[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.]
no subject
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.]