Empty and splayed open, goosebumps spread over her thighs. They pull closed and it is quite the sensation as she tilts into Jaskier. This was more than enough. A grand night out. Now would be the time for farewells and last fond touches. Except that feels wrong to suggest. He is not some lordling, sell-sword or swain who she will never speak to again. This is her good, good friend. She indulges in touch for a moment more. For him, she thinks. Jaskier is all a-quiver. Though birdlike to Yennefer most times, she has never known a bird to be so affectionate. Maybe he did fuck her mind away. His arm is warm on her skin, they both are hot but he is some how simply--she prefers this touch.

Her hair is a wreck, falling into coils wherever damp. Watching him make a pillow of it pulls her lips to smile. "Probably to ensure that no one has died." In the permanent sense at least. "A murder is a dreadful thing for business."

Changing the name of the place, hoping it wouldn't be haunted thereafter. The stigma hanging over it. Temeria has a better chance of recovering from it than a small hamlet or village. Yennefer cannot for the life of her remember why she thought it was important to come.

Her fingers trace over Jaskier's back. A sigil for peace, a sigil for health. He needs no sigils for talent. "I would think it would be bad service to ignore a patrons needs and have to make them go all the way down the steps and all the way to the innkeeper himself." Each all drawn out for the tedious thing that it is.