The teenager wasn't squeamish, Jaskier had realized that much when he'd woken him up with that grotesque head in hand, beaming like he'd felled a prize buck. He did seem a little terrified of Geralt, though, which made less sense. He set the plate down on the stool by the tub and, when Geralt made a faint joke at him, actually did hustle out of the room.

It was a confusing reaction and Jaskier made no attempt to hide his feelings as the boy darted out into the hall. He looked back at Geralt as he set the other plates on the bed, and shook his head.

"I have no idea," he professed vaguely and it was half a sentiment. Whatever pep he'd awoken with had begun to fade as he waited for food. (Thirty minutes sitting in silence would do that, wouldn't it?) He was still tired--he'd probably feel tired for days. The smell of food helped, however, and he picked up a slice of ham the moment the plate left his fingers.

Jaskier didn't bother sitting on the bed and just resigned himself to plunking down on the floor next to Geralt. The side of the bed was a decent structure to lean against and this kept him closer to the ham and herring.

"If you need something, dear Witcher, do tell me," Jaskier requested as he idly ate his ham. "You're more thread than skin at the moment, and I'd rather not sully all of the sheets in this establishment. Not with blood, at least."