[It almost brings a smile to his face.] Yes, I'm usually a bit more subtle about it.
[A bit more polite than launching right into it while she's halfway out the door, so to speak. He inclines his head.] Thank you.
[Ugh. He sounds morose and serious, two things he hates hearing from himself. He's had enough of moroseness -- a feeling which is primarily driving him to be here in the first place. As many times as he told others to talk their way through complicated tangling in their hearts, and here he is reluctant to do the same. Always how it is with those who offer advice, isn't it? So slow to do it themselves.
He ducks inside, looking around, taking it in. Richly decorated, it feels homey to him from his time in his own caravan. Even the moments he'd had without his memories are gentle ones, riding the wagons down into the ice caverns, up the fire mountain. Even driving through the melting snow of Geralt's mountains. He takes a seat, removing his coat and folding it across his lap. For a trip into the Horizon, his shirt is rather underwhelming; merely a soft blue that is tight only around his arms, the sleeves rolled up to display the scar that runs ragged up his left arm. Besides his dress, he has always appeared in the Horizon as he does in their waking life.]
I appreciate you opening your doors so easily. [Jaskier easily considers people he's only met a few times friends, especially if they're friends of his. But now he has a rather terrible insight that what is between him and Sypha is not so easily defined.] No, no, I'll get right to it. [His fingers fiddle along the hem of his folded coat instead of reaching for the wine, though it and the cheese smell lovely enough.] To put it frankly, well... [He clears his throat. Fuck. This sucks, as Julie might say.] I saw a memory of his. The death of his father.
[His voice is quiet, cracking a bit over the word father. Those final words had been echoing in his mind since he'd seen it, since Alucard's anger and grief and stricken, inevitable sadness had seized him entirely.] And I'm afraid I can't... let it go. The last thing either of us wanted, you can imagine, was to discuss it.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-05-18 04:28 pm (UTC)[A bit more polite than launching right into it while she's halfway out the door, so to speak. He inclines his head.] Thank you.
[Ugh. He sounds morose and serious, two things he hates hearing from himself. He's had enough of moroseness -- a feeling which is primarily driving him to be here in the first place. As many times as he told others to talk their way through complicated tangling in their hearts, and here he is reluctant to do the same. Always how it is with those who offer advice, isn't it? So slow to do it themselves.
He ducks inside, looking around, taking it in. Richly decorated, it feels homey to him from his time in his own caravan. Even the moments he'd had without his memories are gentle ones, riding the wagons down into the ice caverns, up the fire mountain. Even driving through the melting snow of Geralt's mountains. He takes a seat, removing his coat and folding it across his lap. For a trip into the Horizon, his shirt is rather underwhelming; merely a soft blue that is tight only around his arms, the sleeves rolled up to display the scar that runs ragged up his left arm. Besides his dress, he has always appeared in the Horizon as he does in their waking life.]
I appreciate you opening your doors so easily. [Jaskier easily considers people he's only met a few times friends, especially if they're friends of his. But now he has a rather terrible insight that what is between him and Sypha is not so easily defined.] No, no, I'll get right to it. [His fingers fiddle along the hem of his folded coat instead of reaching for the wine, though it and the cheese smell lovely enough.] To put it frankly, well... [He clears his throat. Fuck. This sucks, as Julie might say.] I saw a memory of his. The death of his father.
[His voice is quiet, cracking a bit over the word father. Those final words had been echoing in his mind since he'd seen it, since Alucard's anger and grief and stricken, inevitable sadness had seized him entirely.] And I'm afraid I can't... let it go. The last thing either of us wanted, you can imagine, was to discuss it.