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Geralt: What are you doing?
Jaskier, covered in flour and globs of sticky dough: Going to ask Ciri a question
Geralt: That's not-
Geralt: And he's gone
Geralt: Should I see what the kitchen looks like?
Geralt: ...
Geralt: No, that's someone else's problem
.
.
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Yennefer, elsewhere: What the fuck is oozing out of the oven?
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Ciri: Where do we go when we die?
Yennefer: Just like magic is a transfer of energy, we give ourselves back to the earth and the air
Triss: Some people believe that they go to a wonderful place in the sky with all their family and friends
Geralt: Nowhere. Or hell
Jaskier:
Jaskier: Shut the fuck up, you all are nearly goddamn immortal
Jaskier: Let someone who actually faces death tell you the truth: Life is short and it is dangerous. We pray that we go somewhere because otherwise it feels like we all just writhe and flail and do our best for absolutely no good reason. And we never know if our random fucking theories are correct. Only the dead know that. So why worry about where we go when there are so many beautiful things where we are and that's what deserves our attention?
Jaskier: So fuck you guys, I'm going to make muffins
Ciri: ...Can I also make muffins?
Jaskier: Absolutely, sweetheart
Yennefer: For Ciri's birthday party, I will cover the decoration. Geralt, you cover the gift
Geralt: Hmmm
Jaskier: I'll bake the cake!
Yennefer: Absolutely not. Do you remember the last time you tried to bake?
Jaskier: No...?
Yennefer: I am not making someone else clean up that mess and those tears ever again
Jaskier: The world's miserable
Jaskier: What if we baked tiny cakes and then put them on people's doorsteps in the middle of the night to cheer them up? We could be baking bandits
Geralt: Rats. Ants. Those are some reasons
Jaskier: Oh you need better excuses than that to stop such a stellar idea
Geralt: You can't fucking bake
Jaskier: ... Dammit
