[It's truly miraculous the longer this conversation (if one could even call this back and forth that) continues, the more perplexed he is. And somehow he's being made out as if he's the one being mysterious! All he's learned is a) her name is Ciri and b) she's quite dodgy about what that name even means.
Of course he's not a fool. (As much as everyone who knows him would argue.) Geralt has mentioned the Princess Cirilla to him. That he was on his way to find her. That Destiny was taking hold, as it was meant to. He was bloody there at its conception. (Destiny, not Cirilla's.)
But there is not a single brain cell in Jaskier's head that could conflate the princess -- who would still be so young now -- to the woman standing here.
It doesn't even really occur to him. It is not, after all, strange for people to know Jaskier. Especially those from the Continent. Who's more famous than Jaskier? Not a single person. Certainly no other bards.
His brows raise into his hairline.] A Witch -- a Witcher? Women are not -- [He stops. To be honest, her glaring is really unnerving him, dream or no. He's beginning to think it may have been simpler, or safer, to go along with the Fae instead.
He rubs his brow, hand on his hip. Yep. He's even more confused now, and Geralt's name being dropped so clearly surprises him. Every bloody time he's had to explain who Geralt is, that he's famous because of Jaskier.] That's, er, funny. I've known him quite a long time and you don't... seem his type.
[Not in that way. Geralt's type was no one, because the only thing he did more than grunt was complain about company. And certainly there are no female Witchers, and certainly Geralt would not keep the existence of one from him for this long, and her expression is really intending to call him an idiot, isn't it?]
Are you -- I think you are meaning to say -- [The gears are turning.] Ah. What?
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Of course he's not a fool. (As much as everyone who knows him would argue.) Geralt has mentioned the Princess Cirilla to him. That he was on his way to find her. That Destiny was taking hold, as it was meant to. He was bloody there at its conception. (Destiny, not Cirilla's.)
But there is not a single brain cell in Jaskier's head that could conflate the princess -- who would still be so young now -- to the woman standing here.
It doesn't even really occur to him. It is not, after all, strange for people to know Jaskier. Especially those from the Continent. Who's more famous than Jaskier? Not a single person. Certainly no other bards.
His brows raise into his hairline.] A Witch -- a Witcher? Women are not -- [He stops. To be honest, her glaring is really unnerving him, dream or no. He's beginning to think it may have been simpler, or safer, to go along with the Fae instead.
He rubs his brow, hand on his hip. Yep. He's even more confused now, and Geralt's name being dropped so clearly surprises him. Every bloody time he's had to explain who Geralt is, that he's famous because of Jaskier.] That's, er, funny. I've known him quite a long time and you don't... seem his type.
[Not in that way. Geralt's type was no one, because the only thing he did more than grunt was complain about company. And certainly there are no female Witchers, and certainly Geralt would not keep the existence of one from him for this long, and her expression is really intending to call him an idiot, isn't it?]
Are you -- I think you are meaning to say -- [The gears are turning.] Ah. What?