What Bob had heard from the grapevine was that MCR's rhythm guitarist was small, hyper, and insane on the guitar. What the grapevine had obviously failed to mention was that Frank Iero was also a fucking vampire. Because normal people didn't actually believe things like vampires or werewolves or faeries or witches existed. Normal people were, in Bob's humble opinion, complete fucking idiots.

Jaskier’s just debating how much trouble he’s actually in when Geralt, marvelously, talks them out of it. After that, well . . . Jaskier still wants to eat him very badly, but he supposes it’d be a bit ungrateful of him. Geralt isn’t very impressed with the song he writes for him, unfortunately—which, rude—but doesn’t try to run off and leave him either, so . . . Well, Jaskier’s a bit smitten. A delicious-smelling witcher who can talk his way out of being murdered is very impressive. And he always has wanted a pet.