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He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, he realises now, as Geralt spins and his white white face turned whiter with anger and heartbreak and his voice is raised. He’s not one for shouting really; more growling and grumbling and making rumbling biting comments, but never this. Never yelling so hard his neck might pop from the force of it.
It’s fascinating, really.
It's a beautiful day, Jaskier thinks. The sun is high, the weather’s warm, the stench of blood and death whisps on the idle breeze, and the man he’s dedicated half of his short life to is telling him that he’s shit he needs to scrape off his shoe.
Really. He’s impressed. He never thought Geralt capable of such rousing indignation. Or that he’d be the one to inspire it. His skills have clearly been honed to a needle point across the years. Usually it’s only cuckolded husbands and distraught wives who burst blood vessels in his face.
“... of my hands!”
Jaskier takes a deep breath, and the silence fals between them. “Regretting saving my life then?” Jaskier asked mildly.
“What?” Geralt spat, stumped and back footed The steam which had been so up his lovely bottom was clearly failing him now.
“The Djinn. As you so kindly mentioned. Since I wasn’t the one with the wishes, and you wished me to death, and you saved my life.” Jaskier listed. “You must be regretting it now, since you so vehemently believe that everything that has befallen you is on my shoulders and not your own.” Jaskier squints at him, the sun in his eyes. It's a purely practical look, but it enhances his confused scrutiny quite nicely. Gotta work with what you get. He was taught well.
Geralt looked like his eyes might vibrate out of ther sockets.
He should write a sonnet about it. Maybe compare it to the colour of puce Valdo’s face turns when he’s constricted.
“If you hadn’t been prattling incessantly in the first place, I wouldn’t have wanted you to stop!” Gerat growled. HIs vein was pulsing in his temple. He must have a very very bad headache.
When was the last time he had drunk water?
Jaskier could not recall.
“Learn to read the room, bard!”
Jaskier shrugged. “So I offended our ears, the Djinn tried to kill me. But, I guess that’s your fault, so I should blame you.”
“I didn’t make the Djinn put that ball in your throat!” Geralt stepped up to Jaskier unblinking. He looked a little unsettled by Jaskier’s inability, or refusal, to concede he was right about ruining his life. Or be intimidated by the big bad Witcher right in his face. “It’s a trickster. It’s what it does.”
Jaskier snapped his fingers, face lighting up like he’s had a revelation. “You’re right. The Djinn could have taken away my mouth. Or mya voice! Or my tongue! ( Gods forbid) It could have crumbled my front teeth (not a comely look), broken my jaw, or summoned a gag. But it chose a massive tumour. It chose to obstruct my breathing, but I guess, by your logic, I should blame you for the choices it made.”
Geralt heaved in a breath. “I guess it just hated you as much as I do.” But the force was gone, and Geralt gave an air of desperation.
Jaskier gave him an unimpressed, pitying look. “The Djinn had just met me. It takes longer than 2 minutes to loathe my being.” Jaskier gave a pondering look. “I believe the record is 4 minutes 59 seconds. That’s the length of time it took me to defeat Valdo Marx at his own poetry battle.” Jaskier reminisced. “The look on his face … “
Geralt stepped back and huffed. “You’re really are a weird human.” he commented.
“And you,” Jaskier moved down to level ground.” are an emotionally stunted 9 year old. Shall I find you a pram so you can put your toys back in it?”
Jaskier’s face hit the dirt after a generous shove.
Geralt huffed like his own super human strength and Jaskier’s utter humanness was an inconvenience to his already shit day.
“Feel better?” the bard aked, hands behind his head as he reclined in the dust.
Geralt rolled his eyes. He walked over and held out his hand for Jaskier to take. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered as he pulled him to his feet.
“And you,” Jasker hauled himself up, “are an arsehole.”
“Hm,” Geralt hummed.
Jaskier fell into step beside him.
“Where did you learn to do that anyway?”
“Do what?” Jasker asked, tossing an apple he got from - actually, Gerat didn’t want to guess.
“Use my own argument against me,” he said, grudgingly impressed.
“Oh!” Jaskier chirped like it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d done something impressively intelligent, when he was usually falling on his naked arse scrambling to get away from a violet faced fat husband whose wife he had pleased more than they had their entire marriage.
Geralt wondered how many other feats he’d missed because he was too busy trying to ignore the incessant prattling (allowing a welcome voice wash over him and remind him finally he’s not alone), instead of paying attention.
“I studied psychology and philosophy in Oxenfurt,” Jaksier replied easily.
Gerlat gave him a dubious look, but his heartbeat didn’t change and he smelled not like cinnamon and poppy seeds like he always did when he was feeling playful, but fresh cut grass with the sourness of lemongrass and lime.
He was hurt then, but mostly unbothered, willing to let it pass.
Geralt blinked in surprise.” Hm, he grunted to himself. Since when had he come to know Jaskier’s scent but not his life?
Misinterpreting Geralt’s sound completely missing his revelation and contemplation. Jaskier gave him a disbelieving look. “Do you really think I subsist on rhymes alone?”
Actually, he hadn’t given Jaskier’s origins much thought beyond it being too loud when he’s around and too quiet when he’s not.
“My Gods man, I gave you my Title. You don’t think my parents allowed me to run ragged on whims and prayers?”
Geralt grunted. “Sometimes I think you sprouted from a dandelion - all flash and no substance!”
Jaskeir gasped, hand over heart. “ I’ll have you know that, not only am I making a name for myself, I’ve won many prestigious competitions,” he’s walking backwards now, a spring in his step belying his offence.”
“Is that because you cheated?”
Jaskier spluttered in outrage, his body stopping with the stock of it. “I would never!”
Geralt tilted his head. “That’s not what Valdo Marx said,” Geralt name dropped as e walked passed a frozen Jaskier.
“What? No! What? - “ he heard from behind. “Have you been listening this whole time?!”
Geralt smiled to himself as he walked in front.
“Geralt? Geralt?! DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!!”
If jaskier couldn't catch up because Geralt had places to be, that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t like he was running or anything.