Geralt nearly misses lunch by the time he gets back from the wall, only catching the tail-end of a few anecdotes that Eskel's telling to entertain Jaskier. Harmless things, really, about their youthful indiscretions at the keep, back when it was still full of witchers and witchers-to-be. With that many boys running around, it was inevitable that they'd get themselves into some kind of mischief-- aarding the younger children into haystacks and stealing white gull from the cellars, that kind of thing. Undoubtedly nothing worse than what the bard would've gotten into as a wealthy man's son with free range of an estate.
After that, there's more work to be done-- finishing up the wall, then helping Lambert and Coën with the southern hall's roof. The Griffin is a diligent and steady worker, with good hands and a good eye for construction; Lambert is mostly thumbs and hit his own with a hammer at least three times before his brothers arrived. It puts him in a terrible mood for the rest of it, which isn't at all helped by Eskel or Geralt. Especially not when Eskel aards him off of the roof.
A while later, Geralt heads back inside to check on the bard and his charge; Jaskier had agreed to give Ciri lessons in the more civilized subjects, things that she ought to learn that witchers wouldn't be able to teach her. There's no one better for it, really-- the bard's had both a nobleman's upbringing and a formal education at Oxenfurt. He's a professor at said university, so surely he would be able to handle being the private tutor of one precocious princess, right?
Geralt goes to check on them anyway.
They're in the middle of some discussion of politics when Geralt comes across them in the library, wrapped up quite cozily with a fire banked in the hearth for warmth. Redanian politics has never been a topic that Geralt's had much interest in, so he knows little about the names and events that the bard's talking about, other than the ruling monarchs. Ciri seems quite engaged in the discussion, however, so he assumes that it must be going well. Neither of them notice him as he stands, leaning against one of the library stacks, listening to their steady human heartbeats. Jaskier smells pleased and relaxed, as does his child surprise, and that's... good. They're safe and well, and what else could he ask for?
Well. Other than, perhaps, some news of Yennefer. The rumors out of Sodden had been concerning, and though he doesn't think that she had perished there, he would have liked some hint that she had gotten out all right.
Geralt leaves the bard and his charge to their political lessons. His presence would only interrupt them, and he has no valuable input to offer. He's best employed right now with manual labor alongside his brothers, shoring up the keep.
By dinnertime, all four of them are tired and sore, ready to sit down for a heavy meal and then laze around in front of a fire for a few hours with some of Lambert's questionable alcohol. On the way in, they all could hear Jaskier entertaining Vesemir and Ciri, his voice pitched as low and gravelly as it could get to imitate Geralt's. The Cintran banquet, going by the fact that he's repeating that bit he said about shitless deaths.
The four witchers pile in, cold and hungry, and it's a good thing that Vesemir is nearly done with the food. Lambert's already starting on the bread, taking a few rolls without even waiting for butter.
"Telling tales again, Jaskier?" Geralt says, putting a hand on Jaskier's waist to move him aside while he reaches for the rolls himself. His hand gets smacked with a wooden spoon for it; Vesemir has a quick hand with that particular weapon. He's told to wait for supper while Lambert shoves the entirety of one of his pilfered rolls straight into his mouth, smug as you please. Vesemir points the spoon at him as well-- a silent warning that his knuckles won't be safe either if he tries that shit again.
(Little princesses, however, ask for it first-- may I have a roll, please, Vesemir?-- with wide, sweet eyes and are given permission for it, and told to go get the butter too. No wooden spoons for those little knuckles.)
The sudden wooden spoon smack startles Jaskier, making him jump with a mumbled oh fuck. The only reason why he hasn't tried to steal a roll himself is that he's been too busy telling Cirilla the story she asked for, so obviously talking has priority over eating, because this is Jaskier. Now he's grateful he didn't even get to try - learned this lesson without getting hurt, thank the gods for small mercies.
The shock goes away quickly, though, because here's Geralt returning to his side and putting a hand on his waist. Jaskier's scent instantly changes from startled to amorous, sweet with adoration for the witcher together with that little spicy touch of lust that happens every time Geralt touches him so kindly. Or touches him in general. Or when he's nearby. Or when he simply exists in the general area...
It also means he can't stop himself and leans in to kiss the witcher's cheek. So Cirilla takes over the answer in between bread bites.
"I asked him to tell me the whole story of my mother's betrothal."
"Emphasis on whole," Jaskier interjects with a teasing tone as he takes his seat at the table next to Geralt. "Because certain someone continues to be stingy with the details."
"Wait, this about how Geralt asked for the Law of Surprise?" Lambert asks. Jaskier and Cirilla nod. "Oh fuck yes, I've been wanting to know about this one too. Go on, bard."
Lambert makes an urging gesture with his hand that makes Jaskier snicker. It's not different from what happened at the springs, he realizes - these are all the important tales of Geralt's life. Monster hunts are interesting and all, but Cintra and Posada? Those are a unique situation that makes witchers extra curious.
They're also proof that the witcher can have more than the Path. Jaskier wonders if they realize that or they think they only want to hear these stories to make fun of Geralt.
And so the story gets told throughout dinner. Cirilla is curious about many things and Jaskier does his best to answer as many questions as possible, even if there are some details about the hidden politics behind the visitors he doesn't know about. It is obvious she appreciates his efforts, though, because sometimes she takes over to explain some things about Cintra, giving Jaskier a break to actually eat.
(She's getting better, he'd like to think. Her eyes still look kinda sad, but she talks proudly of her home, without hesitation or stumbling over her words. He'll have to ask Geralt later for a better comparison.)
Jaskier grins at her when the story gets to the part of the brawl and Geralt defending Dunny. "Remember what he had told me earlier about the petty squabbles of men?"
Oh, look at that, it seems the storytelling included the kikimora incident. Cirilla giggles.
"That he doesn't get involved."
"And what did he do?"
It's Eskel that replies, "He got involved."
"He got involved!" Jaskier laughs and so does everyone else around the table, including a chuckle from Vesemir. Two in one night? Jaskier is definitely counting this as a very successful day. (Does he mean orgasms or Vesemir's laughter? Yes.) By the time he makes it to Pavetta barfing on the floor and Geralt's heartfelt fuck, the whole table explodes in laughter. It is quite an ironic moment, perfectly timed - it would be wonderful as the cliffhanger of a chapter in a novel. Most importantly, Jaskier is glad Cirilla is able to enjoy it with as much merriment as the rest of them.
Said merriment is interrupted when Lambert suddenly curses and lowers his tankard on the table with more strength than necessary. "Wait a fucking second. If she was pregnant already--- that means she fucked the hedgehog?" Eskel slaps him on the back of his head. "What, don't tell me you aren't thinking it too!"
Cirilla can only hide her face on her hands and mumble "Gross."
It makes sense for Cirilla to be interested in the complete story of her mother's betrothal banquet, considering how young she was when her parents died. Geralt's bare-bones rendition of the tale wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as Jaskier's, and he had more knowledge of courtly things besides. He could give context where Geralt couldn't. His brothers, on the other hand-- well, Lambert wanted to know what happened because it would give him something else to dig on Geralt for.
Jaskier tells the tale over the course of the meal, transforming the story from Geralt's factual report of events into something worthy of one of his ballads, dramatic and exciting and comedic in just the right places. He has a tendency, as he always does, to wax a little bit too poetic about Geralt's supposed heroics during the fight, and the witcher has to pelt him with bits of bread to get him to move on.
At the time, it hadn't been funny, when Pavetta vomited on the floor and the true weight of what had just happened was revealed to all of them. But the way Jaskier tells it makes it seem lighter than it was, and there is a hint of a smile to Geralt's lips for the fact that Cirilla laughs. There are few prices that he wouldn't pay to see his child surprise happy.
And then Lambert starts talking about Pavetta fucking the hedgehog knight.
"He turned back into a man at midnight," Geralt says, because for fuck's sake, Lambert, don't scar his child surprise for life. Does anyone know for sure if Pavetta slept with Duny while he was a hedgehog man? Not anymore, because they can't just go and ask Ciri's parents. Nor should anyone. And, really, no one in this room could judge her for being a monsterfucker, because five out of seven are considered monsters, one of seven is currently fucking one of said monsters, and the last is the end result of the aforementioned Pavetta monsterfucking. So everyone is in a glass house here, there's no room for anyone to throw stones.
Dinner finishes up without any further discussions on the bedroom activities of Ciri's parents, to the betterment of all. Geralt stays behind with Vesemir to do the washing up while the other witchers take Ciri and Jaskier into the great hall, where there was already a fire in the hearth and comfortable chairs around it, and tables set up conveniently for games of Gwent. Lambert fetches a few bottles of his homemade liquor-- white gull for the witchers, vodka for Jaskier, cider for little princesses who weren't supposed to have alcohol. (He sneaks a nip of vodka into the cider when no one's looking, at Ciri's behest. Someone's angling for favorite uncle status, it seems.)
Geralt and Vesemir emerge from the kitchen a little while later, dishes cleaned and everything back in order. The old wolf settles himself in his favorite armchair near the fire with a book, content to spend the rest of the evening reading. Geralt goes to join in the games of Gwent, where Lambert's showing Ciri how to cheat at cards.
Lambert forbids Jaskier from touching the white gull, which of course makes Jaskier want to try it even more. He does manage to steal a glass when the witchers are arguing over who is the real cheater here, but he regrets it a soon as he sniffs it: it makes him dizzy for a few seconds.
Right. Lesson fucking learned, thank you.
It's a very pleasant evening, Jaskier must admit. Calm (which yes he can do, thank you!), relaxed, cozy. He plays and sings for the witchers while they play (and read), laughing at their sibling squabbles and proudly congratulating Cirilla when she manages to win a hand or pull Lambert's tricks successfully. It's a cute little family, and while the circumstances that brought them here aren't exactly the best, Jaskier is glad they have each other - glad they've accepted him in it as well.
Thousand of ballads he'll write about them, Jaskier swears to himself on the spot, and the Continent shall never insult them again.
Cirilla, bless her young soul, starts nodding off soon after Jaskier finally plays the song about her parents' betrothal and it's Vesemir that offers to take her back to her room since he decides it's time for him to go to bed as well. And as soon as he's out of sight, Jaskier can tell the mood of the room instantly shifts - it's not like the witchers were tense before (they weren't) but there's always an obvious wave of restfulness among the "younger" people when an authority figure leaves them alone. It reminds Jaskier of evenings spent in Oxenfurt with fellow students (and eventually fellow teachers) sneaking around once the headmaster was gone.
And that gives Jaskier an idea.
"My dear witchers, how about a little game?" He asks after putting his lute back in its case and pouring himself more vodka. "Ever heard of Never have I ever?"
Lambert laughs, but the others look clueless, so Jaskier proceeds to quickly explain the rules.
"What do you think?"
"You really think you can outdrink *us*, bard?" Lambert asks back.
"Oh, could I?" Jaskier grins. "Never have I ever killed a drowner."
The witchers' faces and cursing that follows are music to his ears.
With Vesemir and Cirilla in bed, the rest of the witchers could relax-- they no longer had to be on their best behavior, or what passed for it, with their mentor and a child around. They could talk about things that they'd never speak of in front of Vesemir or Ciri, swap stories about hunts gone awry that would make their former teacher want to give them remedial lessons and sordid brothel tales that even a girl with a Skelligan grandfather shouldn't hear. (The latter had something of a practical purpose, too-- it's good to know which brothels are willing to host a witcher, even if you aren't going on a three-day binge of debauchery.)
Jaskier, however, has an idea for a game. Or, anyway, knows of one that goes well with drinking, and the rules for it are simple enough. He starts off strong, of course, picking a question that he knows very well will get all four of his witcher companions to drink. There is some mild grumbling about such a low blow, but all of them drink. Eskel is next on the go-around, gestures at Jaskier with his handful of cards.
"You should be careful, bard. You're easy to target, too." He puts down a card that makes Lambert curse, and says, "Never have I ever played a lute."
That will obviously catch Jaskier, and surprisingly, Coën too. The Griffin only shrugs in response, and just says, "I didn't play it well."
It's the Griffin's turn next, and he thinks about his question for a moment, watching Lambert try to recover in his card game. "Never have I ever... been eaten by a selkiemore."
"Gods willing you never will," Geralt says, and takes a drink. "Fucking reeks."
Thankfully, there aren't very many contracts ever put out to deal with selkiemore, since they're rare and, technically, not even carnivorous. If they ever swallow a person, it's usually on on accident, the poor soul just getting swept up into its maw while it trawls the water for plankton. Makes its guts reek something foul, though.
Lambert's up next, and considering that his game of gwent's going poorly, getting Eskel drunk might be the only way that he wins. "Never have I ever fucked a succubus," he says, and Eskel's the only one that takes a drink.
"A succubus?" Geralt says, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. Eskel grins and shrugs, apparently perfectly willing to leave the story there and let everyone wonder about it. Though Geralt's sure that he could get it out of him later, once he's good and sloshed; Eskel never holds out on out him for long.
Then it's Geralt's turn. "Hm. I've never... taught at Oxenfurt."
Jaskier rolls his eyes at Eskel, but drinks as he should.
"A target!" He exclaims with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're going to lose this game pathetically if you pick a target! The strategic key is finding the common denominator and--" And just like that, he goes from gamesplaining Eskel to beaming at Coën. "You WHAT! How come you didn't tell me!"
Silly witchers, always keeping the best details to themselves. Since the selkiemore thing doesn't apply to him, he takes that opportunity to shower Coën with questions about his lute playing, but Jaskier gets sidetracked again at the mention of sex with a succubus. Look, it's not his fault there are so many interesting tales being told at the same time, alright? This is why he likes this game so much in the first place.
"Fucked a succubus!" He says with a delighted gasp, eyes widening and sparkling with curiosity. "You can actually do that and survive? Or was it a witcher thing? Was it good? Would you do it again? What about an incubus? Eskel, don't give me that look, I need to hear the whole--"
Wait, never mind, time to indignantly gasp at Geralt with a hand on his chest. He's hurt, Geralt. HURT!
"You dare to target your beloved! This is harassing! Harassing I say!" Eskel is chuckling, and since he was the one to start the whole targeting deal, Jaskier glares at him and back at Geralt before saying, "Never have I ever asked for the Law of Surprise!"
An effective way to get Geralt and Eskel both, Jaskier thinks, considering the current company of Cirilla and Scorpion. What Jaskier doesn't see coming, though (and maybe he should've) is the fact everyone ends up drinking. Gaping, he looks from one witcher to the next, not believing what he's seeing.
"Unbelievable. Is that the only way witchers know how to ask for rewards?"
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After that, there's more work to be done-- finishing up the wall, then helping Lambert and Coën with the southern hall's roof. The Griffin is a diligent and steady worker, with good hands and a good eye for construction; Lambert is mostly thumbs and hit his own with a hammer at least three times before his brothers arrived. It puts him in a terrible mood for the rest of it, which isn't at all helped by Eskel or Geralt. Especially not when Eskel aards him off of the roof.
A while later, Geralt heads back inside to check on the bard and his charge; Jaskier had agreed to give Ciri lessons in the more civilized subjects, things that she ought to learn that witchers wouldn't be able to teach her. There's no one better for it, really-- the bard's had both a nobleman's upbringing and a formal education at Oxenfurt. He's a professor at said university, so surely he would be able to handle being the private tutor of one precocious princess, right?
Geralt goes to check on them anyway.
They're in the middle of some discussion of politics when Geralt comes across them in the library, wrapped up quite cozily with a fire banked in the hearth for warmth. Redanian politics has never been a topic that Geralt's had much interest in, so he knows little about the names and events that the bard's talking about, other than the ruling monarchs. Ciri seems quite engaged in the discussion, however, so he assumes that it must be going well. Neither of them notice him as he stands, leaning against one of the library stacks, listening to their steady human heartbeats. Jaskier smells pleased and relaxed, as does his child surprise, and that's... good. They're safe and well, and what else could he ask for?
Well. Other than, perhaps, some news of Yennefer. The rumors out of Sodden had been concerning, and though he doesn't think that she had perished there, he would have liked some hint that she had gotten out all right.
Geralt leaves the bard and his charge to their political lessons. His presence would only interrupt them, and he has no valuable input to offer. He's best employed right now with manual labor alongside his brothers, shoring up the keep.
By dinnertime, all four of them are tired and sore, ready to sit down for a heavy meal and then laze around in front of a fire for a few hours with some of Lambert's questionable alcohol. On the way in, they all could hear Jaskier entertaining Vesemir and Ciri, his voice pitched as low and gravelly as it could get to imitate Geralt's. The Cintran banquet, going by the fact that he's repeating that bit he said about shitless deaths.
The four witchers pile in, cold and hungry, and it's a good thing that Vesemir is nearly done with the food. Lambert's already starting on the bread, taking a few rolls without even waiting for butter.
"Telling tales again, Jaskier?" Geralt says, putting a hand on Jaskier's waist to move him aside while he reaches for the rolls himself. His hand gets smacked with a wooden spoon for it; Vesemir has a quick hand with that particular weapon. He's told to wait for supper while Lambert shoves the entirety of one of his pilfered rolls straight into his mouth, smug as you please. Vesemir points the spoon at him as well-- a silent warning that his knuckles won't be safe either if he tries that shit again.
(Little princesses, however, ask for it first-- may I have a roll, please, Vesemir?-- with wide, sweet eyes and are given permission for it, and told to go get the butter too. No wooden spoons for those little knuckles.)
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The shock goes away quickly, though, because here's Geralt returning to his side and putting a hand on his waist. Jaskier's scent instantly changes from startled to amorous, sweet with adoration for the witcher together with that little spicy touch of lust that happens every time Geralt touches him so kindly. Or touches him in general. Or when he's nearby. Or when he simply exists in the general area...
It also means he can't stop himself and leans in to kiss the witcher's cheek. So Cirilla takes over the answer in between bread bites.
"I asked him to tell me the whole story of my mother's betrothal."
"Emphasis on whole," Jaskier interjects with a teasing tone as he takes his seat at the table next to Geralt. "Because certain someone continues to be stingy with the details."
"Wait, this about how Geralt asked for the Law of Surprise?" Lambert asks. Jaskier and Cirilla nod. "Oh fuck yes, I've been wanting to know about this one too. Go on, bard."
Lambert makes an urging gesture with his hand that makes Jaskier snicker. It's not different from what happened at the springs, he realizes - these are all the important tales of Geralt's life. Monster hunts are interesting and all, but Cintra and Posada? Those are a unique situation that makes witchers extra curious.
They're also proof that the witcher can have more than the Path. Jaskier wonders if they realize that or they think they only want to hear these stories to make fun of Geralt.
And so the story gets told throughout dinner. Cirilla is curious about many things and Jaskier does his best to answer as many questions as possible, even if there are some details about the hidden politics behind the visitors he doesn't know about. It is obvious she appreciates his efforts, though, because sometimes she takes over to explain some things about Cintra, giving Jaskier a break to actually eat.
(She's getting better, he'd like to think. Her eyes still look kinda sad, but she talks proudly of her home, without hesitation or stumbling over her words. He'll have to ask Geralt later for a better comparison.)
Jaskier grins at her when the story gets to the part of the brawl and Geralt defending Dunny. "Remember what he had told me earlier about the petty squabbles of men?"
Oh, look at that, it seems the storytelling included the kikimora incident. Cirilla giggles.
"That he doesn't get involved."
"And what did he do?"
It's Eskel that replies, "He got involved."
"He got involved!" Jaskier laughs and so does everyone else around the table, including a chuckle from Vesemir. Two in one night? Jaskier is definitely counting this as a very successful day. (Does he mean orgasms or Vesemir's laughter? Yes.) By the time he makes it to Pavetta barfing on the floor and Geralt's heartfelt fuck, the whole table explodes in laughter. It is quite an ironic moment, perfectly timed - it would be wonderful as the cliffhanger of a chapter in a novel. Most importantly, Jaskier is glad Cirilla is able to enjoy it with as much merriment as the rest of them.
Said merriment is interrupted when Lambert suddenly curses and lowers his tankard on the table with more strength than necessary. "Wait a fucking second. If she was pregnant already--- that means she fucked the hedgehog?" Eskel slaps him on the back of his head. "What, don't tell me you aren't thinking it too!"
Cirilla can only hide her face on her hands and mumble "Gross."
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Jaskier tells the tale over the course of the meal, transforming the story from Geralt's factual report of events into something worthy of one of his ballads, dramatic and exciting and comedic in just the right places. He has a tendency, as he always does, to wax a little bit too poetic about Geralt's supposed heroics during the fight, and the witcher has to pelt him with bits of bread to get him to move on.
At the time, it hadn't been funny, when Pavetta vomited on the floor and the true weight of what had just happened was revealed to all of them. But the way Jaskier tells it makes it seem lighter than it was, and there is a hint of a smile to Geralt's lips for the fact that Cirilla laughs. There are few prices that he wouldn't pay to see his child surprise happy.
And then Lambert starts talking about Pavetta fucking the hedgehog knight.
"He turned back into a man at midnight," Geralt says, because for fuck's sake, Lambert, don't scar his child surprise for life. Does anyone know for sure if Pavetta slept with Duny while he was a hedgehog man? Not anymore, because they can't just go and ask Ciri's parents. Nor should anyone. And, really, no one in this room could judge her for being a monsterfucker, because five out of seven are considered monsters, one of seven is currently fucking one of said monsters, and the last is the end result of the aforementioned Pavetta monsterfucking. So everyone is in a glass house here, there's no room for anyone to throw stones.
Dinner finishes up without any further discussions on the bedroom activities of Ciri's parents, to the betterment of all. Geralt stays behind with Vesemir to do the washing up while the other witchers take Ciri and Jaskier into the great hall, where there was already a fire in the hearth and comfortable chairs around it, and tables set up conveniently for games of Gwent. Lambert fetches a few bottles of his homemade liquor-- white gull for the witchers, vodka for Jaskier, cider for little princesses who weren't supposed to have alcohol. (He sneaks a nip of vodka into the cider when no one's looking, at Ciri's behest. Someone's angling for favorite uncle status, it seems.)
Geralt and Vesemir emerge from the kitchen a little while later, dishes cleaned and everything back in order. The old wolf settles himself in his favorite armchair near the fire with a book, content to spend the rest of the evening reading. Geralt goes to join in the games of Gwent, where Lambert's showing Ciri how to cheat at cards.
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Right. Lesson fucking learned, thank you.
It's a very pleasant evening, Jaskier must admit. Calm (which yes he can do, thank you!), relaxed, cozy. He plays and sings for the witchers while they play (and read), laughing at their sibling squabbles and proudly congratulating Cirilla when she manages to win a hand or pull Lambert's tricks successfully. It's a cute little family, and while the circumstances that brought them here aren't exactly the best, Jaskier is glad they have each other - glad they've accepted him in it as well.
Thousand of ballads he'll write about them, Jaskier swears to himself on the spot, and the Continent shall never insult them again.
Cirilla, bless her young soul, starts nodding off soon after Jaskier finally plays the song about her parents' betrothal and it's Vesemir that offers to take her back to her room since he decides it's time for him to go to bed as well. And as soon as he's out of sight, Jaskier can tell the mood of the room instantly shifts - it's not like the witchers were tense before (they weren't) but there's always an obvious wave of restfulness among the "younger" people when an authority figure leaves them alone. It reminds Jaskier of evenings spent in Oxenfurt with fellow students (and eventually fellow teachers) sneaking around once the headmaster was gone.
And that gives Jaskier an idea.
"My dear witchers, how about a little game?" He asks after putting his lute back in its case and pouring himself more vodka. "Ever heard of Never have I ever?"
Lambert laughs, but the others look clueless, so Jaskier proceeds to quickly explain the rules.
"What do you think?"
"You really think you can outdrink *us*, bard?" Lambert asks back.
"Oh, could I?" Jaskier grins. "Never have I ever killed a drowner."
The witchers' faces and cursing that follows are music to his ears.
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Jaskier, however, has an idea for a game. Or, anyway, knows of one that goes well with drinking, and the rules for it are simple enough. He starts off strong, of course, picking a question that he knows very well will get all four of his witcher companions to drink. There is some mild grumbling about such a low blow, but all of them drink. Eskel is next on the go-around, gestures at Jaskier with his handful of cards.
"You should be careful, bard. You're easy to target, too." He puts down a card that makes Lambert curse, and says, "Never have I ever played a lute."
That will obviously catch Jaskier, and surprisingly, Coën too. The Griffin only shrugs in response, and just says, "I didn't play it well."
It's the Griffin's turn next, and he thinks about his question for a moment, watching Lambert try to recover in his card game. "Never have I ever... been eaten by a selkiemore."
"Gods willing you never will," Geralt says, and takes a drink. "Fucking reeks."
Thankfully, there aren't very many contracts ever put out to deal with selkiemore, since they're rare and, technically, not even carnivorous. If they ever swallow a person, it's usually on on accident, the poor soul just getting swept up into its maw while it trawls the water for plankton. Makes its guts reek something foul, though.
Lambert's up next, and considering that his game of gwent's going poorly, getting Eskel drunk might be the only way that he wins. "Never have I ever fucked a succubus," he says, and Eskel's the only one that takes a drink.
"A succubus?" Geralt says, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. Eskel grins and shrugs, apparently perfectly willing to leave the story there and let everyone wonder about it. Though Geralt's sure that he could get it out of him later, once he's good and sloshed; Eskel never holds out on out him for long.
Then it's Geralt's turn. "Hm. I've never... taught at Oxenfurt."
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"A target!" He exclaims with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're going to lose this game pathetically if you pick a target! The strategic key is finding the common denominator and--" And just like that, he goes from gamesplaining Eskel to beaming at Coën. "You WHAT! How come you didn't tell me!"
Silly witchers, always keeping the best details to themselves. Since the selkiemore thing doesn't apply to him, he takes that opportunity to shower Coën with questions about his lute playing, but Jaskier gets sidetracked again at the mention of sex with a succubus. Look, it's not his fault there are so many interesting tales being told at the same time, alright? This is why he likes this game so much in the first place.
"Fucked a succubus!" He says with a delighted gasp, eyes widening and sparkling with curiosity. "You can actually do that and survive? Or was it a witcher thing? Was it good? Would you do it again? What about an incubus? Eskel, don't give me that look, I need to hear the whole--"
Wait, never mind, time to indignantly gasp at Geralt with a hand on his chest. He's hurt, Geralt. HURT!
"You dare to target your beloved! This is harassing! Harassing I say!" Eskel is chuckling, and since he was the one to start the whole targeting deal, Jaskier glares at him and back at Geralt before saying, "Never have I ever asked for the Law of Surprise!"
An effective way to get Geralt and Eskel both, Jaskier thinks, considering the current company of Cirilla and Scorpion. What Jaskier doesn't see coming, though (and maybe he should've) is the fact everyone ends up drinking. Gaping, he looks from one witcher to the next, not believing what he's seeing.
"Unbelievable. Is that the only way witchers know how to ask for rewards?"