It felt like a lose-lose question-- would Geralt like to stay here amongst the eyes of Jaskier's entire family, most of who seemed at first blush to be miserable, grandstanding, miserly elitists? Or would he come like to meet the couple who, ostensibly, had driven Jaskier out of his family home because he had decided that he would rather devote his life to education and music than finance and producing heirs to inherit it? Geralt blew a breath through his nose and held one staring man's eyes long enough that his already voluminous moustache seemed to bristle further before he averted his eyes.

Rightly so. Just because Geralt did not wear a sword did not mean that he would tolerate less bullshit than he would on any normal day. Besides, Jaskier had slipping back into that slightly grating tone that did nothing for him at all. Geralt realized that prolonged exposure to the bard like this had set him slightly on edge. What did he care if these people like him? He didn't, of course, but he had thought... for Jaskier...

That had been before they'd gotten here. What Geralt had mistaken for anxiousness to please was, after only a double-handful of minutes spent amongst these people, clearly not where his friend's head was at all. "I'll go with you," he said. Jaskier wouldn't have given him an option if he didn't want him there in some capacity. That much he understood.