resting business face

Geralt is a bit bewildered when Jaskier strolls into the lake, boots and all, but only a bit.

In the years he’s borne witness to Jaskier’s dubious decision-making, this doesn’t rank anywhere near the most bizarre things the bard has done, though he’s sure to regret it when he ends up with clothes soaked in winter-cold water from the waist down. So Geralt says nothing, just stands with the russet bundle of Jaskier’s coat dangling from one hand, and tries not to stare as he whips his shirt over his head.

Jaskier, though, is already staring back at him, apparently finished lamenting the state of everything from his clothing to his nipples.

“What’s that thing you do?” He waggles his fingers in an entirely incomprehensible way.

Geralt tilts his head fractionally.

“You know,” Jaskier prompts.

Geralt does not.

“It’s a…thing. A witcher thing.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Right, yeah, all your things are witcher things.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and winces as he steps a bit deeper. “It’s a thing you say, sounds like angry or maybe inky, makes things hot?”