Jaskier squawked with offense and his hand drew back to press against his chest. Well. He. Never.

"I'll have you know I look positively fabulous, all things considered," Jaskier defended but his waspishness softened as Geralt acquiesced to his point. Or, at least, that's what he figured had happened--Geralt's 'idiot' array was almost as encompassing as his 'hmmm's. Jaskier knew what most of them meant and this one sounded resigned and very vaguely fond. (Ergo: acquiescence.)

"I'll send someone and fetch some more hot water," Jaskier volunteered and stood up, smoothing down his trousers as he did. He absolutely looked like shit, rumpled and stained with varying water-spots and bits of pinkish faded blood. "I don't think I can pay enough to have them bring that head back, but I'll see if I can't find someone brave and foolhardy."

He looked down at Geralt and the array of things next to him and his brow pinched just a bit. He knew the Witcher wouldn't be inclined to use any of it, but it would certainly make him feel (and smell) far better.

"Feel free to take as you like while I'm gone--and no brooding."