jaskier's scent finally sweetens, pleased with the answer that he received. And his mood lifts with it, returning some good humor to him. He even goes back to his dramatics and grand gestures, following Geralt towards the dining room despite his faux offense. The smell coming from the kitchen is heavenly, and just what Geralt needs after his long afternoon ride. A heavy dinner, plenty of good wine, and pleasant company. It's a better life than Geralt would've ever dared to dream of, decades ago.
He huffs a laugh at the bard's ego, amused at his lack of shame. It's a word that has never played much of a role in his vocabulary-- a man shameless to the core.
"Us? I didn't put us into any kind of trouble, just myself," he says, and, as they enter the dining room, the food is just being brought out to the table. It's that Touissantois stew this evening, the one that's heavy and rich and full of hearty vegetables, and the meat has been braised in red wine until it's tender. The staff here know that Geralt prefers something filling and simple over any kind of frippery; they save that for Dandelion's preferred, elaborate desserts.
"You weren't even there, you spent the whole thing at that balladry competition in Oxenfurt," he continues, pouring out glasses of wine, "losing to Valdo Marx while I had to deal with Calanthe's schemes."
Hiring a witcher to masquerade as a knight so that he could deal with her monster problem. Was it the best job he'd ever taken? Gods, no. But it had ultimately gotten him his daughter, so he probably couldn't complain too much.
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Geralt knows a secret about bards, though-- they understand the value of words, too. Praise from a mouth that rarely gives any is a far greater treasure than from a mouth that overflows with it at all times.
Jaskier's scent finally sweetens, pleased with the answer that he received. And his mood lifts with it, returning some good humor to him. He even goes back to his dramatics and grand gestures, following Geralt towards the dining room despite his faux offense. The smell coming from the kitchen is heavenly, and just what Geralt needs after his long afternoon ride. A heavy dinner, plenty of good wine, and pleasant company. It's a better life than Geralt would've ever dared to dream of, decades ago.
He huffs a laugh at the bard's ego, amused at his lack of shame. It's a word that has never played much of a role in his vocabulary-- a man shameless to the core.
"Us? I didn't put us into any kind of trouble, just myself," he says, and, as they enter the dining room, the food is just being brought out to the table. It's that Touissantois stew this evening, the one that's heavy and rich and full of hearty vegetables, and the meat has been braised in red wine until it's tender. The staff here know that Geralt prefers something filling and simple over any kind of frippery; they save that for Dandelion's preferred, elaborate desserts.
"You weren't even there, you spent the whole thing at that balladry competition in Oxenfurt," he continues, pouring out glasses of wine, "losing to Valdo Marx while I had to deal with Calanthe's schemes."
Hiring a witcher to masquerade as a knight so that he could deal with her monster problem. Was it the best job he'd ever taken? Gods, no. But it had ultimately gotten him his daughter, so he probably couldn't complain too much.