[ Ciri, a fool like her father, hadn't even thought for a moment that Jaskier might assume they were going out. So when she finds him waiting for her in his finest (and a fancy new feathered cap?), she pauses in the doorway and sort of... blinks at him, while he helps her with the bags in true gentlemanly fashion. ]
Er, I like... your hat.
[ Had he been somewhere fancy before coming home?
The question forestalls her own. Ciri glances down at the handful of flowers she's holding, then bursts into a grin, thrusting them out at Jaskier. ]
An apprentice inventor at the market. She made them herself. Said they'd glow all week.
Isn't it lovely? A gift from an admiring fan. [He smiles. It's not technically a lie. Castiel is certainly a fan. Of... er. His fashion advice? Look, it worked out, and he got a free hat and a few extra coins.
It's been awhile since he could claim anything similar. Gods, he missed performing. It was... it was everything to him, and yet with his mind preoccupied with Geralt's condition, he hadn't been able to write, let alone play.
Now here he is again. Finding his feet, like a newborn lamb.]
Oooh. An inventor. Was she pretty? [He matches her grin, taking the bundle. Despite all the magic he's seen here, he still wonders at the glow of them. A bouquet of stars. They really are beautiful. Unspeakably so.] They're stunning. Like candlelight. [And barely even warm to the touch, lighting his fingertips aglow, red skin over the yellow.] What do you mean to do with them? I suppose I could braid a few into your hair. Ah! That would look good, don't you think?
[ Ciri snorts, giving him a look. Amused, more than anything, as he obviously couldn't have known, but she thinks it's funny that's the first thing he asks. (She is also too dumb to realize he might have been asking on her behalf more than his own. Oops.) ]
She was just a girl. Couldn't have been more than fourteen summers old. [ Making the accomplishment even more impressive. ] Said it was some sort of... chemical reaction occurring from the types of... alloys? Used in the wire? It went a bit over my head, really.
[ Ciri moves into the kitchen as she talks, leaving the flowers in Jaskier's hands and forgetting to inform him that they are a gift, in the meantime busying herself pulling out the ingredients she'll need. It's not until Jaskier mentions braiding them into her hair that Ciri seems to realize they're not on the same page. Maybe she's just a little excited, or distracted, or both.
Ah. ]
Jaskier! [ There's been a misstep here. Ciri sets the bottle of milk on the counter, wipes her hands on her trousers, and comes back around to stand in front of the bard. Her fingers curl, gently, over his wrists, holding his hands around the flowers. This time, she holds his gaze. ]
No, you see... I picked them out for you. I thought you'd like--
[ She falters, suddenly embarrassed. ]
It's a bit silly, isn't it? But the color reminded me of you.
Fourteen? And she invented this? Perhaps the Free Cities are right about their emphasis on the sciences. [Of course Jaskier finds much to be admired about frivolous, pretty little things.
He blinks, looking up with a slight pout. He knows that tone. It's a very chiding one.] What?
[Oh. He smiles, delighted. It's not exactly frequent that Jaskier gets gifts -- certainly not from present company, or her father -- but they're all the more meaningful for their rarity. He holds them tighter, bringing them to his chest.]
How dare you? No! It isn't silly at all. I love them, Ciri. [He leans in, kissing her on the cheek, though it definitely leaves the hat on his head tilted at a stupid angle.] I should be so lucky that a pretty, glowing flower should remind you of me. [He pauses, considering.] You know, if I keep growing this mop out, I might nearly be long enough to braid them into mine.
[ Ciri beams, a little pink around the cheeks, and reaches up to nudge Jaskier's hat back into place with a tap of her finger. ]
Oh, wouldn't that look dashing? [ She laughs, and, satisfied that he's happy with the gift, turns back to the kitchen to finish unpacking what she'd bought. ] You'd make even more of an impression when you perform as a glowing bard.
Your hair looks very nice today, even without, though. Were you out somewhere?
[ Ciri pulls out the jar of sugar, lining it up on the counter with the bag of cacao powder and the bottle of milk, and starts going for the pots. ]
As if I need the help! But it would certainly chase out any of my less savory impressions.
[Why did Sypha have to bring up the penis cactus???? Except he lets that slip and he does not ever, in any realm, mean for Ciri to know about it, so he continues on very quickly with nary an extra breath taken.]
Ah, thank you! The efforts of a very hot bath and -- all right, oil that cost more than I should've spent, but I think I've finally divined all of its ingredients so I can try a hand at replicating it. [Which he definitely will be roping Geralt into helping with. Look, the man knows how to brew a potion.] Wait, was I -- [He can't miss that this is the energy of someone who's returned home and is beginning to settle in, not prepare to leave once again.] Ah. I had the idea that this we business would be taking place outside the home, at the festival.
[With only a small amount of wilting to his person, he removes his hat, placing it on the table. He has yet to put the flowers down, though.] Clearly you have other plans. It would be wonderful if you were inclined to clue me in on them.
[ Ciri doesn't bother asking about the less savory impressions, so you're welcome for that, Jaskier. Once again, she seems to realize belatedly that there's been a miscommunication. Shit. This is what she gets for trying to surprise Jaskier... maybe explaining is better than surprises.
The way Jaskier seems to deflate a little makes her feel bad, and Ciri hurries to reassure him. ]
Oh, right. The festival! Yes, I mean-- well, I hadn't planned on it, but if you wanted to go, I would be happy to join you.
[ She really hasn't been thinking about it, honestly. Rinwell doesn't like the whole concept behind it, and Ciri can't blame her, but for Ciri it's more that she's-- distracted. A lot has happened. Is happening. And with the Cities and Thorne making moves at the Singularity, she's a bit on edge. But the celebration itself has little to do with what will be happening around the Singularity, and unlike Rinwell, Ciri doesn't feel particularly threatened by the celebration of technology, even if some people around here get snobby about it being superior to magic. She might have plenty of magic of her own (that she didn't ask for), but Ciri holds very little emotional attachment to the concept of it.
If Jaskier wants to go to the lights and inventions party, they can go. Ciri has already decided she wants to spend the evening with him, after all.
Which means, at last, an explanation is in order. She clears her throat, sheepish, and picks up the folded paper bag containing the rather pricy powder, fidgeting with it and crinkling the corners under her fingers. ]
I wanted to make something for you. Something I think you'd like.
Tempting offer, truthfully, but I've already taken my hat off. [He recognizes what she's doing, giving a tease in return. And then, more seriously:] I would like company, but I should think it'll be even more fun if we drag Geralt out to it later.
[It's a two birds with one stone situation: he wants to distract them both. Wait. No, three birds. He wants to distract himself, even. And have fun, gods forbid.
He removes his coat, tossing it around the back of a chair, hanging under his hat, and takes a seat. Propped on the edge of it, perhaps with an eager glow in his eye. And something much softer.]
Oh, my dear girl. I'm honored. Truly. I would much rather see what this surprise of yours is. Though... I'll be honest, for what? I haven't even finished writing another song about you yet.
[Which he might be doing, now that he feels like he can write again. Maybe.]
[ Oh, no. That earnest look. The way his eyes follow her intently, with that gentleness, is suddenly-- too much. Her face feels hot.
Ciri quickly finishes unwrapping the bag, ducks aside to grab a spoon and get the pot on the stove and busy herself measuring out what she needs. Without responding. For now. ]
Er -- that's not important. It -- look, you know I find inspiration everywhere. I was beginning to work on one, you know, before. Back on our sphere. But I didn't know you. I hadn't enough to go off to finish it.
[The Lion Cub of Cintra wasn't his best, and though he'd written of the banquet, of Pavetta and Duny, of the day that Destiny decided Ciri and Geralt were bound, he... it had not felt right that he should finish it, when he could not guess its ending. Back then, Geralt had still pretended the child wasn't his. He still denied his destiny.
It had never felt right.
Now he has had his long, joyous, tumultuous months getting to know her. Understanding the person she is destined to be. Although she is hardheaded and fiery and dangerous, she's also someone that he is utterly glad to have met.
Jaskier has, to himself, even wondered if he was destined to meet her, too. He likes to think so.
He props his head on a hand, still watching her back, smiling in amusement. Ah, his questions being ignored is a frequent occurrence. Lucky he's so used to it.] Do you want to hear some of it? The melody of the ashen-haired warrior? I have a tentative title: The Conflagaration of the Princess Tempers The Blade Of The Heroine. A bit too long to roll off the tongue, though.
[ Back on their sphere. In his time. Before they'd ever met...? Hm.
When he doesn't share details, she doesn't ask, letting him change the subject and listening while she begins to heat up a bit of the milk. Best to keep the powder and sugar melting into it smoothly, she's found. Doing it little by little, stirring frequently. Jaskier should know by now, he's the one who bakes; Ciri can cook just fine for practicality's sake, enough to feed herself and them when needed (though Hector and Rinwell have been taking care of it recently), but Jaskier's rarely seen her tending something over the stove like this.
At least it means she's busy and doesn't have to look at him directly while she's still blushing. ]
The... what? [ She barks a laugh, glancing over her shoulder incredulously. ]
The conflagration? Are you going to set the heroine on fire?
[ This sounds like a prospect that greatly amuses her, at least. ]
[It's because he loves Ciri deeply that he doesn't immediately launch into an insulted tirade at her laugh. The title was both enigmatic and meant to entice those of the fairer sex with the tale of a warrior woman. And Ciri was laughing at it! At the song for her.
He turns away with a flush that settles high on his cheeks, a flash in his eyes. A momentary anger that cools itself as quickly as it comes. He knows she means nothing by it. Still.]
It's a metaphor. I took elements of the legends of the phoenix to symbolize the rebirth of someone reduced to a mere royal title to a strong, capable woman.
[(It was only one laugh, but that's more than enough.) Yes, Jaskier still has an ego akin to an overripe peach; easily bruised, gushing sweet indignation.] But now I'm not so sure I'd like to hear you laugh at the lyrics if the title sends you into such fits.
Edited (jaskier's a little bitch) 2021-12-29 09:37 (UTC)
[ When will Jaskier learn that his outbursts are far more motivation to tease him than to stop? He's getting so worked up over it with such obviously overblown annoyance, Ciri can just imagine his expression without even looking at him most of the time. The way he places extra emphasis on his words and punctuates his complaints with a snapped-off bite, the bard's as prickly as the cactus he made a certain vampire. ]
I know what a metaphor is. And I do like that bit about the phoenix. Maybe put that in the title?
[ She seems to be ignoring the fact he's throwing a tantrum behind her, though. This part is fussy. She doesn't want the milk to boil. ]
Something about the sword that rose from the ashes... or some such. A title should be easy to remember. To get people shouting for it when you perform. Isn't that right?
[He mumbles to himself about well, I sure as fuck know who didn't teach you that, allowing himself the moment to, ah. Get over it. Though honestly, this is close to the criticism that boy Mal had given him, and look how that had gone over.
Ciri, however, is a trusted... er, whatever she is to him. A friend, at the very least, so he will be wise and accept it.
It's fair enough. The song is about her.]
Very well. [He says, through slightly clenched teeth. He sniffs. At first, it's about the swelling storm in his chest, but then he realizes there's something in the air. Fire, of course, and heat, but a sweeter smell, too. His fingers move to his hat, stroking the peacock feather sticking out of it.]
Contrary to popular belief, not every poem I write is so I can hear stamping feet and empty brains echo it back to me. However, I do enjoy the idea that your song will be one that is celebrated. [He sniffs again. Milk? What on earth is she doing, anyway?] As you should be. [Look, he's turning on the charm again. After a moment, he stands to go to his drawer, pulling out his songwriting journal (with Alina's note still tucked in the back.) He flickers through the pages, returning to his seat.] Rekindled Blade? But it lacks reference to the heroine. It's not about swords. Though I know you're very much all about swords. [The quill scratches over his paper and he hmms.] From Ashes, Comes Steel And Kohl?
[She does, after all, love her lined eyes.] No. Terrible. What -- what are you doing, anyway? Don't tell me you've been inflicted with my little bread-making... ah. Bug.
Oh, don't be cross, Jaskier. I never said I didn't like it. [ Ciri's laugh is gentler this time, her tone soothing. Coaxing this ridiculous man out of his unnecessary dramatics like she's done this before. She still doesn't look over, concentrating on her stirring until the milk is the right color and consistency. ]
Isn't the metaphor that I am the sword? [ See. She knows what a metaphor is! Ciri licks the spoon, tentatively testing it-- Then pulls a face and adds more sugar. ]
I told you. I'm making something. [ Hmm. The next lick is better. Ciri waves him over. ]
Nadine showed me. It's called chocolate. This one is hot.
Hot chocolate.
I'm sure you've never tasted anything like it. Bring the mugs closer. I think it's ready.
All right, he is a bit.] It's -- there's a process here that I'm trying to relate --
[He tilts his head at her expression, unable to tamp his curiousity down.] Hot chocolate? It smells like milk. [Ah, it must have been something she made in the Horizon. With the mention of Nadine, any potential cross-ness evaporates. Their last encounter, after all, was a warm one.
He grabs the mugs as ordered, peering over her shoulder. Closer, he can smell more of it. And it is... sweet. Like a cake. It's a good night for something hot, with the cold creeping in.] If it's this good, surely it will help stoke my creative fires. And you found this in the markets, really?
[He wouldn't know what to look for. He's come to terms that plenty of the things in the Horizon are not things they can find here, in this world. Reaching over her shoulder, he pokes a finger in -- and hisses, jerking it out.] Ow. Oh. Ooh, you weren't kidding about the hot part.
[Still, he sucks it off his finger. That. That. Now that is intriguing.]
[He shakes his hand in the air with a soft ooo. It's. Fine.
Jaskier blinks at her at her exclamation, his finger only faintly warm now. What, is she... worried?] Ciri, I've been playing the lute for two decades. Do you really think I have any feeling in these fingers anymore? Gods, you could put a flame straight to one and I doubt I'd hardly feel a thing.
[It would be funny to stick his finger in the fire to display, but for the sake of, er, keeping his fingerprints, he will refrain. Besides, it's -- it's rather new, that showing of concern. He sort of likes it. Big tough monster hunter with a giant scar down her face, yet she worries over a small kitchen fire near... the grown adult bard.]
Whatever you've done with it, it tastes absolutely intriguing. Come on, then! Here's the mugs.
[ Ciri stares at him a beat, then just... sighs. A very Geralt-like sigh, somehow.
She ignores him, and reaches for the mugs instead, ladling out some of the rich brown liquid into each and sliding one steaming cup back to Jaskier before turning off the flame, picking up her own mug, and bring it to the table so they can sit and enjoy it. ]
[And as Geralt-like as it is, Jaskier ignores it cheerfully. Look, his finger barely even hurts now, and he's eager for... for what he is realizing now is another gift. Not just the flowers, but this. That she asked around for.
Filled up, he takes the mug and wraps both hands around it to warm them. He pulls a chair out with a curl of his foot around the leg, then sits close by her.
He closes his eyes, inhaling it just under his nose like a wine. It smells nothing like one, but the scent is deep, sweet. It leaves his mouth watering even as new as it is.
He tastes. Taking a soft breath after to release a bit of the heat.
His smile is gentle.] It's marvelous, Ciri. Thank you.
[ Ciri sits beside him, cradling her own mug between her palms, peeking at Jaskier sidelong through the wisps of her bangs to catch his expression when he takes the first proper sip. ]
You like it. [ She sounds relieved, shoulders loosening, smile bright in her eyes. It doesn't need to be a question. The reaction is enough. ]
Good. I'm glad.
--oh! I have a honey cake too. If you're hungry.
[ Because hot chocolate and cake are definitely dinner. ]
[Others may be not so eager to throw the word out, but Jaskier is. It's warm enough one can feel it all the way down their throat, hitting their belly. It's not invasive, however. It's simply... comforting. The taste nearly as sweet as a sweet roll, but an entirely different flavor. It was incredibly hard to describe.
So he drinks more instead.
He brightens ever further.] And a honey cake! Gods, Ciri, I might mistake today for my nameday, the way you're spoiling me. Am I really worthy of all this?
[ Ciri is enjoying her drink too, taking little sips of the rich beverage. Nadine had advised her to try adding cinnamon too, but she'd wanted to show him the flavor she'd first tried. But there's still half a pot left. Maybe in a bit, she can mix it in and warm it back up--
Jaskier's effusive praise makes her cheeks feel hot. Maybe she's overdone it.
Ciri ducks her head, covering her embarrassment with the mug held over half her face, presumably to breathe in the sweet steam rising from the hot chocolate. ]
[As if Jaskier doesn't know the well-practiced moves of the easily flustered. That it is Ciri, who he has witnessed slaughter men effortlessly, who has portaled across sand and dunes, who has ridden horses like a demon -- it makes it all the better.
It's no longer a question why a man like Geralt could love a child so easily. Not because she is easy to get along with, or that she is completely comprehensible. Both things are false. It's... perhaps the answer truly lies in Ciri's sincerity in all things.
It is a quality that inspires men and women alike. A quality that has fools follow after a man's footsteps for a lifetime.]
I know. [He laughs quietly into his next sip.] I only wanted to hear you say it.
[ Quieting, Ciri buries her face in her cup too, taking small sips while it's still hot. She looks away, feeling-- it's stupid, but she feels a little nervous, almost. For what? There's no reason. Jaskier is enjoying her gift. They are enjoying each other's company, just as she'd hoped.
But she knows she hasn't... explained. And it's difficult to figure out how. ]
You... [ Ciri begins after a minute or so of silence, nudging her cup around for something to do with her hands while she searches for the words as if they might appear in her drink. She tries again. ]
You stayed. When I needed you. You gave me more than you give yourself credit for.
Of course you're worth it.
[ She doesn't mean this, precisely. Not only this. There's... so much more. ]
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
no subject
like her father, hadn't even thought for a moment that Jaskier might assume they were going out. So when she finds him waiting for her in his finest (and a fancy new feathered cap?), she pauses in the doorway and sort of... blinks at him, while he helps her with the bags in true gentlemanly fashion. ]Er, I like... your hat.
[ Had he been somewhere fancy before coming home?
The question forestalls her own. Ciri glances down at the handful of flowers she's holding, then bursts into a grin, thrusting them out at Jaskier. ]
An apprentice inventor at the market. She made them herself. Said they'd glow all week.
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It's been awhile since he could claim anything similar. Gods, he missed performing. It was... it was everything to him, and yet with his mind preoccupied with Geralt's condition, he hadn't been able to write, let alone play.
Now here he is again. Finding his feet, like a newborn lamb.]
Oooh. An inventor. Was she pretty? [He matches her grin, taking the bundle. Despite all the magic he's seen here, he still wonders at the glow of them. A bouquet of stars. They really are beautiful. Unspeakably so.] They're stunning. Like candlelight. [And barely even warm to the touch, lighting his fingertips aglow, red skin over the yellow.] What do you mean to do with them? I suppose I could braid a few into your hair. Ah! That would look good, don't you think?
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She was just a girl. Couldn't have been more than fourteen summers old. [ Making the accomplishment even more impressive. ] Said it was some sort of... chemical reaction occurring from the types of... alloys? Used in the wire? It went a bit over my head, really.
[ Ciri moves into the kitchen as she talks, leaving the flowers in Jaskier's hands and forgetting to inform him that they are a gift, in the meantime busying herself pulling out the ingredients she'll need. It's not until Jaskier mentions braiding them into her hair that Ciri seems to realize they're not on the same page. Maybe she's just a little excited, or distracted, or both.
Ah. ]
Jaskier! [ There's been a misstep here. Ciri sets the bottle of milk on the counter, wipes her hands on her trousers, and comes back around to stand in front of the bard. Her fingers curl, gently, over his wrists, holding his hands around the flowers. This time, she holds his gaze. ]
No, you see... I picked them out for you. I thought you'd like--
[ She falters, suddenly embarrassed. ]
It's a bit silly, isn't it? But the color reminded me of you.
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Fourteen? And she invented this? Perhaps the Free Cities are right about their emphasis on the sciences. [Of course Jaskier finds much to be admired about frivolous, pretty little things.
He blinks, looking up with a slight pout. He knows that tone. It's a very chiding one.] What?
[Oh. He smiles, delighted. It's not exactly frequent that Jaskier gets gifts -- certainly not from present company, or her father -- but they're all the more meaningful for their rarity. He holds them tighter, bringing them to his chest.]
How dare you? No! It isn't silly at all. I love them, Ciri. [He leans in, kissing her on the cheek, though it definitely leaves the hat on his head tilted at a stupid angle.] I should be so lucky that a pretty, glowing flower should remind you of me. [He pauses, considering.] You know, if I keep growing this mop out, I might nearly be long enough to braid them into mine.
no subject
Oh, wouldn't that look dashing? [ She laughs, and, satisfied that he's happy with the gift, turns back to the kitchen to finish unpacking what she'd bought. ] You'd make even more of an impression when you perform as a glowing bard.
Your hair looks very nice today, even without, though. Were you out somewhere?
[ Ciri pulls out the jar of sugar, lining it up on the counter with the bag of cacao powder and the bottle of milk, and starts going for the pots. ]
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[Why did Sypha have to bring up the penis cactus???? Except he lets that slip and he does not ever, in any realm, mean for Ciri to know about it, so he continues on very quickly with nary an extra breath taken.]
Ah, thank you! The efforts of a very hot bath and -- all right, oil that cost more than I should've spent, but I think I've finally divined all of its ingredients so I can try a hand at replicating it. [Which he definitely will be roping Geralt into helping with. Look, the man knows how to brew a potion.] Wait, was I -- [He can't miss that this is the energy of someone who's returned home and is beginning to settle in, not prepare to leave once again.] Ah. I had the idea that this we business would be taking place outside the home, at the festival.
[With only a small amount of wilting to his person, he removes his hat, placing it on the table. He has yet to put the flowers down, though.] Clearly you have other plans. It would be wonderful if you were inclined to clue me in on them.
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The way Jaskier seems to deflate a little makes her feel bad, and Ciri hurries to reassure him. ]
Oh, right. The festival! Yes, I mean-- well, I hadn't planned on it, but if you wanted to go, I would be happy to join you.
[ She really hasn't been thinking about it, honestly. Rinwell doesn't like the whole concept behind it, and Ciri can't blame her, but for Ciri it's more that she's-- distracted. A lot has happened. Is happening. And with the Cities and Thorne making moves at the Singularity, she's a bit on edge. But the celebration itself has little to do with what will be happening around the Singularity, and unlike Rinwell, Ciri doesn't feel particularly threatened by the celebration of technology, even if some people around here get snobby about it being superior to magic. She might have plenty of magic of her own (that she didn't ask for), but Ciri holds very little emotional attachment to the concept of it.
If Jaskier wants to go to the lights and inventions party, they can go. Ciri has already decided she wants to spend the evening with him, after all.
Which means, at last, an explanation is in order. She clears her throat, sheepish, and picks up the folded paper bag containing the rather pricy powder, fidgeting with it and crinkling the corners under her fingers. ]
I wanted to make something for you. Something I think you'd like.
To... thank you.
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[It's a two birds with one stone situation: he wants to distract them both. Wait. No, three birds. He wants to distract himself, even. And have fun, gods forbid.
He removes his coat, tossing it around the back of a chair, hanging under his hat, and takes a seat. Propped on the edge of it, perhaps with an eager glow in his eye. And something much softer.]
Oh, my dear girl. I'm honored. Truly. I would much rather see what this surprise of yours is. Though... I'll be honest, for what? I haven't even finished writing another song about you yet.
[Which he might be doing, now that he feels like he can write again. Maybe.]
no subject
Another? Did you write a song about me already?
[ Oh, no. That earnest look. The way his eyes follow her intently, with that gentleness, is suddenly-- too much. Her face feels hot.
Ciri quickly finishes unwrapping the bag, ducks aside to grab a spoon and get the pot on the stove and busy herself measuring out what she needs. Without responding. For now. ]
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Er -- that's not important. It -- look, you know I find inspiration everywhere. I was beginning to work on one, you know, before. Back on our sphere. But I didn't know you. I hadn't enough to go off to finish it.
[The Lion Cub of Cintra wasn't his best, and though he'd written of the banquet, of Pavetta and Duny, of the day that Destiny decided Ciri and Geralt were bound, he... it had not felt right that he should finish it, when he could not guess its ending. Back then, Geralt had still pretended the child wasn't his. He still denied his destiny.
It had never felt right.
Now he has had his long, joyous, tumultuous months getting to know her. Understanding the person she is destined to be. Although she is hardheaded and fiery and dangerous, she's also someone that he is utterly glad to have met.
Jaskier has, to himself, even wondered if he was destined to meet her, too. He likes to think so.
He props his head on a hand, still watching her back, smiling in amusement. Ah, his questions being ignored is a frequent occurrence. Lucky he's so used to it.] Do you want to hear some of it? The melody of the ashen-haired warrior? I have a tentative title: The Conflagaration of the Princess Tempers The Blade Of The Heroine. A bit too long to roll off the tongue, though.
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When he doesn't share details, she doesn't ask, letting him change the subject and listening while she begins to heat up a bit of the milk. Best to keep the powder and sugar melting into it smoothly, she's found. Doing it little by little, stirring frequently. Jaskier should know by now, he's the one who bakes; Ciri can cook just fine for practicality's sake, enough to feed herself and them when needed (though Hector and Rinwell have been taking care of it recently), but Jaskier's rarely seen her tending something over the stove like this.
At least it means she's busy and doesn't have to look at him directly while she's still blushing. ]
The... what? [ She barks a laugh, glancing over her shoulder incredulously. ]
The conflagration? Are you going to set the heroine on fire?
[ This sounds like a prospect that greatly amuses her, at least. ]
Please, I'd love to hear it!
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He turns away with a flush that settles high on his cheeks, a flash in his eyes. A momentary anger that cools itself as quickly as it comes. He knows she means nothing by it. Still.]
It's a metaphor. I took elements of the legends of the phoenix to symbolize the rebirth of someone reduced to a mere royal title to a strong, capable woman.
[(It was only one laugh, but that's more than enough.) Yes, Jaskier still has an ego akin to an overripe peach; easily bruised, gushing sweet indignation.] But now I'm not so sure I'd like to hear you laugh at the lyrics if the title sends you into such fits.
no subject
I know what a metaphor is. And I do like that bit about the phoenix. Maybe put that in the title?
[ She seems to be ignoring the fact he's throwing a tantrum behind her, though. This part is fussy. She doesn't want the milk to boil. ]
Something about the sword that rose from the ashes... or some such. A title should be easy to remember. To get people shouting for it when you perform. Isn't that right?
no subject
Ciri, however, is a trusted... er, whatever she is to him. A friend, at the very least, so he will be wise and accept it.
It's fair enough. The song is about her.]
Very well. [He says, through slightly clenched teeth. He sniffs. At first, it's about the swelling storm in his chest, but then he realizes there's something in the air. Fire, of course, and heat, but a sweeter smell, too. His fingers move to his hat, stroking the peacock feather sticking out of it.]
Contrary to popular belief, not every poem I write is so I can hear stamping feet and empty brains echo it back to me. However, I do enjoy the idea that your song will be one that is celebrated. [He sniffs again. Milk? What on earth is she doing, anyway?] As you should be. [Look, he's turning on the charm again. After a moment, he stands to go to his drawer, pulling out his songwriting journal (with Alina's note still tucked in the back.) He flickers through the pages, returning to his seat.] Rekindled Blade? But it lacks reference to the heroine. It's not about swords. Though I know you're very much all about swords. [The quill scratches over his paper and he hmms.] From Ashes, Comes Steel And Kohl?
[She does, after all, love her lined eyes.] No. Terrible. What -- what are you doing, anyway? Don't tell me you've been inflicted with my little bread-making... ah. Bug.
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Isn't the metaphor that I am the sword? [ See. She knows what a metaphor is! Ciri licks the spoon, tentatively testing it-- Then pulls a face and adds more sugar. ]
I told you. I'm making something. [ Hmm. The next lick is better. Ciri waves him over. ]
Nadine showed me. It's called chocolate. This one is hot.
Hot chocolate.
I'm sure you've never tasted anything like it. Bring the mugs closer. I think it's ready.
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All right, he is a bit.] It's -- there's a process here that I'm trying to relate --
[He tilts his head at her expression, unable to tamp his curiousity down.] Hot chocolate? It smells like milk. [Ah, it must have been something she made in the Horizon. With the mention of Nadine, any potential cross-ness evaporates. Their last encounter, after all, was a warm one.
He grabs the mugs as ordered, peering over her shoulder. Closer, he can smell more of it. And it is... sweet. Like a cake. It's a good night for something hot, with the cold creeping in.] If it's this good, surely it will help stoke my creative fires. And you found this in the markets, really?
[He wouldn't know what to look for. He's come to terms that plenty of the things in the Horizon are not things they can find here, in this world. Reaching over her shoulder, he pokes a finger in -- and hisses, jerking it out.] Ow. Oh. Ooh, you weren't kidding about the hot part.
[Still, he sucks it off his finger. That. That. Now that is intriguing.]
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Yes! I got lucky. Wasn't sure I'd find it here, but they had something similar. It did take quite a bit of asking around, but--
[ what. the fuck. ]
Jaskier?! It's been on the stove! I just turned the flame down!
There's a fire underneath the pot.
[ That's how cooking things works!! ]
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Jaskier blinks at her at her exclamation, his finger only faintly warm now. What, is she... worried?] Ciri, I've been playing the lute for two decades. Do you really think I have any feeling in these fingers anymore? Gods, you could put a flame straight to one and I doubt I'd hardly feel a thing.
[It would be funny to stick his finger in the fire to display, but for the sake of, er, keeping his fingerprints, he will refrain. Besides, it's -- it's rather new, that showing of concern. He sort of likes it. Big tough monster hunter with a giant scar down her face, yet she worries over a small kitchen fire near... the grown adult bard.]
Whatever you've done with it, it tastes absolutely intriguing. Come on, then! Here's the mugs.
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She ignores him, and reaches for the mugs instead, ladling out some of the rich brown liquid into each and sliding one steaming cup back to Jaskier before turning off the flame, picking up her own mug, and bring it to the table so they can sit and enjoy it. ]
What do you think?
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Filled up, he takes the mug and wraps both hands around it to warm them. He pulls a chair out with a curl of his foot around the leg, then sits close by her.
He closes his eyes, inhaling it just under his nose like a wine. It smells nothing like one, but the scent is deep, sweet. It leaves his mouth watering even as new as it is.
He tastes. Taking a soft breath after to release a bit of the heat.
His smile is gentle.] It's marvelous, Ciri. Thank you.
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You like it. [ She sounds relieved, shoulders loosening, smile bright in her eyes. It doesn't need to be a question. The reaction is enough. ]
Good. I'm glad.
--oh! I have a honey cake too. If you're hungry.
[ Because hot chocolate and cake are definitely dinner. ]
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[Others may be not so eager to throw the word out, but Jaskier is. It's warm enough one can feel it all the way down their throat, hitting their belly. It's not invasive, however. It's simply... comforting. The taste nearly as sweet as a sweet roll, but an entirely different flavor. It was incredibly hard to describe.
So he drinks more instead.
He brightens ever further.] And a honey cake! Gods, Ciri, I might mistake today for my nameday, the way you're spoiling me. Am I really worthy of all this?
[Rhetorical question. Obviously.]
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Jaskier's effusive praise makes her cheeks feel hot. Maybe she's overdone it.
Ciri ducks her head, covering her embarrassment with the mug held over half her face, presumably to breathe in the sweet steam rising from the hot chocolate. ]
Oh, shut up, Jaskier. You know you are.
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It's no longer a question why a man like Geralt could love a child so easily. Not because she is easy to get along with, or that she is completely comprehensible. Both things are false. It's... perhaps the answer truly lies in Ciri's sincerity in all things.
It is a quality that inspires men and women alike. A quality that has fools follow after a man's footsteps for a lifetime.]
I know. [He laughs quietly into his next sip.] I only wanted to hear you say it.
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But she knows she hasn't... explained. And it's difficult to figure out how. ]
You... [ Ciri begins after a minute or so of silence, nudging her cup around for something to do with her hands while she searches for the words as if they might appear in her drink. She tries again. ]
You stayed. When I needed you. You gave me more than you give yourself credit for.
Of course you're worth it.
[ She doesn't mean this, precisely. Not only this. There's... so much more. ]
You deserve to hear it said.
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