Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
[ For all that Geralt will never say it, on occasion—more occasions than he will admit—he does seek out the bard. That's true in particular now. He's not certain if it's because the few...connections (he's not ready to call them friendships, maybe will not ever be) he's made in the city have grown complicated in a manner he should expect, shouldn't give a damn about, and yet. Deep down, it prickles at him.
In the long run, though, it isn't important. (Of course not.) There's an impermanence to those he meets, one that's especially prominent considering they're not of the same spheres. So whether they exit his life now or later, what does it matter? Jaskier, though, is a constant, has grown into a constant over the years, and where so many others have filtered in and then out (have left), Jaskier has not. It means something, something Geralt prefers not to linger over for too long. Something that has him tracking Jaskier down. Not a difficult task. Bards are meant to be heard and seen. Besides, he knows what taverns Jaskier prefers to frequent at when it comes to his performances: crowded, but not so crowded he won't be paid attention to; patrons well-off enough to spare a good amount of coin, but not so wealthy that their purses are tight and their tastes overly critical.
He slips in through the backdoor. Drops a few coppers for an ale that he takes to a table in the corner. He recognizes the moment Jaskier spots him, even if Geralt doesn't react to it. One foot rests on the seat across him. They've done this a hundred times—him lurking in the back of a tavern somewhere, Jaskier drawing the crowd up front. Sometimes he leaves before the performance is done, and Jaskier will know to find him elsewhere, at the nearest inn within town or in the outskirts by the woods if he hasn't got a room for one reason or another. Sometimes he stays to the end and waits.
Tonight, he's waiting. His fingers rest on the rim of his mug. He's not even watching, but he is listening. That voice, familiar as ever; even the lute, he can discern the difference after hearing it for all this time—a less delicate sound, the slightest loss in resonance, compared to the elven instrument lost back on the Continent. He shouldn't care to remember, but he does. A testament, perhaps, to how Jaskier has edged into his life, inch by inch.
Here and there, his thoughts have drifted to that night. In the Horizon. An interrupted moment. He's not brought it up again, and neither has Jaskier, mostly because—as with many things between them—he finds little which requires discussing. But it doesn't mean it's left his mind altogether. It's only a matter of time before one of them acts on it. He feels it, a sharpness in the air that hums around them. And Geralt is not a man who waits around once he's settled on what he wants. So. Here he is. ]
In the long run, though, it isn't important. (Of course not.) There's an impermanence to those he meets, one that's especially prominent considering they're not of the same spheres. So whether they exit his life now or later, what does it matter? Jaskier, though, is a constant, has grown into a constant over the years, and where so many others have filtered in and then out (have left), Jaskier has not. It means something, something Geralt prefers not to linger over for too long. Something that has him tracking Jaskier down. Not a difficult task. Bards are meant to be heard and seen. Besides, he knows what taverns Jaskier prefers to frequent at when it comes to his performances: crowded, but not so crowded he won't be paid attention to; patrons well-off enough to spare a good amount of coin, but not so wealthy that their purses are tight and their tastes overly critical.
He slips in through the backdoor. Drops a few coppers for an ale that he takes to a table in the corner. He recognizes the moment Jaskier spots him, even if Geralt doesn't react to it. One foot rests on the seat across him. They've done this a hundred times—him lurking in the back of a tavern somewhere, Jaskier drawing the crowd up front. Sometimes he leaves before the performance is done, and Jaskier will know to find him elsewhere, at the nearest inn within town or in the outskirts by the woods if he hasn't got a room for one reason or another. Sometimes he stays to the end and waits.
Tonight, he's waiting. His fingers rest on the rim of his mug. He's not even watching, but he is listening. That voice, familiar as ever; even the lute, he can discern the difference after hearing it for all this time—a less delicate sound, the slightest loss in resonance, compared to the elven instrument lost back on the Continent. He shouldn't care to remember, but he does. A testament, perhaps, to how Jaskier has edged into his life, inch by inch.
Here and there, his thoughts have drifted to that night. In the Horizon. An interrupted moment. He's not brought it up again, and neither has Jaskier, mostly because—as with many things between them—he finds little which requires discussing. But it doesn't mean it's left his mind altogether. It's only a matter of time before one of them acts on it. He feels it, a sharpness in the air that hums around them. And Geralt is not a man who waits around once he's settled on what he wants. So. Here he is. ]
Edited 2021-11-08 08:57 (UTC)
[Bards are meant to perform, and for anyone who knows Jaskier, it is no surprise that he goes back to it as soon as he can. As soon as he feels well enough, as soon as getting out of bed in the morning is not a trial. As soon as he can take care of himself without Sam's unique sense of caring or Geralt giving him a stare for a bit too long.
He rather likes the idea of moving past the whole event and going on as if nothing has changed. Which, truly, is the way it feels. He does know quite a bit more about Ciri and her position on the Continent, but... all right, it's a lot to take in, but what he's to do about it? They're here, and he may as well continue living the life he has carved out on this sphere while he is here to live it.
There is only one problem. One thing that has changed.
He doesn't quite notice it much as he begins to perform again, selling himself to the local tavern for a handful of coin (and gods, does it feel good to go back to it. All that time sitting in bed gave him more than enough time to work on new songs.) Mostly because after the whole wraith invasion, he is not liken to spent too much time out during the dark. You know, in case such a fiasco happens again. A few mages have reassured that it was a fluke, which is a funny way to say they raised the dead on accident.
But today? Gods. He feels it today. After leaving early on in the morning to go shopping -- or, more accurately, to go spying on things he wanted to purchase and knew well he should not be -- and now having performed for hours, he feels it. At first it was only a slight tingling in his arm, but the longer he holds his lute, the longer he plays, the tighter this cord up his arm tightens until he's nearly biting his tongue with the effort of holding the instrument up.
It's when he's finishing up a set that he sees the Witcher arrive -- it is, after all, rather impossible to miss him -- and he glances away from him, focusing on belting out the last note as enthusiastically as he can... as if to compensate for the ache that is now growing excruciating. With a bit of raccous applause and a bow to his audience, he sets his lute back in its case and snaps it closed, taking a quiet moment to himself as he leans over it.
It's worse than he'd thought. Jaskier had been, for a time, quite sure the potion had healed everything, simply unable to cosmetically restore skin where there was skin no more. Surely he had lost quite a few inches in that blast of chaos. What he was not prepared for is this tension, a string through his muscle that wound so tightly it caused an ache to thrum through the entire appendage. Aching to the point he feared dropping his instrument at the wrong time. Breaking it somehow.
Wiping his face, he pulls the strap of the instrument case around his shoulder and goes to meet Geralt, who is either extremely fucking bored or has come to him for something. He greets him with a smile as he always does, though his arm feels as if a brand has been pressed onto it.]
Well, well. Sneaking in to enjoy your favorite music, I see. [He may not have brought it up, but it is more than once that Jaskier has thought about it -- especially fantasizing what may have happened had it not been interrupted and he had gone to find company elsewhere. It's not the only thing he misses. He imagines right now, Julie's medical herbs would be helping him quite well.
Without ceremony, Jaskier slides in against him, stealing his drink to take a swig to cool his heated throat.] Ale again? Gods, I miss the cocktails already. Free and endless. Now everything tastes a bit bitter in comparison.
[He chatters because it comes naturally, and also to distract: once he's set his lute down to the side, he can't stop himself from rubbing his arm, hoping the movement will soothe the ache.]
He rather likes the idea of moving past the whole event and going on as if nothing has changed. Which, truly, is the way it feels. He does know quite a bit more about Ciri and her position on the Continent, but... all right, it's a lot to take in, but what he's to do about it? They're here, and he may as well continue living the life he has carved out on this sphere while he is here to live it.
There is only one problem. One thing that has changed.
He doesn't quite notice it much as he begins to perform again, selling himself to the local tavern for a handful of coin (and gods, does it feel good to go back to it. All that time sitting in bed gave him more than enough time to work on new songs.) Mostly because after the whole wraith invasion, he is not liken to spent too much time out during the dark. You know, in case such a fiasco happens again. A few mages have reassured that it was a fluke, which is a funny way to say they raised the dead on accident.
But today? Gods. He feels it today. After leaving early on in the morning to go shopping -- or, more accurately, to go spying on things he wanted to purchase and knew well he should not be -- and now having performed for hours, he feels it. At first it was only a slight tingling in his arm, but the longer he holds his lute, the longer he plays, the tighter this cord up his arm tightens until he's nearly biting his tongue with the effort of holding the instrument up.
It's when he's finishing up a set that he sees the Witcher arrive -- it is, after all, rather impossible to miss him -- and he glances away from him, focusing on belting out the last note as enthusiastically as he can... as if to compensate for the ache that is now growing excruciating. With a bit of raccous applause and a bow to his audience, he sets his lute back in its case and snaps it closed, taking a quiet moment to himself as he leans over it.
It's worse than he'd thought. Jaskier had been, for a time, quite sure the potion had healed everything, simply unable to cosmetically restore skin where there was skin no more. Surely he had lost quite a few inches in that blast of chaos. What he was not prepared for is this tension, a string through his muscle that wound so tightly it caused an ache to thrum through the entire appendage. Aching to the point he feared dropping his instrument at the wrong time. Breaking it somehow.
Wiping his face, he pulls the strap of the instrument case around his shoulder and goes to meet Geralt, who is either extremely fucking bored or has come to him for something. He greets him with a smile as he always does, though his arm feels as if a brand has been pressed onto it.]
Well, well. Sneaking in to enjoy your favorite music, I see. [He may not have brought it up, but it is more than once that Jaskier has thought about it -- especially fantasizing what may have happened had it not been interrupted and he had gone to find company elsewhere. It's not the only thing he misses. He imagines right now, Julie's medical herbs would be helping him quite well.
Without ceremony, Jaskier slides in against him, stealing his drink to take a swig to cool his heated throat.] Ale again? Gods, I miss the cocktails already. Free and endless. Now everything tastes a bit bitter in comparison.
[He chatters because it comes naturally, and also to distract: once he's set his lute down to the side, he can't stop himself from rubbing his arm, hoping the movement will soothe the ache.]
Estinien is in the Horizon at roughly the same time every day - at approximately eleven o'clock at night, before going to sleep. Though exceptions have been made, either with him seeking out someone earlier or foregoing his visit for another day, but it's become something of a routine. He has karakul to check on and a garden to tend. It's much easier doing these things in the Horizon than it is in real life.
None of it really seems to need him, though. Not like Maeve and Declan's flock. Any damage can be undone here, and anything he wanted could be created in an instant, rather than grown or built...
There's a hollowness to it, but there's also peace. He made these creatures, somehow, and by his hand they are happy. In that sense, he thinks he is a more benevolent god than most he's encountered in the real world. Maybe it would get more complicated if they knew to ask for anything more than food.
All the same, he finds himself itching for something different, this night. The Horizon is as quiet as ever, with people out and competing with the demands of Abraxas's waking world, so ever so often he finds himself taking the liberty of peering in on other people's domains, to see if anything has changed. The odds of them being here at the same time are slim, after all. What could it hurt?
By letting his thoughts wander, he winds up near a familiar vineyard, almost by accident. He's on wing this time, though the rest of his body is still perfectly Elezen... it's something he's been practicing, after all. Taking the advice that he'd received among these very vines. Too bad he's unlikely to get any more of that in the future.
As he strays close, though, he scans the area for new additions. Some sign of change or progress within the individual that made this place. An easier investigation than actually speaking to the man.
None of it really seems to need him, though. Not like Maeve and Declan's flock. Any damage can be undone here, and anything he wanted could be created in an instant, rather than grown or built...
There's a hollowness to it, but there's also peace. He made these creatures, somehow, and by his hand they are happy. In that sense, he thinks he is a more benevolent god than most he's encountered in the real world. Maybe it would get more complicated if they knew to ask for anything more than food.
All the same, he finds himself itching for something different, this night. The Horizon is as quiet as ever, with people out and competing with the demands of Abraxas's waking world, so ever so often he finds himself taking the liberty of peering in on other people's domains, to see if anything has changed. The odds of them being here at the same time are slim, after all. What could it hurt?
By letting his thoughts wander, he winds up near a familiar vineyard, almost by accident. He's on wing this time, though the rest of his body is still perfectly Elezen... it's something he's been practicing, after all. Taking the advice that he'd received among these very vines. Too bad he's unlikely to get any more of that in the future.
As he strays close, though, he scans the area for new additions. Some sign of change or progress within the individual that made this place. An easier investigation than actually speaking to the man.
While Jaskier's domain does not always contain him in it, it is always occupied. Dragonlets occasionally show up, with large eyes and shining scales, clearly based on the ones he met in Himeka's domain. The vineyard grapes are always growing, but sometimes they shift on their own, reaching across the ground or altering the shape of their trellises.
Jaskier's horses graze the grasses around the vineyard, a pair that never appear to separate. The nuzzle between their mouthfuls of grasses, swinging braided tails and tossing manes tangled with flowers.
And overseeing all of the vineyards, despite their nebulous nature, is a small, furry white creature with leathery wings and a determined expression, a jaunty hat tilted perfectly on his head. Between musical lessons from his mentor, Moglad's single job is to keep the domain safe -- though Jaskier never really expects anyone to seek him out to destroy it.
So it is most unfortunate for Estinien that Moglad takes his job quite seriously, and immediately flies up to meet the form that approaches the vineyards from above, even though his pom shivers a bit in fear.
Until he recognizes that face, as Jaskier would recognize it.
"Sir Estinien! What are you doing here, kupo? Have you come to visit Master Jaskier? Oh, he'll be quite happy to see you, I imagine!" The moogle swirls around him, his wings fluttering happily. Of course his apprentice appreciates the same company Jaskier does.
And he has the same mouth, running off with itself.
"He was wondering how you were doing with the Lady Himeka, kupo! He told me they were engaged! Can you imagine? What a pair!"
Also unfortunately for Estinien, Jaskier takes to frequent nightly trips to the Horizon, mostly to write somewhere he can think outloud to himself. Tonight, though, he senses an ill chill in the wind, and ducks out from inside a shade with clothing that is far less colorful than his usual, stained with grape juice all along the legs. His nose itches, a sure sign he is being talked about. "Moglad! Who on earth are you gossiping to --"
He looks up, spying dragon wings immediately. And who else could it be besides his elven friend? "Estinien, hello! What are you doing up there? Planning on making off with some grapes?"
Clearly his grapes are just that good, if Himeka's constant stealing of them is any indication.
Jaskier's horses graze the grasses around the vineyard, a pair that never appear to separate. The nuzzle between their mouthfuls of grasses, swinging braided tails and tossing manes tangled with flowers.
And overseeing all of the vineyards, despite their nebulous nature, is a small, furry white creature with leathery wings and a determined expression, a jaunty hat tilted perfectly on his head. Between musical lessons from his mentor, Moglad's single job is to keep the domain safe -- though Jaskier never really expects anyone to seek him out to destroy it.
So it is most unfortunate for Estinien that Moglad takes his job quite seriously, and immediately flies up to meet the form that approaches the vineyards from above, even though his pom shivers a bit in fear.
Until he recognizes that face, as Jaskier would recognize it.
"Sir Estinien! What are you doing here, kupo? Have you come to visit Master Jaskier? Oh, he'll be quite happy to see you, I imagine!" The moogle swirls around him, his wings fluttering happily. Of course his apprentice appreciates the same company Jaskier does.
And he has the same mouth, running off with itself.
"He was wondering how you were doing with the Lady Himeka, kupo! He told me they were engaged! Can you imagine? What a pair!"
Also unfortunately for Estinien, Jaskier takes to frequent nightly trips to the Horizon, mostly to write somewhere he can think outloud to himself. Tonight, though, he senses an ill chill in the wind, and ducks out from inside a shade with clothing that is far less colorful than his usual, stained with grape juice all along the legs. His nose itches, a sure sign he is being talked about. "Moglad! Who on earth are you gossiping to --"
He looks up, spying dragon wings immediately. And who else could it be besides his elven friend? "Estinien, hello! What are you doing up there? Planning on making off with some grapes?"
Clearly his grapes are just that good, if Himeka's constant stealing of them is any indication.
[ If Estinien can do it, so can she. That is her reasoning, anyway. And while she is no slouch at aetherial manipulation, actual creation magicks are not anywhere in her areas of expertise. But given the fact that Estinien is now able to wield abilities that he could not be for and so can she, albeit to a less spectacular extent, it stands to reason that what one can do in Horizon may in turn be doable outside.
Somehow.
Some...way. The exact specifics are really beyond her but Himeka isn't the sort to try and figure that out. The only way to know is to do it herself.
As it turns out, transforming oneself in whole is a lot more complicated than she would have realized. Her form in Horizon automatically takes on her sense of self, which still leaves the conflict of her first appearance...but since then she's only been wholly Himeka. Now to un-Himeka herself and keep it consistent is the real challenge. Estinien has seen Nidhogg as some part of himself so his hybrid appearance makes sense. But this? This is wholly for her own curiosity.
So she manages to assume the form of a dragon herself. It's a shame she only managed to max out at about two fulms in length.
But it's a start! And as she reaches out to ride the aether currents like the wind, she finds herself feeling rather peckish after a time. (Yes, one can probably go eternity in Horizon not eating, but eating is one of her favorite things to do.) It's only too fitting that she would find herself not far from Jaskier's domain as the thought of devouring several of those juicy grapes come to mind. She licks her snout in anticipation.
When his vineyard comes into view, she picks up the pace, weaving through the air like an eel. Himeka all but divebombs onto one of the plants, knocking a few grapes off the vine in the process. No matter. Once she untangles herself she greedily starts shoving grapes into her mouth. Or, well, tries to, given that she can only stretch her jaws wide enough to gnaw on one at a time.
Surely a dragon in a vineyard is no cause for alarm. Surely. ]
Somehow.
Some...way. The exact specifics are really beyond her but Himeka isn't the sort to try and figure that out. The only way to know is to do it herself.
As it turns out, transforming oneself in whole is a lot more complicated than she would have realized. Her form in Horizon automatically takes on her sense of self, which still leaves the conflict of her first appearance...but since then she's only been wholly Himeka. Now to un-Himeka herself and keep it consistent is the real challenge. Estinien has seen Nidhogg as some part of himself so his hybrid appearance makes sense. But this? This is wholly for her own curiosity.
So she manages to assume the form of a dragon herself. It's a shame she only managed to max out at about two fulms in length.
But it's a start! And as she reaches out to ride the aether currents like the wind, she finds herself feeling rather peckish after a time. (Yes, one can probably go eternity in Horizon not eating, but eating is one of her favorite things to do.) It's only too fitting that she would find herself not far from Jaskier's domain as the thought of devouring several of those juicy grapes come to mind. She licks her snout in anticipation.
When his vineyard comes into view, she picks up the pace, weaving through the air like an eel. Himeka all but divebombs onto one of the plants, knocking a few grapes off the vine in the process. No matter. Once she untangles herself she greedily starts shoving grapes into her mouth. Or, well, tries to, given that she can only stretch her jaws wide enough to gnaw on one at a time.
Surely a dragon in a vineyard is no cause for alarm. Surely. ]
[It is in the relaxing, beautiful dawn that Jaskier crafted for himself that Moglad's flute pierces the air.
With this desperate desire to find some small bit of solace, of stillness -- a rare thing that Jaskier has ever craved -- he tucks himself into bed and lets his mind move to the Horizon. Relaxation is what he needs, and while he finds plenty of calm wandering between the grape trellises, plucking bugs off the leaves and watering them by hand, he needs... something different.
So off to the side, where his horses previously grazed, he has made tidy, small hot spring with curls of steam rising from it like music notes. Swathes of buttercups surround it, and a steaming tea pot and cup sit nestled on a flat rock beside him. Jaskier leans against the side, cushioned by flowers and with petals caught in his hair, his eyes closed. He must have been here for hours, and yet the water's temperature never lowers.
He is so close to it. A true sense of Peace. Of Zen. (If he understood the concept.)
And then Moglad's flute makes the water all jump in a splash, and him with it.
Moglad dives towards the grapevines, waving his flute all over between blowing on it. Intruder, kupo! Intruder! Thief! Cretin! Criminal! (Apparently, Moglad's dramatics have been learned from a very certain source.) Moglad flutters near the lizard and waves his flute threateningly. Those are Master Jaskier's, kupo!
To Moglad's credit, he's only been tasked with protecting the grapes from anyone else's domain entreating upon his -- whether it be fire, storm, or wild animals. He blows the flute again and, with a curse, Jaskier wraps a towel around himself and comes running, still dripping with the hot spring's water. He holds onto the towel with one hand, the other ready to -- well. Deal with whatever this is.]
What on earth are you shouting about, Moglad? [The moogle cries out dramatically with another Kupo-po-po!, fluttering behind his head as he points towards the lizard shoving a grape into its mouth.
Jaskier blinks down at it.] This? This is the criminal? [He squats down next to it, poking the dragon's side.] Excuse me, my friend. Those are very special grapes. And while I do not mind sharing, I do appreciate a kind how do you do before one goes around shoving them down their gullet.
With this desperate desire to find some small bit of solace, of stillness -- a rare thing that Jaskier has ever craved -- he tucks himself into bed and lets his mind move to the Horizon. Relaxation is what he needs, and while he finds plenty of calm wandering between the grape trellises, plucking bugs off the leaves and watering them by hand, he needs... something different.
So off to the side, where his horses previously grazed, he has made tidy, small hot spring with curls of steam rising from it like music notes. Swathes of buttercups surround it, and a steaming tea pot and cup sit nestled on a flat rock beside him. Jaskier leans against the side, cushioned by flowers and with petals caught in his hair, his eyes closed. He must have been here for hours, and yet the water's temperature never lowers.
He is so close to it. A true sense of Peace. Of Zen. (If he understood the concept.)
And then Moglad's flute makes the water all jump in a splash, and him with it.
Moglad dives towards the grapevines, waving his flute all over between blowing on it. Intruder, kupo! Intruder! Thief! Cretin! Criminal! (Apparently, Moglad's dramatics have been learned from a very certain source.) Moglad flutters near the lizard and waves his flute threateningly. Those are Master Jaskier's, kupo!
To Moglad's credit, he's only been tasked with protecting the grapes from anyone else's domain entreating upon his -- whether it be fire, storm, or wild animals. He blows the flute again and, with a curse, Jaskier wraps a towel around himself and comes running, still dripping with the hot spring's water. He holds onto the towel with one hand, the other ready to -- well. Deal with whatever this is.]
What on earth are you shouting about, Moglad? [The moogle cries out dramatically with another Kupo-po-po!, fluttering behind his head as he points towards the lizard shoving a grape into its mouth.
Jaskier blinks down at it.] This? This is the criminal? [He squats down next to it, poking the dragon's side.] Excuse me, my friend. Those are very special grapes. And while I do not mind sharing, I do appreciate a kind how do you do before one goes around shoving them down their gullet.
Edited 2021-12-12 07:15 (UTC)
[ after participating in Aleksander’s experiment, Cas earned a hefty pouch of coins in payment. Not only did he secure a feathered beret, per Jaskier’s instruction, but a proper outfit as well, reciting the bard’s guidance exactly to the merchant. All shades of blue - earth tones on the cloak and boots, but strictly no tan. Well, the cloak’s bordering on tan, but the tailor assured him the color is russet. He didn’t argue. Really, there were many bizarre color titles being thrown around, most Cas didn't understand (and suspected they had little to do with the materials used for the dyes), but the end result seemed satisfactory.
The form-fitted leather surcoat’s stained a deep navy, the tunic underneath a more medium "steel" (Cas asked if any iron alloys were involved, but the couturier took it as a joke), with the pale undershirt the artisan called “Alice Blue”. Cas isn’t certain who Alice is, but she must’ve been a master clothier to be immortalized in such a delicate dye. The shop keepers explained the palette brought focus to the bright blue of his eyes, and Cas assumed that’s a desired effect. Hopefully Jaskier can advise if not.
Inside the tavern he’d first met the bard near, Cas settles to enjoy the minstrel’s tunes, waiting to approach until he’s finished, given his bow and the request to ‘toss a coin’. Tossing sounds reckless and messy, but the handful of coins he offers with an open palm is equal to what Jaskier first gave him, and a couple extra for interest and gratitude. ]
Jaskier. [ he greets with a small, but warm smile. ] Repayment for your kindness.
[ Then, shuffling around in his satchel, Cas pulls out a second hat, a feathered flat cap in vibrant shades. ]
The appropriate level of ‘flashy’ was unclear, and Dean disapproved of the size of this feather. Perhaps you’d like it instead?
The form-fitted leather surcoat’s stained a deep navy, the tunic underneath a more medium "steel" (Cas asked if any iron alloys were involved, but the couturier took it as a joke), with the pale undershirt the artisan called “Alice Blue”. Cas isn’t certain who Alice is, but she must’ve been a master clothier to be immortalized in such a delicate dye. The shop keepers explained the palette brought focus to the bright blue of his eyes, and Cas assumed that’s a desired effect. Hopefully Jaskier can advise if not.
Inside the tavern he’d first met the bard near, Cas settles to enjoy the minstrel’s tunes, waiting to approach until he’s finished, given his bow and the request to ‘toss a coin’. Tossing sounds reckless and messy, but the handful of coins he offers with an open palm is equal to what Jaskier first gave him, and a couple extra for interest and gratitude. ]
Jaskier. [ he greets with a small, but warm smile. ] Repayment for your kindness.
[ Then, shuffling around in his satchel, Cas pulls out a second hat, a feathered flat cap in vibrant shades. ]
The appropriate level of ‘flashy’ was unclear, and Dean disapproved of the size of this feather. Perhaps you’d like it instead?
Edited (Terminology ) 2021-12-21 20:18 (UTC)
[In some uncertain terms, things by the middle of winter have reached a level of "nearly normal." Geralt is home, Ciri does not appear merely as a dark cloud ready to throttle the world with a clap of thunder, and Jaskier was, well.
He was fine. He was performing again, forcing himself back into the taverns that he so loves and longs for. And making coin again, after nearly draining what they'd had just to keep themselves fed. If there was anything Jaskier was particularly good at, it was not showing anything was wrong when he was performing.
Obviously.
He takes his bow at the end of his set with a,] Thank you, thank you! You're all beautiful. Oh, you, especially. [A flourish, a wink at a pretty blonde in the front, and then his boots clod down from the stage.
Nearly to collide him with -- oh. The rubbish man. He blinks, momentarily caught off guard not by the offering of coin (he is a bard, after all) but that it's... repayment. For kindness.
Whew. He really must've been drinking that night --
With a gasp, he steps back and takes him in.] Holy shit, you actually listened to me? [Oh, that was a bit pathetic sounding, even if his surprise is genuine.] Look at this improvement! This... this glow! You look incredible, can I say? And --
[A gift! He's going to cry. Okay, not really; he takes it without even a pause, placing it, perfectly tilted, on top of his head, where little wisps of brown bangs peek out from under the brim. He takes the coins, too. Thanks. Yoink.] My dear man, whoever your dean is, you needn't listen to his terrible words. This feather is perfectly jaunty. I do, in fact, love it.
He was fine. He was performing again, forcing himself back into the taverns that he so loves and longs for. And making coin again, after nearly draining what they'd had just to keep themselves fed. If there was anything Jaskier was particularly good at, it was not showing anything was wrong when he was performing.
Obviously.
He takes his bow at the end of his set with a,] Thank you, thank you! You're all beautiful. Oh, you, especially. [A flourish, a wink at a pretty blonde in the front, and then his boots clod down from the stage.
Nearly to collide him with -- oh. The rubbish man. He blinks, momentarily caught off guard not by the offering of coin (he is a bard, after all) but that it's... repayment. For kindness.
Whew. He really must've been drinking that night --
With a gasp, he steps back and takes him in.] Holy shit, you actually listened to me? [Oh, that was a bit pathetic sounding, even if his surprise is genuine.] Look at this improvement! This... this glow! You look incredible, can I say? And --
[A gift! He's going to cry. Okay, not really; he takes it without even a pause, placing it, perfectly tilted, on top of his head, where little wisps of brown bangs peek out from under the brim. He takes the coins, too. Thanks. Yoink.] My dear man, whoever your dean is, you needn't listen to his terrible words. This feather is perfectly jaunty. I do, in fact, love it.
[ Ciri's been on the hunt.
This time, it isn't a monster or any manner of beast she's after. It's something much trickier and more elusive, and far less known to her. She spends some time tracking it, asking around at market stalls and shops, describing what she needs. It is lucky, honestly, that they even know what she's talking about; there'd been a chance such a thing didn't even exist in this place.
But in the end, Ciri manages to procure the ingredient she'd been looking for, walking out of a shop carrying 'exotic goods & spices' one sealed little bag of mysterious dark powder richer and her purse quite a bit lighter. After that, it's only a matter of figuring out how to transform the substance into... a drink. That part turns out fiddlier than expected.
It's only when she gets it, in her opinion, absolutely right that she sends out her invitation. A note, slipped under Jaskier's door in the morning before she leaves for the day. ]
Should be back just after sundown. Hope you'll join me.
— C.
This time, it isn't a monster or any manner of beast she's after. It's something much trickier and more elusive, and far less known to her. She spends some time tracking it, asking around at market stalls and shops, describing what she needs. It is lucky, honestly, that they even know what she's talking about; there'd been a chance such a thing didn't even exist in this place.
But in the end, Ciri manages to procure the ingredient she'd been looking for, walking out of a shop carrying 'exotic goods & spices' one sealed little bag of mysterious dark powder richer and her purse quite a bit lighter. After that, it's only a matter of figuring out how to transform the substance into... a drink. That part turns out fiddlier than expected.
It's only when she gets it, in her opinion, absolutely right that she sends out her invitation. A note, slipped under Jaskier's door in the morning before she leaves for the day. ]
Should be back just after sundown. Hope you'll join me.
— C.
[Ah, the practicality of letters. He nearly slips on it during his stumbling to the kitchen for a few fried eggs, but he so does appreciate Ciri's respect for letting him sleep in (a little too much wine the night before, hardly ever happens at all, thank you) instead of waking him up with one of those handy mind-messages.
Though with the way he'd been sleeping, it may have taken a bit of shouting as well.
Hardly ever happens. Yet it has been happening more often as of late, once he watched his potted plants in the window die. Once he looked into the cupboard and saw mold upon his bread. He'd went into the desert for a late afternoon, alone, to stretch his legs and his magic. Though the vines broke through the sand, they lashed at him, dangerously close, before curling and dying on the spot.
For the first time, that magic does feel like Chaos. And with the blackberry bushes of the cemetery beginning to rot near their roots...
Well, whatever Ciri has up her sleeve receives no questions from him. Jaskier's relief that their conversation after Alina's exodus from Cadens has not damaged anything between them remains palpable, and any invitation from her -- thankfully having never involved the slaughter of the local wildlife -- is welcome. When he sends her his response back through their magic, his letters are as curvy and light as ever. A distraction comes sorely needed.]
I haven't the foggiest what you have planned, but I would not dream of missing the illustrious light of your company. I'll even clean up. Just for you.
[As if he isn't always looking his best.]
Though with the way he'd been sleeping, it may have taken a bit of shouting as well.
Hardly ever happens. Yet it has been happening more often as of late, once he watched his potted plants in the window die. Once he looked into the cupboard and saw mold upon his bread. He'd went into the desert for a late afternoon, alone, to stretch his legs and his magic. Though the vines broke through the sand, they lashed at him, dangerously close, before curling and dying on the spot.
For the first time, that magic does feel like Chaos. And with the blackberry bushes of the cemetery beginning to rot near their roots...
Well, whatever Ciri has up her sleeve receives no questions from him. Jaskier's relief that their conversation after Alina's exodus from Cadens has not damaged anything between them remains palpable, and any invitation from her -- thankfully having never involved the slaughter of the local wildlife -- is welcome. When he sends her his response back through their magic, his letters are as curvy and light as ever. A distraction comes sorely needed.]
I haven't the foggiest what you have planned, but I would not dream of missing the illustrious light of your company. I'll even clean up. Just for you.
[As if he isn't always looking his best.]
[ In line with Julie being excellent at throwing parties, she is also an extremely talented gift-giver. She enjoys coming up with and distributing gifts only slightly less than she enjoys receiving them (she really enjoys receiving them). And though she is from a family of neglectful, white trash alcoholics, they have Midwestern manners ingrained deep. At Christmas, you give everyone around you a gift, that's simply how it is. If you can't afford gifts, you make them. If you can't make them, you write a card and do a favor.
In the Horizon, her options are limitless.
On Christmas morning, left outside Jaskier's vineyard, are three things. All three are tied together with the same pink ribbon. One is a set of bath bombs (that may or may not also contain CBD), because that had seemed like something Jaskier would be very into. The next is a box of the fanciest chocolates that she was capable of imagining.
The third, and by far the most obvious, is an albino peacock with a pink bow around its neck.
Left on top of the boxes is a folded piece of paper with familiar handwriting.
Careful, he pecks.
Merry Christmas.
- Julie ]
In the Horizon, her options are limitless.
On Christmas morning, left outside Jaskier's vineyard, are three things. All three are tied together with the same pink ribbon. One is a set of bath bombs (that may or may not also contain CBD), because that had seemed like something Jaskier would be very into. The next is a box of the fanciest chocolates that she was capable of imagining.
The third, and by far the most obvious, is an albino peacock with a pink bow around its neck.
Left on top of the boxes is a folded piece of paper with familiar handwriting.
Careful, he pecks.
Merry Christmas.
- Julie ]
[After he all but stumbles onto these sneakily given gifts, Jaskier is, in fact, inclined to agree. The only thing is, he's not sure why they're there.
Or why he has to make a small yell as the bird suddenly fans out all of these giant, brilliant white feathers to chase him with a horrible screech.] E-excuse me, sir! Would you quit --!
[Eventually he flashes up a bunch of worms to distract the bird, plucking up the note to read it. Then his eyes go back to the bird. Then back to the note.
Christmas. Yule. As Nadine explained. Holy shit.
As the bird gobbles up the bugs with a quiet squawking in between, Jaskier goes through all of the gifts with a quiet warmth in his chest. The large, round things that smell absolutely heavenly. (He learns, very quickly, they are not meant for eating.) However! The small, brown, sweet things? Definitely for eating. And it's only after one all but melts in his mouth he realizes this must be chocolate -- a rare delicacy he's only had in courts and as prizes for very fine arts festivals. They are thoughtful, wonderful gifts. More than he believes he should be getting from a woman he's only met in a dreamscape.
Julie, in time, will find her own note waiting in her domain. He cannot, after all, be outdone.
This holiday is a new one for me, so hopefully the gifts are suitable.
These are one of the rarest creatures on our world, if they even exist at all. Supremely powerful, deadly, and outrageously intelligent. Some akin them to gods. While they're said to only appear to the pure -- and I'm sure neither of us can claim that category -- this one will make an exception.
He will keep you safe, should you need to be here. As a bonus, he's quite handy for delivering letters.
And sure enough, that very note is sticking out of a saddle bag attached to a hand-sized black unicorn, with a iridescent shine reminiscent of a black pearl. The creature bows its head when Julie approaches, offering the note, sharp hooves clicking across the bar countertop. Bright yellow buttercups are braided into his mane, blooming across his flanks. Accompanying the simulacrum of a god is a simple bottle of wine that he made himself, with a label of two birds in flight, locked by their claws, titled Flight of the Sun. To the side lays a very fancy strawberry tart, guarded diligently by its horned protector.
P.S.
Lukasz would like you to know he does not, in fact, peck. But by the gods, he does bite.
And screams.
I adore him. Thank you.
- Julian Alfred Pankratz, or
your esteemed and very flattered friend,
Jaskier
Or why he has to make a small yell as the bird suddenly fans out all of these giant, brilliant white feathers to chase him with a horrible screech.] E-excuse me, sir! Would you quit --!
[Eventually he flashes up a bunch of worms to distract the bird, plucking up the note to read it. Then his eyes go back to the bird. Then back to the note.
Christmas. Yule. As Nadine explained. Holy shit.
As the bird gobbles up the bugs with a quiet squawking in between, Jaskier goes through all of the gifts with a quiet warmth in his chest. The large, round things that smell absolutely heavenly. (He learns, very quickly, they are not meant for eating.) However! The small, brown, sweet things? Definitely for eating. And it's only after one all but melts in his mouth he realizes this must be chocolate -- a rare delicacy he's only had in courts and as prizes for very fine arts festivals. They are thoughtful, wonderful gifts. More than he believes he should be getting from a woman he's only met in a dreamscape.
Julie, in time, will find her own note waiting in her domain. He cannot, after all, be outdone.
This holiday is a new one for me, so hopefully the gifts are suitable.
These are one of the rarest creatures on our world, if they even exist at all. Supremely powerful, deadly, and outrageously intelligent. Some akin them to gods. While they're said to only appear to the pure -- and I'm sure neither of us can claim that category -- this one will make an exception.
He will keep you safe, should you need to be here. As a bonus, he's quite handy for delivering letters.
And sure enough, that very note is sticking out of a saddle bag attached to a hand-sized black unicorn, with a iridescent shine reminiscent of a black pearl. The creature bows its head when Julie approaches, offering the note, sharp hooves clicking across the bar countertop. Bright yellow buttercups are braided into his mane, blooming across his flanks. Accompanying the simulacrum of a god is a simple bottle of wine that he made himself, with a label of two birds in flight, locked by their claws, titled Flight of the Sun. To the side lays a very fancy strawberry tart, guarded diligently by its horned protector.
P.S.
Lukasz would like you to know he does not, in fact, peck. But by the gods, he does bite.
And screams.
I adore him. Thank you.
- Julian Alfred Pankratz, or
your esteemed and very flattered friend,
Jaskier
[ There's a SLAM of the door, far louder and harder than Rinwell intended, as she returns early from her planned excursion to the libraries. Apologies to anyone still home, but you certainly won't miss that she's back!
Rinwell may have pointedly not engaged as much as possible after the first few days (to the point Ciri had called her out for 'sulking'), but apparently certain elements were carrying on the festival spirit, even if the festivities themselves were over.
A balled up enlistment paper for science classes, "to enrich and improve your life beyond outdated magics and antiquated beliefs" is tossed ruthlessly at the trash can in the kitchen. Only then does the mageling begin stomping towards her shared room, soft consoling hoots following in her wake as Hootle flutters around her head. ]
Don't worry, Hootle. I'm fine. [said through gritted teeth] I just need to find my book and that map Ciri gave me, and we can head right out.
[ Out. She's not sure where, exactly, but out feels really needed right now. ]
Rinwell may have pointedly not engaged as much as possible after the first few days (to the point Ciri had called her out for 'sulking'), but apparently certain elements were carrying on the festival spirit, even if the festivities themselves were over.
A balled up enlistment paper for science classes, "to enrich and improve your life beyond outdated magics and antiquated beliefs" is tossed ruthlessly at the trash can in the kitchen. Only then does the mageling begin stomping towards her shared room, soft consoling hoots following in her wake as Hootle flutters around her head. ]
Don't worry, Hootle. I'm fine. [said through gritted teeth] I just need to find my book and that map Ciri gave me, and we can head right out.
[ Out. She's not sure where, exactly, but out feels really needed right now. ]
[It's so lucky that it's Jaskier who's home, because the slam of the door earns a sound that's rather like a "waAAUGH" out of him as his entire body jumps. For gods' sake -- in the middle of his next line of poetry now runs a rather jagged line of ink, and the quill's dripped onto a fold of his shirt.
He sighs, closing the book. All the words will smudge, but it wasn't going well, anyway. Apparently the mood around the house is catching. Hard to tell who it came from first.
He slides out of bed, swinging his legs off first, tucking the songbook in his pocket. Of all the people going around slamming doors, he did not expect --]
Ah, Rinwell. Er -- going somewhere? Or are we planning a little wanton destruction to aid the mood?
[It's not particularly a nudge at Rinwell... he just happens to hang around that sort. (Ciri. Definitely Ciri.)]
He sighs, closing the book. All the words will smudge, but it wasn't going well, anyway. Apparently the mood around the house is catching. Hard to tell who it came from first.
He slides out of bed, swinging his legs off first, tucking the songbook in his pocket. Of all the people going around slamming doors, he did not expect --]
Ah, Rinwell. Er -- going somewhere? Or are we planning a little wanton destruction to aid the mood?
[It's not particularly a nudge at Rinwell... he just happens to hang around that sort. (Ciri. Definitely Ciri.)]
[ The Black Sun has come and gone. Jaskier's flower stall is thriving. They've found a larger place to rent, with an extra bed. It has not been simple. Everything is...still heavy. Aching. But they are moving forward and that's all they can do.
He's been in their home, between contracts as he is, sanding wood and quietly constructing the gryphon its bed. He does not wish to talk about why he's taken upon this project. But the truth is, it reminds him a bit of when he built his cabin in the Horizon. His memories of that time are complicated. The constructing, though. It was good. Working with his hands. Whether he's training, skinning a deer, building a miniature bed—he's always kept his hands busy.
It's late afternoon when he enters the Horizon. He means to look in on Kaer Morhen. To see if he can finally address that. Place. Underneath the keep. To see if he can form it into the lab proper, without the blood, the hollow screams that echo. But he can't bring himself to go down there. He changes his mind—turning to search for Jaskier's domain instead.
He almost walks right by it. The familiarity of the scene is what makes him stop. Of course he recognizes it. What wanderer of the Continent wouldn't? Every traveller's been to Bleobheris. But it's more than that. It carries all the touches of his friend: the creatures, the music.
For a moment, he only looks at it. It's unexpected, and yet so fitting. Much more than the solitary tavern. This, he thinks, is what truly feels like Jaskier.
He strolls through the glade, curious, eyeing what the place has to offer. At the base of the ancient oak, he presses his palm to it. For the first time in a long while, his mind is quiet as he ascends the spiralling stairs. ]
He's been in their home, between contracts as he is, sanding wood and quietly constructing the gryphon its bed. He does not wish to talk about why he's taken upon this project. But the truth is, it reminds him a bit of when he built his cabin in the Horizon. His memories of that time are complicated. The constructing, though. It was good. Working with his hands. Whether he's training, skinning a deer, building a miniature bed—he's always kept his hands busy.
It's late afternoon when he enters the Horizon. He means to look in on Kaer Morhen. To see if he can finally address that. Place. Underneath the keep. To see if he can form it into the lab proper, without the blood, the hollow screams that echo. But he can't bring himself to go down there. He changes his mind—turning to search for Jaskier's domain instead.
He almost walks right by it. The familiarity of the scene is what makes him stop. Of course he recognizes it. What wanderer of the Continent wouldn't? Every traveller's been to Bleobheris. But it's more than that. It carries all the touches of his friend: the creatures, the music.
For a moment, he only looks at it. It's unexpected, and yet so fitting. Much more than the solitary tavern. This, he thinks, is what truly feels like Jaskier.
He strolls through the glade, curious, eyeing what the place has to offer. At the base of the ancient oak, he presses his palm to it. For the first time in a long while, his mind is quiet as he ascends the spiralling stairs. ]
[A lot has changed since he's been in the Horizon.
At least this time, the change was (mostly) intentional. As time went on, as Geralt trained Moglad more, as Jaskier pushed himself back into music. Moglad grew stronger. Dedicated enough that Jaskier even built him training dummies around back of the Bird's Nest simply so he could continue top his heart's content. Training, practicing Witcher signs (Geralt had never even mentioned them to him) until he came t oJaskier to proclaim The shadow is gone! It's gone, Master Jaskier!
He didn't need to ask what that meant. It was, after all, his domain.
The training didn't stop there. And then, out on a walk, he and Moglad discovered a little sprout of a tree growing between the cracked streets of Oxenfurt. Small, curled leaves. Green ones, though. Bright as lit emeralds.
So they had moved stone around it to give it room to grow. Watering, trimming branches, plucking off browned leaves. Together, he and Moglad had nurtured that sprout into a sapling.
Then the sapling to a tree.
It didn't surprise him what his mind pulled on, and once Jaskier realized what the sapling was destined to be, he went head-first into the idea of it. The concept. Something as simple as friendship. A touch of the home he would never return to with the home he lived in now. Nature mixing with the smallest touches of Cadens's technologies -- the fireless lights, the lamps hanging from branches reminiscent of the one Geralt had gifted him.
Speaking of. Jaskier feels him approach before Moglad ever comes to him with the exciting news: Geralt has come to see his new home. (Because of course the moogle has a lovely little room in Bleobheris all to himself, where he hangs his sword after a hard day of adventuring.
Jaskier pokes his head out of a workshop where he's been working on stitching together a book of his songs, his fingers still slightly tacky with glue. The shelves are lined with complete volumes and half-put-together tomes, with imprinted leather covers and long, flowing gold script down the spines.
He gives his friend a wide smile. It is the first time, for a long time, he truly feels himself again.] You like it. I can tell. [Jaskier looks around at it, gives a satisfied sigh, his hands on his hips.] I thought we deserved a piece of home. [His hand finds the wooden walls around them, tracing over the grain.] One of the last truly wonderful places I visited.
At least this time, the change was (mostly) intentional. As time went on, as Geralt trained Moglad more, as Jaskier pushed himself back into music. Moglad grew stronger. Dedicated enough that Jaskier even built him training dummies around back of the Bird's Nest simply so he could continue top his heart's content. Training, practicing Witcher signs (Geralt had never even mentioned them to him) until he came t oJaskier to proclaim The shadow is gone! It's gone, Master Jaskier!
He didn't need to ask what that meant. It was, after all, his domain.
The training didn't stop there. And then, out on a walk, he and Moglad discovered a little sprout of a tree growing between the cracked streets of Oxenfurt. Small, curled leaves. Green ones, though. Bright as lit emeralds.
So they had moved stone around it to give it room to grow. Watering, trimming branches, plucking off browned leaves. Together, he and Moglad had nurtured that sprout into a sapling.
Then the sapling to a tree.
It didn't surprise him what his mind pulled on, and once Jaskier realized what the sapling was destined to be, he went head-first into the idea of it. The concept. Something as simple as friendship. A touch of the home he would never return to with the home he lived in now. Nature mixing with the smallest touches of Cadens's technologies -- the fireless lights, the lamps hanging from branches reminiscent of the one Geralt had gifted him.
Speaking of. Jaskier feels him approach before Moglad ever comes to him with the exciting news: Geralt has come to see his new home. (Because of course the moogle has a lovely little room in Bleobheris all to himself, where he hangs his sword after a hard day of adventuring.
Jaskier pokes his head out of a workshop where he's been working on stitching together a book of his songs, his fingers still slightly tacky with glue. The shelves are lined with complete volumes and half-put-together tomes, with imprinted leather covers and long, flowing gold script down the spines.
He gives his friend a wide smile. It is the first time, for a long time, he truly feels himself again.] You like it. I can tell. [Jaskier looks around at it, gives a satisfied sigh, his hands on his hips.] I thought we deserved a piece of home. [His hand finds the wooden walls around them, tracing over the grain.] One of the last truly wonderful places I visited.
Apologies.
For you and Mog.
[A small picnic basket that is very much for awful, rude gryphons who scratch their owners is placed outside of the door. Within the basket it is notably cooler, and a little hedgehog made of meat has been placed within.
A second basket has a small bottle of white wine meant for summer evenings. A small container has a light salad composed of tender baby spinach greens, a mix of berries, and some fresh farm goat cheese kissed with a drizzle of honey.
The larger container? That has a lightly roasted chicken breast within. Plating in containers is hard, but Alucard has placed little lemon wedges around the de-boned breast that has been poached in wine along with aromatic herbs like thyme and basil along with garlic, and paired it with roasted potatoes dressed in the same herbs.
Desert is set in the other side of the picnic basket. With warm weather, there's precious little more perfect than a light raspberry mousse sprinkled with salt and a faint sprinkle of chopped thyme to add a wonderful contrasting earthiness.
It's this or becoming a part of a Taylor Swift song. So you know.
Effort and no one asking where the fuck Alucard is doing all of this since he lives in a cactus.]
For you and Mog.
[A small picnic basket that is very much for awful, rude gryphons who scratch their owners is placed outside of the door. Within the basket it is notably cooler, and a little hedgehog made of meat has been placed within.
A second basket has a small bottle of white wine meant for summer evenings. A small container has a light salad composed of tender baby spinach greens, a mix of berries, and some fresh farm goat cheese kissed with a drizzle of honey.
The larger container? That has a lightly roasted chicken breast within. Plating in containers is hard, but Alucard has placed little lemon wedges around the de-boned breast that has been poached in wine along with aromatic herbs like thyme and basil along with garlic, and paired it with roasted potatoes dressed in the same herbs.
Desert is set in the other side of the picnic basket. With warm weather, there's precious little more perfect than a light raspberry mousse sprinkled with salt and a faint sprinkle of chopped thyme to add a wonderful contrasting earthiness.
It's this or becoming a part of a Taylor Swift song. So you know.
Effort and no one asking where the fuck Alucard is doing all of this since he lives in a cactus.]
[He really went for it.
This time Jaskier is not quick enough to catch Alucard leaving his gifts -- and honestly, possibly better for the both of them he does not. At first, he's not even sure what he's looking at. And then Mog comes running, winding between his legs, chirping as he sniffs the air.
Someone has already gotten over their bout of hiding post-scratch. And really, Jaskier didn't have the heart to keep ignoring him as punishment. (Look how fucking cute he is.)
As he peels through everything, it's quite clear that Alucard took Jaskier's insult at his message quite seriously. Honestly, this is a feast. How long had it taken him to put all this together?
Jaskier nearly feels bad about it. Almost. Almost.
But he does want his friend to know (they are still friends, yes) his apology was warmly received. So Jaskier visits the cactus at a time when it is still and empty, a note placed just inside that thanks him, sincerely, and gives a review of the food (all of it was delicious.)
On top of the note is a bundle tied up neatly of fresh thyme and rosemary (for his next meal), a few gifts from Mog himself (raven-black feathers still immaculate), and, as a big surprise, a couple of carefully dried vanilla beans, results of Jaskier's experimentations based on a conversation they'd had months back.
Yes, they're still definitely friends.]
This time Jaskier is not quick enough to catch Alucard leaving his gifts -- and honestly, possibly better for the both of them he does not. At first, he's not even sure what he's looking at. And then Mog comes running, winding between his legs, chirping as he sniffs the air.
Someone has already gotten over their bout of hiding post-scratch. And really, Jaskier didn't have the heart to keep ignoring him as punishment. (Look how fucking cute he is.)
As he peels through everything, it's quite clear that Alucard took Jaskier's insult at his message quite seriously. Honestly, this is a feast. How long had it taken him to put all this together?
Jaskier nearly feels bad about it. Almost. Almost.
But he does want his friend to know (they are still friends, yes) his apology was warmly received. So Jaskier visits the cactus at a time when it is still and empty, a note placed just inside that thanks him, sincerely, and gives a review of the food (all of it was delicious.)
On top of the note is a bundle tied up neatly of fresh thyme and rosemary (for his next meal), a few gifts from Mog himself (raven-black feathers still immaculate), and, as a big surprise, a couple of carefully dried vanilla beans, results of Jaskier's experimentations based on a conversation they'd had months back.
Yes, they're still definitely friends.]
Hello is this Jaskier? Viktor told me to ask you if the horse he took out with Ciri came back with her horse, it has his cane.
Thank you,
-Jayce Talis
[ Jayce signs everything he writes, including on here, apparently. ]
Thank you,
-Jayce Talis
[ Jayce signs everything he writes, including on here, apparently. ]
[The name is only somewhat unfamiliar; he's pretty sure he's heard it prior, but has no face to put to it yet. Still, if he's asking for Viktor's cane, he must know him well.]
It is none other. Indeed two horses did return. I know which you're talking about! I found his cane on the one and have it safely tucked away, after I unpacked her. Shall I bring it over? Is he back?
It is none other. Indeed two horses did return. I know which you're talking about! I found his cane on the one and have it safely tucked away, after I unpacked her. Shall I bring it over? Is he back?
[OOC: Popping over from here.]
[While normally Jaskier would be happy to host new company at his house, the tavern Jaskier directs Steve to instead is his favorite, hosting the most of his performances. Home offers the awkward chance of Geralt or Ciri being home, and while he doubts they would disturb either of them, Jaskier instead prefers to be the first face of the household that Steve should meet.
If he is a close friend to Sam, he cannot imagine disliking him. Though Sam certainly has the capability of embracing certain traits that Jaskier may… not have the patience for.
But that isn’t the point! The point is the tavern is a quiet place, and Jaskier is very attached to these little finger sandwiches they serve; it helps the ale is quite good and, of course, nearly everyone knows his name there.
Steve may be Sam’s friend, but Jaskier enjoys making… a small bit of a spectacle of himself. Which involves making a good impression.
Which he is, of course. He’s dressed finely in his favorite blue doublet, embroidered with dandelions (custom, thank you) with the hat that past-Castiel gifted him, peacock feather poking out from the brim.
Jaskier told him to “look for the hat.” It says enough on its own.]
[While normally Jaskier would be happy to host new company at his house, the tavern Jaskier directs Steve to instead is his favorite, hosting the most of his performances. Home offers the awkward chance of Geralt or Ciri being home, and while he doubts they would disturb either of them, Jaskier instead prefers to be the first face of the household that Steve should meet.
If he is a close friend to Sam, he cannot imagine disliking him. Though Sam certainly has the capability of embracing certain traits that Jaskier may… not have the patience for.
But that isn’t the point! The point is the tavern is a quiet place, and Jaskier is very attached to these little finger sandwiches they serve; it helps the ale is quite good and, of course, nearly everyone knows his name there.
Steve may be Sam’s friend, but Jaskier enjoys making… a small bit of a spectacle of himself. Which involves making a good impression.
Which he is, of course. He’s dressed finely in his favorite blue doublet, embroidered with dandelions (custom, thank you) with the hat that past-Castiel gifted him, peacock feather poking out from the brim.
Jaskier told him to “look for the hat.” It says enough on its own.]
Edited 2022-07-17 21:46 (UTC)
[ The Kraken, huh?
Steve's passed the place a number of times by now, but he hasn't ever gone inside. He's staying at a tavern, so there isn't usually much reason to visit the others that are in the city unless for a specific purpose. Like this — an arranged meeting with another Summoned.
Jaskier doesn't seem to be staying at the Sarstina Inn, and that serves as a reminder that Steve might also want to look into renting his own place if he saves up enough. Sam has stayed at Mag's place this entire time, true, but it might be better to open up rooms for other new Summoned as they stream in. Which, from what Steve's heard, will continue to happen.
He steps through the doors of The Kraken and finds a quiet interior, though that might also have to do with the time of day. It's not too late into the evening yet. Steve does a quick scan of the place, and, well. Jaskier hadn't been kidding when he said that he'd be easy to find. That hat is almost taking up the whole room all on its own.
Steve steps over to his table and nods in greeting. ]
Jaskier, right? I'm Steve, from the... [ He makes a circular gesture with his hand, not really sure how to explain. But he's pretty sure he's got the right guy, so. ]
Steve's passed the place a number of times by now, but he hasn't ever gone inside. He's staying at a tavern, so there isn't usually much reason to visit the others that are in the city unless for a specific purpose. Like this — an arranged meeting with another Summoned.
Jaskier doesn't seem to be staying at the Sarstina Inn, and that serves as a reminder that Steve might also want to look into renting his own place if he saves up enough. Sam has stayed at Mag's place this entire time, true, but it might be better to open up rooms for other new Summoned as they stream in. Which, from what Steve's heard, will continue to happen.
He steps through the doors of The Kraken and finds a quiet interior, though that might also have to do with the time of day. It's not too late into the evening yet. Steve does a quick scan of the place, and, well. Jaskier hadn't been kidding when he said that he'd be easy to find. That hat is almost taking up the whole room all on its own.
Steve steps over to his table and nods in greeting. ]
Jaskier, right? I'm Steve, from the... [ He makes a circular gesture with his hand, not really sure how to explain. But he's pretty sure he's got the right guy, so. ]
It's the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, in Boston. Only it's...wrong. The light coming in through the big round window above the altar is red tinted and dim. The columns and vaulting ceiling look shabby and in disrepair. It feels as though there's a layer of grime coating it all. She's alone before the elaborate altar, a scattering of white roses across it.
They look sickly in the odd light.
Turning, she realizes she's not quite alone. The rows of pews are filled with shrouded figures. Funereal wrappings obscure each and every congregant, the bodies sitting straight and as though they'd been posed. They all seem to be looking at her. While she can't see their faces, she can feel their wrapped eyes on her. Unnerved, Nadine slowly makes her way along the aisle between the pews, suddenly aware she's in bare feet. There is a sense of fear that is growing rapidly, and it seems as though the doors of the cathedral remain the same distance away as she walks towards them. There's a pain in her thigh but she ignores it, wide eyed at the altered cathedral.
A shadow moves beyond the floor level stained glass windows of the cathedral. Nadine stops short, gasping, turning towards the motion. There's nothing there now, but she saw it, she knows she did. Some vaguely humanoid shape moving outside. The windows keep her attention. No longer do they show scenes of saints or holy figures. Animals fill their frames now, dressed as saints. A bear, an elephant, a turtle...all twisted in grotesque poses. It's profane. And somehow familiar...
Something outside is howling.
Seemingly unable to come to a decision, Nadine remains frozen on the spot. Blood begins to drip down her leg beneath her white nightgown, a wound high on her inner thigh opening. The cathedral doors burst open in a great call of thunder and more hellish red light floods in. The shrouded figures on the pews begin to shift, slowly, with terrible groans. Heads turn. Shoulders twitch. They struggle in their bindings and Nadine shakes her head with a desperate sound of fear.
The storm comes in. With it, a tall and handsome blond man in denim and cowboy boots. He strides in with lightning arcing behind him. The shroud wrapped bodies writhe and jump at his coming, straining towards him.
"Hey there, babydoll. Miss me?"
No scream comes from Nadine but her mouth opens as though to. Her lips form one strangled word: 'no'. Another crack of thunder and Flagg glitches, the handsome nordic face suddenly a grotesque, cracked mask of black with red eyes and teeth far too long and sharp. Then it's gone again. He advances, making his way with intent precision towards Nadine as she shrinks away. The blood comes heavier now, pooling at her feet.
"I understand you've been a bad girl while I was away, honeybunch....A very bad girl."
Another flash of that other face, Flagg's true face, and clawed hands outstretch. She's frozen, gasping in short dry breaths, curling in on herself but unable to run or speak or offer any manner of defense as the creature masquerading as a man comes ever nearer. But the storm is coming in, the walls of the cathedral melting away to storm clouds and then black nothing that pulls ever tighter onto the horrific scene as the nightmare begins to fade. But not before that handsome face twists again into the visage of a blackened corpse with burning eyes.
"I think I need to teach you a lesson and remind you of your place..."
They look sickly in the odd light.
Turning, she realizes she's not quite alone. The rows of pews are filled with shrouded figures. Funereal wrappings obscure each and every congregant, the bodies sitting straight and as though they'd been posed. They all seem to be looking at her. While she can't see their faces, she can feel their wrapped eyes on her. Unnerved, Nadine slowly makes her way along the aisle between the pews, suddenly aware she's in bare feet. There is a sense of fear that is growing rapidly, and it seems as though the doors of the cathedral remain the same distance away as she walks towards them. There's a pain in her thigh but she ignores it, wide eyed at the altered cathedral.
A shadow moves beyond the floor level stained glass windows of the cathedral. Nadine stops short, gasping, turning towards the motion. There's nothing there now, but she saw it, she knows she did. Some vaguely humanoid shape moving outside. The windows keep her attention. No longer do they show scenes of saints or holy figures. Animals fill their frames now, dressed as saints. A bear, an elephant, a turtle...all twisted in grotesque poses. It's profane. And somehow familiar...
Something outside is howling.
Seemingly unable to come to a decision, Nadine remains frozen on the spot. Blood begins to drip down her leg beneath her white nightgown, a wound high on her inner thigh opening. The cathedral doors burst open in a great call of thunder and more hellish red light floods in. The shrouded figures on the pews begin to shift, slowly, with terrible groans. Heads turn. Shoulders twitch. They struggle in their bindings and Nadine shakes her head with a desperate sound of fear.
The storm comes in. With it, a tall and handsome blond man in denim and cowboy boots. He strides in with lightning arcing behind him. The shroud wrapped bodies writhe and jump at his coming, straining towards him.
"Hey there, babydoll. Miss me?"
No scream comes from Nadine but her mouth opens as though to. Her lips form one strangled word: 'no'. Another crack of thunder and Flagg glitches, the handsome nordic face suddenly a grotesque, cracked mask of black with red eyes and teeth far too long and sharp. Then it's gone again. He advances, making his way with intent precision towards Nadine as she shrinks away. The blood comes heavier now, pooling at her feet.
"I understand you've been a bad girl while I was away, honeybunch....A very bad girl."
Another flash of that other face, Flagg's true face, and clawed hands outstretch. She's frozen, gasping in short dry breaths, curling in on herself but unable to run or speak or offer any manner of defense as the creature masquerading as a man comes ever nearer. But the storm is coming in, the walls of the cathedral melting away to storm clouds and then black nothing that pulls ever tighter onto the horrific scene as the nightmare begins to fade. But not before that handsome face twists again into the visage of a blackened corpse with burning eyes.
"I think I need to teach you a lesson and remind you of your place..."
[ when she wakes, she's in the infirmary. it's a dizzying few hours, figuring out how she got there, what happened, and what state she left nocwich in. she doesn't need the thornean healers to tell her the extent of her injuries, not when she can feel each and every one. her head is still spinning, something about the gas or the poison or the explosion still rattling her. the healers mention potions, mention healing magics, and she pushes them away, being a bit difficult, as she is wont to do. she doesn't want them here, doesn't want any of them around, but when she recognizes that they aren't going to leave unless they feel like they're doing something, she sends a couple off to her office.
yennefer will drink her own potions over whatever it is the healers here have put together. and with one, or all, of them distracted by the errand, her mind immediately shifts, a message sent before she can think better of it. before she can be paranoid, before she can consider if she's at all being watched, fear gripping at her. ]
yennefer will drink her own potions over whatever it is the healers here have put together. and with one, or all, of them distracted by the errand, her mind immediately shifts, a message sent before she can think better of it. before she can be paranoid, before she can consider if she's at all being watched, fear gripping at her. ]
Jaskier-
Tell me you're alright.
Edited 2022-09-04 22:40 (UTC)
[Jaskier's personal healers will find him a much easier patient to deal with, though he also does not wish them to be around him. This particular attack has left him rattled, and though the guards he has now assure him that the man that accompanied him at the delegate meeting is safe, it...
He'd rather be alone.
He'd rather be at home.
And though it could have been far, far worse, he is not unharmed. Made worse by the fact he'd protected that guard, but truthfully, the action had come far before the thought of it. He'd been shielded. Simply... not enough.
It's a great relief when the words flicker behind his eyes, and he nearly falls out of the bed in surprise. Yennefer! Fuck. Of course. He -- and Himeka? Both of them --]
I'm alive. Thankfully. [He doesn't have the energy for a quip, not even "I'm sure you'd miss me if I wasn't." That says enough. The exhaustion he is sinking into isn't entirely from his wounds.
Jaskier touches the bandage on his face, fingers tracing the curve of it on his cheek. Luckily, his room does not have a mirror.] Please tell me nothing happened to you, Yennefer.
He'd rather be alone.
He'd rather be at home.
And though it could have been far, far worse, he is not unharmed. Made worse by the fact he'd protected that guard, but truthfully, the action had come far before the thought of it. He'd been shielded. Simply... not enough.
It's a great relief when the words flicker behind his eyes, and he nearly falls out of the bed in surprise. Yennefer! Fuck. Of course. He -- and Himeka? Both of them --]
I'm alive. Thankfully. [He doesn't have the energy for a quip, not even "I'm sure you'd miss me if I wasn't." That says enough. The exhaustion he is sinking into isn't entirely from his wounds.
Jaskier touches the bandage on his face, fingers tracing the curve of it on his cheek. Luckily, his room does not have a mirror.] Please tell me nothing happened to you, Yennefer.
Edited 2022-09-05 07:24 (UTC)
[When Jaskier does arrive home, there are things waiting. They include a new batch of pierogi - half mushroom stuffed, the other stuffed with potato and cheese in an herbed dough, jugged hare in three small pots to make reheating in portions easier, a soup made of tomato and cucumber with the note serve chilled, additional chicken broth with finely diced vegetables inside, and a tart filled with late peaches in a jammy mess, dusted with powdered sugar.
A note is attached.
Cave or Horizon, only if you feel up for such things. Eat well.
No name is signed. Alucard's pretty sure he doesn't have to anymore.
Who the fuck else would make some of the pierogi look like hedgehogs or other weird animals intermittently?]
A note is attached.
Cave or Horizon, only if you feel up for such things. Eat well.
No name is signed. Alucard's pretty sure he doesn't have to anymore.
Who the fuck else would make some of the pierogi look like hedgehogs or other weird animals intermittently?]
[Alucard is truly a treasure.
It is a bit later on from its initial delivery that the basket is returned to the front of Alucard's cave, with a note placed inside. It's rather thick from the outside, and when opened there is a careful stack of bookmarks with pressed, dried flowers inside.
The note reads, I've already thanked you in person, but you deserve a gift of your own. You spoil us terribly.
Jaskier does, of course, sign. And next to his signature is a giant pawprint like that of a cat's back paw dipped in ink.
The "us" may not have even involved Geralt or Ciri (it did, of course. But also one other.)]
It is a bit later on from its initial delivery that the basket is returned to the front of Alucard's cave, with a note placed inside. It's rather thick from the outside, and when opened there is a careful stack of bookmarks with pressed, dried flowers inside.
The note reads, I've already thanked you in person, but you deserve a gift of your own. You spoil us terribly.
Jaskier does, of course, sign. And next to his signature is a giant pawprint like that of a cat's back paw dipped in ink.
The "us" may not have even involved Geralt or Ciri (it did, of course. But also one other.)]
𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁.
𝓝𝓸, 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂. 𝓘 𝓭𝓸.
𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓂𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒾𝓏𝑒. 𝒮𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝑜, 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒾𝓉. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓉, 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶 𝒻𝒶𝓃. 𝑅𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒶𝑔𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓌𝒾𝒸𝒽.
𝒲𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝑜, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀.
~ 𝐻𝓎𝓉𝒽𝓁𝑜𝒹𝒶𝑒𝓊𝓈
𝓝𝓸, 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂. 𝓘 𝓭𝓸.
𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓂𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒾𝓏𝑒. 𝒮𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝑜, 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒾𝓉. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓉, 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶 𝒻𝒶𝓃. 𝑅𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒶𝑔𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓌𝒾𝒸𝒽.
𝒲𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝑜, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀.
~ 𝐻𝓎𝓉𝒽𝓁𝑜𝒹𝒶𝑒𝓊𝓈
Ah, my friend! Though I cannot lie and say this letter does not surprise me, it is still good to hear from you. I dearly appreciate your thoughts -- especially the ones concerning my performance.
I am alive and well, thank you for asking, and though I was injured I have been healed by rather talented magicians. And how fare you? How is Solvunn? I'm afraid the people of the Free Cities have suffered more than myself. I hope that is not the same case for you.
Jaskier
I am alive and well, thank you for asking, and though I was injured I have been healed by rather talented magicians. And how fare you? How is Solvunn? I'm afraid the people of the Free Cities have suffered more than myself. I hope that is not the same case for you.
Jaskier
[ After waking up to find he'd been trapped in the Horizon for nearly five whole days, Rhy has not been... in a particularly great state. It's been difficult to keep track of the time, and on top of that, the unpleasant effects that have been affecting everyone take days longer to recede.
He hasn't been to the Horizon since. He's not sure he can go back for some time yet.
But, eventually, Rhy realizes he should actually check on Jaskier. He really didn't mean to wait so long. The days have been... slipping away. ]
Jaskier, I hope you're all right. I know it's been a terrible week or so for most of us. Are you safe?
He hasn't been to the Horizon since. He's not sure he can go back for some time yet.
But, eventually, Rhy realizes he should actually check on Jaskier. He really didn't mean to wait so long. The days have been... slipping away. ]
Jaskier, I hope you're all right. I know it's been a terrible week or so for most of us. Are you safe?
[To say they have slipped away is truly an understatement.
Jaskier is cooking a pot of stew simply for something to do when the words lay out across the woodstove. Rhy! Oh, fuck -- he hasn't heard from him, though Jaskier attempted a message between the chaos, and Moglad had said he'd been mostly fine when he left --]
Rhy, my heart, you're all right! Moglad told me -- a bit, as much as he understood -- of your visit. It has been... terrible, yes, but I am, as much as I can be, safe. What of you? How are you? Where on earth did you go?
Jaskier is cooking a pot of stew simply for something to do when the words lay out across the woodstove. Rhy! Oh, fuck -- he hasn't heard from him, though Jaskier attempted a message between the chaos, and Moglad had said he'd been mostly fine when he left --]
Rhy, my heart, you're all right! Moglad told me -- a bit, as much as he understood -- of your visit. It has been... terrible, yes, but I am, as much as I can be, safe. What of you? How are you? Where on earth did you go?
[ Around the end of the month, Jaskier will find a dagger wrapped in its sheathe, waiting by the lute. Commissioned through Jayce, it's as finely crafted as they come.
A small unsigned note accompanies it. As expected, the note is wholly unsentimental. ]
A small unsigned note accompanies it. As expected, the note is wholly unsentimental. ]
It holds a protective enchantment.
Keep it with you.
[Fucking softie.
Jaskier may not make mention or note of the gift at any point, but there may be extra ale that lingers on the kitchen table.]
Jaskier may not make mention or note of the gift at any point, but there may be extra ale that lingers on the kitchen table.]
Edited 2022-11-25 23:25 (UTC)
My dearest husband,
Your presence is required at the Oleuni Square this coming weekend, should you be in such a state to travel. However, should you not be in such a state to travel, you should find means to do so anyway.
See you shortly.
Sincerely,
Your loving Wife
My most pulchritudinous wife,
Though I do find your demand rather -- demanding, you know I would not miss an opportunity to embrace myself in your presence.
I'll be there.
Edited 2022-12-03 04:23 (UTC)
[ On Christmas morning, there will be a box wrapped in gold paper waiting on the doorstep of the Witcher family home. A card on top bears his name in Julie's handwriting, and the inside wishes him a merry Christmas, "or Yule or whatever".
In the box is a gold pocket watch with a chain. When opened, the face of the watch bears a small solar system of planets floating under the glass, all of which orbit and rotate appropriately. Tiny flecks of crystal suspended in the glass imitate stars.
Merry Christmas. ]
In the box is a gold pocket watch with a chain. When opened, the face of the watch bears a small solar system of planets floating under the glass, all of which orbit and rotate appropriately. Tiny flecks of crystal suspended in the glass imitate stars.
Merry Christmas. ]
[Has he ever mentioned Julie is the fucking coolest?
The next time she sees him, he'll absolutely have it tucked into a specially added pocket of his next coat, the chain gently draping out. But in return she will also find, left behind on one of his visits to Nadine, is a bouquet of flowers, roots and all, that shift towards the closest movement to display their heads. When placed on the ground, they'll begin to crawl in whatever direction they're pushed towards.
There is a small rolled parchment that explains: I paid a mage far too many coins to ensure they were impossible to burn, but make rather good target practice. Please let me know if he lied about that. And -- be careful.]
The next time she sees him, he'll absolutely have it tucked into a specially added pocket of his next coat, the chain gently draping out. But in return she will also find, left behind on one of his visits to Nadine, is a bouquet of flowers, roots and all, that shift towards the closest movement to display their heads. When placed on the ground, they'll begin to crawl in whatever direction they're pushed towards.
There is a small rolled parchment that explains: I paid a mage far too many coins to ensure they were impossible to burn, but make rather good target practice. Please let me know if he lied about that. And -- be careful.]
[ A day or two after they've come back -- thankfully all in one piece this time and with a minimum of crises during this Nocwich trip -- Ciri finds Jaskier in their shared home during a quiet moment. The winter solstice is past by a few days, but considering they were busy, she's sure he will forgive her for the belated nature of the gift.
Jaskier receives a large, flat box containing:
- a composition book that includes blank and lined pages; it can be locked using a unique combination of a spoken spell-password and turning of the gears in the way the owner sets. the decoration, aside from the gears, leans heavily on bird and plant themes, with little wings and leaves carved of the brass pieces set into the leather.
- a mechanical quill that can be filled with five different colors ink, and will allow the user to alternate between them by pressing on the wing-shaped lever
- several replacement nibs for different calligraphy
- a seal, complete with a stick of shimmery gold wax, that will stamp a cursive letter J ]
Jaskier receives a large, flat box containing:
- a composition book that includes blank and lined pages; it can be locked using a unique combination of a spoken spell-password and turning of the gears in the way the owner sets. the decoration, aside from the gears, leans heavily on bird and plant themes, with little wings and leaves carved of the brass pieces set into the leather.
- a mechanical quill that can be filled with five different colors ink, and will allow the user to alternate between them by pressing on the wing-shaped lever
- several replacement nibs for different calligraphy
- a seal, complete with a stick of shimmery gold wax, that will stamp a cursive letter J ]
While this is true, I want you to know this is the singular most ominous message that has ever been sent to me.
the very end of the month, like january 29 or something
techmaturgy
- 2023-01-19 17:24 (UTC) - ExpandHey are you free tomorrow?
I know it's really late but I've had a really weird and long month and I just
I just need to talk to somebody about it.
I know it's really late but I've had a really weird and long month and I just
I just need to talk to somebody about it.
[Oh, no. "Weird month" can mean anything from "we were cursed by evil gods again" to "there's more walking corpses." However, whatever it is, Jaskier has never failed to offer himself when his friends need him... especially his lover.]
My dear, I am always free for you. Would you like to come over here? Ciri and Geralt are out, but -- I do know of a quiet place we could go if you would prefer to be out.
My dear, I am always free for you. Would you like to come over here? Ciri and Geralt are out, but -- I do know of a quiet place we could go if you would prefer to be out.
Since you were so disappointed last time
This time I'm writing you in the middle of the night because I had sex.
This time I'm writing you in the middle of the night because I had sex.
What? What? And you're going to stop there? Details, Nadine! Who? When? Well -- okay, I know when, I have figured that out, but -- how was it? With Julie?
[Of course he recognizes that writing from anywhere, and it's not the first time it's ever been... strange.
But nowadays, and after only a small amount of time since he pulled Geralt from his cell, Jaskier is especially short when the mind-letters are. Not easily read. Especially when they're interrupting his new song writing.]
What are you fucking about with now, Geralt? What mage?
But nowadays, and after only a small amount of time since he pulled Geralt from his cell, Jaskier is especially short when the mind-letters are. Not easily read. Especially when they're interrupting his new song writing.]
What are you fucking about with now, Geralt? What mage?
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