Geralt: gruffly. I can see you, can you see me?
Jaskier: gesticulates excitedly.
Jaskier: is on mute.
Geralt: You’re silent, Jaskier. Granted that’s an agreeable change. But the sooner we have this conversation the sooner it ends.
Jaskier: finds unmute button. Geralt! Geralt!
Geralt: disapproving. Hmm. I’m still here.
Jaskier: Oh, thank goodness. I need your help. Ever since we’ve come to this strange land, I’ve felt so alone. The taverns are closed, the ale comes in bottles that are impossible to open – I tell you I’ve broken two teeth on them already, and live lute-playing seems incredibly out of fashion.
Geralt: The taverns are closed because there is a deadly plague, Jaskier. They will reopen in time. For now, stay put. Stay two sword lengths away from others when you go to the market and wear a plague mask. I’ll send you a bottle opener for the ale.
Jaskier: Yes, yes, I know the rules of the land, and I’m being very good, I promise you. But I must say you don’t seem to mind the isolation. I suppose you wouldn’t, antisocial aardvark that you are. But what of my music, Geralt? I am nothing without my music, and there are no dances, no balls, no courtly receptions at which I may play it!
Geralt: considering. Hmm. This machine – the portal through which we speak – it has the ability to capture a voice inside it, yes?
Jaskier: Yes, yes, that is possible. I’ve heard it called ‘recording’. This land certainly has its own magic.
Geralt: So place the songs inside the machine…
Jaskier: Yes?
Geralt: Then close the lid of the machine…
Jaskier: Yes??
Geralt: pauses. That’s it. Don’t open it again. Ever.
Jaskier: …
Geralt: You’ve frozen.
Jaskier: Ok first of all, I have NOT frozen, I am simply speechless at your ability to pass into a parallel universe and bring every OUNCE of your rudeness with you. Second of all, let me tell you…
Geralt: I have to go now. Bath’s running.
Jaskier: No, wait, Geralt! Geralt!
Geralt: Portal machine seems low on health, need to give it a potion or something…
Jaskier: GERALT!
Geralt: …
Jaskier: quietly. Same time next week?
Geralt: Fine.