[Jaskier blinks at that, with a laugh behind his hand.] Isn't that the point of archaeology? You're simply finding culture that's been dead for a while. [No, no, he's teasing him. He knows precisely what Istredd means; what he's truthfully surprised at is that he really was that dedicated to his craft. But who is he to question it? He's dedicated his entire life to music.
As they walk under the night sky towards town, he plays his fingers along the back of Istredd's hand. He has never forgotten the first look at him: during that fae masquerade, when he wore a mask and his body was like a piece of the night sky. A striking man, and he'd seem so confident until Jaskier had spoken to him. Teased him a little too roughly... and found the man reading the messages he'd been sending to Geralt and Yennefer.
The memory always leaves a smile on his face now. It had not been very funny in the moment.] You sound like you're interviewing me. [Well, he supposes Istredd is. A date is a bit like an interview.] Well, an interest in it got me started. I can't really define a single moment. On my family's estate, we would hold parties for the local lords. There was always music in the background, until a musician once cancelled his performance. He'd come down with the plague. [It happened.] And I noticed the difference of a gathering without music, how dour it seems. How restless tempers become. Though most do not notice the music when it is there, it is dire when it is missing. I wanted to be someone who could control the flow of an entire room simply with the sound of an instrument. And, of course, my voice; I didn't know at the time how good it would become.
[That was more than a matter of practice, after all. He was simply born talented in that aspect.] I don't know if that really answers your question, but I feel it answers them all at once, too. [He turns to Istredd, leaning into his body, intimately stroking his fingertips over the soft skin between Istredd's own digits.] Nothing feels as good as holding someone's attention.
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As they walk under the night sky towards town, he plays his fingers along the back of Istredd's hand. He has never forgotten the first look at him: during that fae masquerade, when he wore a mask and his body was like a piece of the night sky. A striking man, and he'd seem so confident until Jaskier had spoken to him. Teased him a little too roughly... and found the man reading the messages he'd been sending to Geralt and Yennefer.
The memory always leaves a smile on his face now. It had not been very funny in the moment.] You sound like you're interviewing me. [Well, he supposes Istredd is. A date is a bit like an interview.] Well, an interest in it got me started. I can't really define a single moment. On my family's estate, we would hold parties for the local lords. There was always music in the background, until a musician once cancelled his performance. He'd come down with the plague. [It happened.] And I noticed the difference of a gathering without music, how dour it seems. How restless tempers become. Though most do not notice the music when it is there, it is dire when it is missing. I wanted to be someone who could control the flow of an entire room simply with the sound of an instrument. And, of course, my voice; I didn't know at the time how good it would become.
[That was more than a matter of practice, after all. He was simply born talented in that aspect.] I don't know if that really answers your question, but I feel it answers them all at once, too. [He turns to Istredd, leaning into his body, intimately stroking his fingertips over the soft skin between Istredd's own digits.] Nothing feels as good as holding someone's attention.