[ Ultimately, it doesn't matter, and she knows that. Who fucking cares who was rich or poor, when they all came into Abraxas under the same circumstances? (Well, slightly different circumstances now, but the two of them pre-date those.) It's more a sense of... resignation to how the world works. She'd asked him how he could make a living as a bard (because truly starving artists need real jobs to eat), thought about how weird and wasteful it would be to go to university only to become an artist (because she is accustomed to higher education being so outrageously expensive that it would be sinful to throw that money away on frivolities like song and poetry), but the whole time, it actually made perfect sense (because he never had to think about those things in the first place).
She's not put out at all, but he has far more in common with Lady Gaga than he'll ever truly understand.
Following him up the hill, she beams at the horses, strokes the muzzle of one of them before they wander away. Taking a seat and crossing her legs, she looks out over the vineyard, and it is truly a beautiful place. Empty in a way that she finds disconcerting, but beautiful. ]
When it looks like this, sure. Before I got to Abraxas, the only time I ever saw pretty nature was when I was walkin' to Vegas.
[Yes, he did go out of his way to make it look absolutely idyllic. Sometimes the sun rises or set in ways that go against nature, simply because he enjoys the way it looks. And no matter where one goes in his domain, the Singularity cannot be seen. He simply wishes to pretend it does not exist.
The joys of a fantasy world. He makes what he wishes: horses, birds that flutter by, the caterpillars on the grapevines. Hector's giant goldfinch, as always, perched on the toolshed, her great gold wings tucked in against her.
And Moglad, in the distance, playing his harp.]
Vegas, is it? [The word is unfamiliar, but he's sure she's said it once before. Perhaps while he was drunk. He holds both glasses out for her to fill, conjuring them up a tree stump as a table.] I imagine it doesn't all look like your, ah, club.
[ She pours the wine with a very liberal hand, which is going to suck to suffer through if the wine is bad, but she doesn't expect it to be. She expects it to be incredibly good, because he would have to intentionally create bad wine. Or have too many negative feelings while making it.
Maybe that's why the Singularity is blocked from view. Julie hates it too. She understands.
Setting the bottle back down, she takes one of the glasses and gives it a sniff. She doesn't know jack shit about wine, but she knows that smelling it is somehow very important.
It smells like wine. She doesn't know what she was expecting. ]
Las Vegas. Or, well, I guess technically it was New Vegas by the time I got there, but it's just a name. [ She takes a sip, looks marginally surprised by the taste, then takes a bigger one. ] I mean, it's a real big city, so no, not all of it looks like the club. But Vegas was... it was a really unique place. It's in the middle of the desert, and their whole thing was always that it was a place you could do anything, things there were illegal everywhere else. Gamblin', prostitution, pretty much everythin' you can think of. They called it Sin City. People from all over the world would come to visit it, just to see it.
[ She thinks about how much she's not expressing, how she can't get across the neon and the fountains and the everything in words.
Then she realizes that she doesn't really have to.
Setting down her wine glass, in one hand, she manifests a framed picture, of the most iconic image of the Strip she can remember. In the other, a lit-up toy. She holds both out to him. ]
This is the Strip, one of the most famous streets in the whole world. It's all luxury hotels and casinos and shoppin', and that's where I went to live, that's what everyone comes to see. And this sign, when you get to the city, it's the first thing you see. You can show either of these to almost anyone from my world, and they'll know exactly where you're talkin' about.
[He swirls his own wine as he leans back to watch her drink it. It almost appears as if she doesn't like it at first, and he holds his breath, listening. Then a second sip. Oh, thank the gods.
He did not put that much effort into it for her not to like it.]
Sin City? Gods, I would've loved to visit. Sounds like it was made for me, in fact. [He gives a laugh, taking a sip. Mmm. Yes. It comes out perfectly. Far were his thoughts from the negative when he was making it. Julie's presence only brings good memories -- the feeling of those pills, the drinks, how unbelievably warm he'd been. Julie coming to him as a safe, fun choice for Nadine. (Which he believes he'd been, for sure.)
He turns to her when the wine is set down, eyebrows rising. Oh. Oh, he knows what this means --
But he is not prepared to see it. He takes the picture first, running his hand over it. Except... he isn't sure what it is. A portrait, except the details are not painted or drawn. It's as if he's looking through a window.
The other... thing, blinking at him. He stares at both, struck silent, his own wine glass forgotten.]
Honestly, I -- I hardly know what I'm looking at. It's like a sea of stars. [He isn't new to lights like that, though, if only because of Julie's club. At a certain point, it's easier to accept things as magic.] It's stunning. I don't know how you manage to look away from it all.
[ It's really just that Julie doesn't know anything about wine. All wine tastes like wine to her, so she's experiencing actual flavor in wine for the first time at the moment.
She laughs softly, not at him, but at his shock. There is nothing she's found in this world that tickles her more than showing people from the past or other worlds all the things that they've never experienced before. Smiling, she starts pointing things out. ]
This is called a photograph. This is exactly what it looked like, at least at the minute they took this. Kind of like a memory you can hold. It was a lot for me the first time I saw it in person too. This one here is where I lived, called The Inferno. This line across the street, with the circles, that's actually water, the Bellagio fountains. They're lit from beneath and there's a show, like they dance, every half-hour. Sometimes I would sit on the balcony and just watch 'em for a few hours. During the day, it's not this nice. You can't see the lights in the sun. But this is what it looks like at night.
[ She sighs, and there's something slightly wistful about it. She's gotten used to living in this magical medieval world, but she misses electricity and cameras and all the other trappings of the modern world. ] You probably are one of the only ones who woulda liked it. Shit, if you were from my world, you'd probably have a daily show at Harrah's. And the food. Jaskier, I swear, y'all don't even know what you don't have.
A photograph, you say? [He turns it over, then back. It doesn't change. A still image. Like he'd said, like a portrait, but as if one was looking through a window, not at a painting.
He starts.]
That's it! I think -- I think I've seen one of these before. At Sam's. Quite a bit ago, when I met him. Here. He had portraits in these wooden frames. Of people. Of people I didn't know, and some I did. [And that made sense, didn't it? They were memories. Memories of people Sam knew, that he knew. The Countess de Stael, holding his bloody heart. How many years had it been since she broke it? As if he didn't remember the very day.
He traces across the picture as she points them out. The very size of the fountains alone is unfathomable; they look as big as pools. And those are... buildings. Buildings as tall as castles.]
A show? Here? [He would've loved having shows anywhere, yet. It would be here, every night, seeing this. Does it ever get boring? Exhausting, looking at all these lights? Is it ever overwhelming?]
Ciri showed me this drink. I think one of you must have told her about it. Hot chocolate. Possibly one of the best things I've ever had. [If his tone goes soft in its description, it's not for the drink, but for Ciri gifting it to him. Sharing this... new thing between the two of them.
He finally lifts his gaze from the picture.] Why don't you show me? Something you miss from home. I'll even let you laugh at my reaction. I know it's rather fun for you lot, how old-fashioned we must seem.
[One would have to be blind to the way people react to him, to Geralt. If only he had a coined crown for every time someone had questioned whether he was serious, being a bard. Or attempted to explain interplanetary travel.]
Yeah, Sam has all those pictures of his family up. That's probably what people take the most pictures of, their family and friends. Then places that they visit, or things they do, or foods they eat. We share our photos with strangers, so we can see things that they saw, too. It's just... it's really important.
[ Julie is a person who spent hours every day taking selfies and scrolling Instagram. And she had somehow got used to there not being any photos, no cameras, but she is shocked at how quickly the pang of homesickness for them hits. All of her pictures, her memories, locked in the camera roll of a phone in a different world.
She points out Harrah's for him, although there was nothing special that made her pick that particular hotel. ] Lots of really famous, important people have Vegas residencies. Why not you? You're way better than most of the lounge lizards who get repeat shows.
[ She laughs softly when he talks about hot chocolate. Yeah, she can imagine that being a mind-blower to someone without access to cocoa. God, how can she even begin to tell him that there are five different kinds of chocolate? ] It wasn't me, but I'm glad you got to try it. Did she give you marshmallows and whipped cream too? Hot chocolate always needs whipped cream.
[ Clucking her tongue lightly, she pats the back of his hand as if to scold him. She doesn't do it to laugh at them! There's just something nice about being able to expose people to new things. She spent her whole life around the same people, going about the same daily routines, with nothing unique to ever share. Now she has a whole world's worth of information and inventions. ]
Oh hush, I ain't gonna laugh. Unless it's really, really funny. It's just... it's fun, to show y'all things you'd never have otherwise. Okay, lemme think for a second. [ Her eyes roll to the sky as she considers, and then she has it. On the stump, a bottle and a bag appear. ] Now, this is a Dr Pepper. It's a kind of soda, it's real popular where I'm from. There are other kinds too, they all taste different dependin' on what they're made from or flavored with. And these are Doritos. They're a snack made from corn, but with flavor dust, this one is Nacho cheese. Cool Ranch is good too, but I always liked Nacho better.
[ She opens both for him, snagging a Dorito for herself first, and god, it tastes better than she remembers. There are a billion other foods she can think of, Reeses and Pop-Tarts and a proper plate of nachos, but everyone has to start somewhere. She offers him the chips first. ]
[He watches her as her voices goes soft, wistful. It does sound important. Sharing memories, sharing stories. It's why he is what he is; so he, too, can preserve the things that are most important to him. Memories, and the emotions they left printed upon his heart. That in her world, they can simply show things as they looked, when they were looked upon by the gazer --
He laughs.] Ah, right. Like The Lady Gaga? Perhaps I would have played a show or two with her.
[He shakes his head at the question.] I do know of whipped cream, however. We would eat it slightly chilled with fruits. It was lovely.
[However, he isn't terrible offended that she may laugh, anyway. It brings her joy, and that's enough for him. Besides, his curiousity is a hungry, burning thing. All of these stories, these experiences, and yes, even the cuisine -- things he cannot imagine, that no other bard has ever seen. Uniquely available to him through the lives of his companions.
Of course, her first choice of food is -- some sort of cylinder and a bag. Er. He's pretty sure it's a bag, though it's akin more to a pillow. When she opens it, the smell is. Indescribable. It's... like salt, but. Not salt. Slightly pungent. Sort of like a potato that's been left in a sack too long.]
Flavor... dust?
[He wrinkles his nose at the idea, which only gives an image of one licking across dusty floors. Peering inside the bag leaves him not sure what he's looking at, but the color is uniquely grotesque.
Maybe he'll. Wait on that.
He goes for the bottle instead, frowning a bit as he realizes it's. It's hissing. Why is it hissing? As he brings it to his ear and gives it a shake, the sound grows even louder -- which startles him enough to drop it.
The bottle hits the corner of the stump holding their wine glasses, which is apparently where a demon resides, simply waiting for its chance to spread chaos. All at once, the liquid inside explodes its way out of the bottle specifically to coat him in a horrible, sticky wave of -- of evil, foul liquid with the tenacity and volume of Alucard's swarm of screaming bats.
He will not admit he may have screeched himself in surprise, and now he sits there, dripping, wiping what is apparently a doctor's potion out of his eyes.
[ She laughs, points at another hotel. ] This is where Lady Gaga did her shows, the MGM. She did about a year there, every weekend. She loved a duet, though.
Oh sure. I mean, whipped cream is like, three ingredients. Four, if you get fancy. We make it the old-fashioned way for pies and parfaits and stuff, but we also have these cans. The can whips it for you, so we put whipped cream on pretty much anything sweet. Or just straight outta the can. [ There is nothing better than a mouthful of whipped cream directly from the nozzle.
She watches him with amusement, ready to explain the concept of "flavor dust", which is obviously a very technical culinary term, but then he grabs the soda before she can properly explain it, and she starts to reach for it. ] Okay, that's -- don't -- [ Then he starts shaking it, and she tries to grab it from him with an expression of mild panic, but.
It had absolutely not occurred to her that he might not know what carbonation is. And it certainly did not strike her that it might scare him. Toddlers drink soda, or at least ones with parents like Julie's do. She had not expected him to exactly like Dr Pepper, but nor did she think he would basically throw the bottle down.
The bottle does what exploding soda bottles do, hits the stump and spins in a wild circle, and Julie at least has the knowledge to turn her face from the spray. The remainder spills out onto the grass where the bottle finally rests, and there's a moment of silence before he speaks.
She gingerly squeezes Dr Pepper from her hair, looks down into her lap where her dress is now stained brown and holds a puddle between her thighs. Her voice is slow when she answers, finally getting out what she was trying to say. ] It's carbonated. You can't shake carbonated stuff.
[Jaskier maintains he dropped it, and also maintains that there is not a single drink in his entire life that has ever exploded upon him in a matter very similar to Ciri's magic. Though instead of near-death and trauma, it merely coats himself, his wonderful embroidered coat, and his companion in a mist of fine, sticky, stinking drink.
He squeezes it from is own hair, wiping his face. He sniffs, and it gets up his nose. Somehow it's even worse up his nose, bubbling like -- like who the fuck knows.
Jaskier sneezes.]
Yes. Yes, I think I understand that is not something to do with your cursed modern beverages.
[Thank you, Julie. He holds out a hand.]
A moment. I can fix this.
[He does. The Horizon is brilliant, one's limitation only being what they can think of. And what he thinks of is... the two of them, in the same clothes, except they're dry and clean.
There. It works for himself, at least. His hair is dry again, the little droplets of potion floating off of him like baubles, before disappearing altogether.
He's dry, clean, and yet still feels vaguely sticky.
He picks up the bottle, flicking grass off the top, and takes a sip. Coughing immediately after as this sour... sweet... he's pretty sure this is some sort of acid, and it's killing him, actually. After he chokes for a second, he clears his throat.] I kindly request you keep this moment us.
[ She introduced the Doritos first for a reason, thank you. Either way, she is soon dry as well, though her hair does still feel slightly stiff, as if the soda had left a film of syrup.
Reaching out, she takes the bottle from him gently, as if she does not trust him with it, and instead places the wine in his hand. The chips have disappeared; it's entirely possible that she is wary of giving him packaged food in general. Sure, most of them don't explode when shaken, but why risk a faceful of flavor dust?
Instead, she offers him a single, large cookie with a raised eyebrow. ] Okay, let's scale it back. No processed foods yet. Try this. Peanut butter chocolate chip.
[If the flavor dust is anything like the bubbling, acidic poison, he may not have been able to handle it, anyway.
Jaskier only pouts a little.]
Look, one incident does not mean I am incapable of consuming... er. Whatever that all was. [She definitely attempted to explain it, but it's sort of left his mind in the wake of the traumatic explosion. He still sort of tastes it, too, like a film on the inside of his mouth. Not unlike Ciri's hot chocolate, but far less pleasant.
He takes her cookie.] You know, I've had a biscuit before. [He sniffs it, nose wrinkling. Not in distaste yet. He's already breaking a piece off and popping into his mouth. Apparently he's not learned anything.] Do your people simply put chocolate in everything?
[ Look, he has not proven himself to be ready for the experience of true junk food.
She snorts. ] Yeah, but I know you ain't had peanut butter before. It's about as American as it gets. And yeah, we kinda do, at least everything sweet. There are ways to make cookies without it, but I always made my peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips.
[ She refills her glass and watches him, because peanut butter is definitely not something he would know, right? She swears she's heard that it's considered basically a novelty outside of North America. Anyway, she'll be extremely upset if he hates it, because this is one of the only things she ever actually learned to bake. ]
[It was ONE soda Julie, how much could it possibly cost? 15 gold crowns?]
You mixed... nuts with butter? I've had both of those things, thank you. We're not completely uncivilized. [He does not mention that butter is rare and hard to come by when you're traveling, because it keeps but it also melts when you store it against a horse's flank. Don't ask how he knows.
There's so many questions here, like what on earth is an American. Why the nuts and the butter are in a biscuit. Why the chocolate has been added.
He nibbles on it. It's. Salt. It's a lot of salt. Also, it goes terribly with wine.
But he licks his lips and takes another, larger bite.] It's... a lot. [He's not sure how to describe it, honestly. It's so much salt. So much butter. It's like taking a mouthful of it.] But it's terribly good. [Probably evident he's now shoving the rest of it in his mouth and sort of talking around it. This is probably the birth of a future sweetaholic and Julie is the only witness.] Ah, do you bake? That's... huh. I'm rather surprised to hear it, actually.
[ It's not the money, it's the appreciation. Think the manna that is Dr Pepper isn't incredible? Then no Doritos.
She rolls her eyes and scoffs as she takes another sip of wine. ] That's not what peanut butter is. It's a spread made from ground up peanuts, oil and sugar. We put it on bread and in other kinds of food, it's basically one of the most popular flavors for anythin' back home. You can even just eat it straight from the jar with a spoon.
[ With a giggle, she beams smugly, elbow planted on the arm of the chair, chin propped on her palm. ] I don't, really. But basically everyone knows how to make chocolate chip cookies. They're one of the most popular sweet things... ever, probably. I mean, they put the recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag. Anyway, you gotta have one trick up your sleeve for when you need a gift on short notice.
[Sorry, it's only the idea of eating this straight with a spoon. He has a delicate, refined palate, and that would be. Quite a lot. Already his mouth feels like it's been permanently coated and it needs a wash.
Suffice to say, none of this goes well with his wine, either.
He doesn't mention that. However, beside the wine does appear a few glasses of plain milk to help wash it down. With the hot chocolate still on his mind, it only feels suitable.]
Well, not everyone. [He smiles. Is this peanut butter something he could find in Cadens? Perhaps he could surprise Ciri in turn.] You must show me how to make them one day.
[Why not? He could use more ways to spoil the witchers -- or to surprise them, at least.]
[ A delicate, refined palate that Julie could destroy with a single hot Cheeto. He doesn't even know what a peanut is! Peanuts could literally change the Continent, Jaskier. Think about that. Think about how many starving displaced elves could be saved with the protein contained in a single jar of JIF. This is the actual argument she will use if he ever disparages peanuts or peanut products within her range of hearing.
Milk, however, is a good choice. Few beverages pair better with peanut butter than milk. Julie will happily down the rest of the wine. ]
Sure, I'll teach you. I don't know how easy chocolate is to get here, though. Or peanuts. [ She sighs. Medieval world is the worst. ] Eatin' in Abraxas is like eatin' wallpaper paste. Nothin' has any flavor, it's all just bland white mush. I'd kill someone for a bottle of paprika or cayenne pepper.
[ She snorts into her wine glass, then gestures at Jaskier with a vague but bright noise. ] Oh, I was meanin' to ask. So I know you write songs and poems and stuff, but do you write anythin' longer? Like stories or books? I already went through everythin' you left in the karaoke machine, but I need other stuff to read. Everythin' I try to make is stuff I already read back home.
[Please do not attempt to solve elf hunger through jars of JIF and plastic pollution.]
Enough practice, I'm rather sure I could grow a peanut. It's only a nut, after all. They grow on trees! Literally. Sometimes vines. If my chaos decides to behave itself.
[It goes without saying he could not tell one how to make chocolate, nor what it grows on. He has some herbal knowledge, and more than he would estimate most here have thanks to his time with a Witcher, but he's still far from an herbalist.]
What have you been eating? Our food is perfectly wonderful. And my friend Alucard braises quite the rabbit. You know, it's a shame you aren't closer. There's plenty of spices in the market here.
[And then he can grow things to fill in the gaps... or he could, when his plants weren't dying from. Well, according to some, it was emotional magical constipation. And it was... annoying.
To say the least.
And he would deal with it.]
Oh? [He lifts his head, a little flutter in his heart. No one really asks about any of his writing, let alone if he writes something other than song. In fact, most assume that's all he does. As if poetry only had one form of it. As if a talent in one genre cannot extend to others.] When I was younger, for sure, I dabbled in whatever caught my fancy. It is funny you should ask, though... I'm not sure if it would interest you, but my longest project has been working on a sort of... bestiary. During our travels, I would often learn far too much about the creatures Geralt hunted. I assumed the truth might help the people, considering fact and fiction are so easily mixed up.
[He summons a few notebooks; a facsimile of the project left behind on the Continent. And if a real, true note of sadness crosses his face at the sight of these pale, leather-bound books, at least there is only one witness to it. They're tied together with leather cord, pages filled out with spaces between them. Quick notes of quill ink, Jaskier's attempts at sketching the monsters accurately. There are plenty of blank pages, even after all these years.] They're yours to peruse, if you'd like them.
[ It is a known fact that peanut paste is used to cure malnutrition and starvation in the global south. Julie can save every single elf with peanut butter and crackers, thank you.
She can't help but to laugh a little, shifting to lean over the arm of her chair, knees in the seat. ] Yeah, nuts do. But peanuts ain't real nuts, that's just the name. They grow underground. And no one eats 'em raw, you gotta roast 'em and salt 'em before you do anythin' with 'em. Here, lemme... [ She holds one hand out to him, palm open, and there are now a few peanuts in her hand, still in their (roasted, salted) shells. Again, not exactly something to go with wine, but she's never let that stop her before. ] Just crack it open and eat what's inside. I mean, you can eat the shell too, some people do, but I wouldn't start with it.
[ She quickly demonstrates as she considers what food options she has available. ]
There's a lot of potatoes. But like, not even good potatoes. And like, cabbage and radishes and stuff? There's a lot of seafood in Nott, which is fine, except they don't have the right seasonings for any of it. Maybe it's different out in Cadens, but they don't never seem to have any good spices or blends. Cayenne, paprika, basically kinda chili powder, cajun, Old Bay. Good stuff. It's mostly like, salt and black pepper and dill.
[ The honest truth is just that Julie finds the pre-television, pre-internet world to be dreadfully boring. She is used to a constant stream of entertainment available to occupy herself with, and re-reading the books she could remember enough to manifest got very old, very quickly. Her distaste for the Singularity makes reading Abraxan books difficult, as they talk about it a lot. And she would much rather read about his world anyway.
Her hands are delicate when she takes the notebooks, opens one to quickly scan over the writing. Yes, these will do. And maybe Ciri will stop mocking her about the difference between dragons and wyverns (Julie still does not get it). ] Thank you, sugar. My daddy used to say I couldn't read anythin' that wasn't made up of emojis, but look at me now.
[He stares at her.] Why the fuck is it called a peanut, then? [There's no heat in the question, only mild confusion. Ah, well. He isn't looking a gift horse -- or woman -- in the mouth, so he takes the shelled things and lays them in his (still somewhat sticky) lap. The more food he tries, the greater his palate, and perhaps the less likely she'll remember the whole explosion thing.
As instructed, he cracks it open. The noise is rather satisfying, and inside? Salty, again, but less overwhelming. It's almost... refreshing. Interesting.]
They're a lakeside city, aren't they? I suppose it's not surprising. Not much land to grow such frivolous things. [He doesn't say it, but he can't help worrying about those still so close to Thorne. Technically still fallen under the kingdom's lands.
Yet... a few complains about a lack of flavors is hardly a real problem to him. At least they can eat and work. It's been a long time since then, but Jaskier still recalls a time where he would go days, if his performances went badly, without eating.
Jaskier gives her a tip of his head. It's a strange sort of feeling, seeing those notebooks in someone else's hands. Only one part of the culmination of his life, and she's to read them to chase away boredom. Well. That's the point of entertainment, isn't it?] I... don't know what that means, but I think he should have set his expectations for you a bit higher. Besides, you can let me know if it gets too dry. I couldn't help but add a bit of my own spark to it.
[It's definitely informative, and what he's written is true to the best of his knowledge, but occasionally there's, like, a dirty joke, or a picture of a slightly familiar, scowling man on the back of a page.]
[ She laughs. His confusion is obviously extremely entertaining to her, if only because the people who actually named and grow the damn things have been asking the same question for two centuries. ] Honey, I didn't name it. Folks've been arguing about the name of peanuts since long before I was born. It's a legume, by the way. So not a pea, not a nut. It's a bean, basically. [ Agricultural factoids with someone who grew up in America's Breadbasket.
She grimaces just a little at the mention of the lake. It's not the fault of anyone from Nott, but she is not a fan of fish. ] Yeah, they pull in most everythin' from the lake. I almost never ate seafood before I got to Nott. Where I was from, it was thousands of miles from any coast. We had all the beef, pork, chicken in the world, but not fish. Least not that I would trust.
[ She doesn't fear Thorne, not really. It is, of course, not ideal to be within their purview, but Nott had been quietly simmering and pushing back against the capital long before she got there. If there was to be a fight between them, it wouldn't start with a search for her group, and there would, presumably, be time to get out. Frankly, she's not sure any of the other options are all that much better. Nott, at least, is significantly more ambivalent about the Singularity than anywhere else, and being there gives her access to a kind of magic that would be extremely difficult to find instruction for elsewhere. Everything has to have a trade-off.
With a snort, she turns a page, skims the first paragraph, but then closes the book again. She doesn't mean to be rude. ] Oh, emoji? They're these lil' pictures that we use as kind of their own language, because we mostly talk to other people in texts now. So imagine if I sent you a message on the mind... network thing we have, but you couldn't tell if I was bein' sarcastic. With emoji, I can add a little face that's laughing so you would know I was jokin'. We can't do it, though. I tried. But you can write a whole story in emojis, if you try. A bunch of 'em have double meanings, or unofficial ones, so you kind of hafta learn to read 'em before you can use 'em.
[ It's yet another thing that she's realizing is too complicated to explain to someone with absolutely no context. It's easier to show, so instead she just manifests what appears to be a late-model iPhone. She doesn't know enough about phones for it to be in any way functional as a phone, but it turns on, and she can make it show various apps. She opens the text app and quickly hammers out a series of emojis, then hands the phone to him. It reads
[He laughs to himself, popping another nut into his mouth. A bean. Of course. He's well aware man loves naming things contrary to their true nature, as if the confusion itself is the point.
Considering he has now seen the place she lived in once, he's far less surprised to hear that she had all the meat in the world. No roadside camps where her companion would hunt a rabbit or a squirrel, if he could find one. Mostly rabbit. Birds, sometimes; wild chickens, or ones purchased from market. Not the sort of woman, he suspects, who has ever eaten half-chewed bread from the floor.
At least a lack of food isn't the only problem most people have. Only a large one.
It's a topic he doesn't really want to bring up, so he doesn't. He only listens, leaning over to her when she holds out a, ah. A square. Rectangle, to be exact. He's not sure what he's looking at, but there are things on it.]
Ah! Some sort of symbol-based language to emphasize tone when words cannot suffice. That's fascinating, actually. [He's going to simply accept this, because a glowing rectangle that displays words versus, you know, a hand-written book, is a lot to take in. It's magic. No less than the picture of her city full of lights and the tallest structures he's ever seen.
He frowns, looking over them. Rubbing his chin and the shadow of stubble there.
Attempting to read it.
It's... going...]
I have no fucking idea what this says. Oh, wait, this one, that's a cocktail glass, isn't it? "Maybe cocktails, then...?" Is this some sort of code?
[ Vegas had been one of the last places in the country with a surplus of food, it's true; that many buffets require huge stockpiles, and a city run on hydroelectricity meant that the freezers were able to maintain it while the rest of the country crumbled. But sooner or later, she knew it was going to get bad, really bad. The livestock was all dead, the crops had all fallen by the wayside, and the existing reserves were going to run out. She'd never gotten to hear the plan for that day; she finds herself wondering now if there even was one. But the bounty she'd really been speaking of had been at home home, in Kansas, where well over ninety percent of the state was devoted solely to growing food and raising livestock.
Her family had been deeply impoverished, never had a spare dime for much past necessities, but there was always food available, simply from the sheer volume of farming around them. It didn't mean she wasn't shamed for not cleaning her plate, it didn't mean that her family wasn't reliant on government programs and charity, but it meant that there was food there, food that she knew she could get her hands on if she needed to. Hell, if she were willing to eat nothing but corn, she really only had to drive a few miles to the nearest mega farm and slip into the field. She'd be malnourished, sure, but not hungry.
She's never eaten floor bread (well, in a way that's not 5-second-rule-ish), but it's more due to coincidence of circumstances than class or true wealth. That luck is not lost on her -- she knows that plenty of people in her world, in her time, were starving to death. But is it any different from being born into nobility? Her access to food, to the wealth inherent in being American, was not something she could change or singlehandedly distribute to the needy. She trick-or-treated for UNICEF every year as a child, surely that offsets some of the unfairness in the world.
Though she does giggle, she claps when he deciphers even one of the symbols. Honestly, it's more than she was expecting, so it deserves praise. Leaning over, she translates character-by-character. ]
Okay, so the first face kinda sets the tone. Like, this guy is all smirky, so it's gonna imply that you're up to somethin'. You up or asleep, is the next set. "You up?" is kind of like... it's not just askin' if the person is still awake. It's usually for either goin' back out to party, or else the person sendin' it is hopin' that it'll lead to sex. Who sends it is how you know which way it goes. Then the thought bubbles for "I was thinkin'", and here it's "maybe drinks and smokin' weed", that's the wind gust. The shrug for "I don't know". Then you're askin' if the other person is in it with you. Like I said, a lot of emojis is about the specific person you're talkin' to.
[ She taps the keyboard at the bottom and it shifts to nothing but emojis, hundreds of them, and she swipes through a few pages. ] So you can add any of these to any message you send to anyone you know. Some of 'em are exactly what they look like, the flags and stuff, but most have other meanings that just sort of... happened. A lot of the foods double as sex stuff.
[It would be quite easy to find Julie's clapping condescending, but he's long learned already she has no problem speaking her mind if that's what she wishes to imply. Instead he smiles back at her, scooting closer as she deciphers the symbology of it all.
He's not sure how well he buys into this face implies sneakiness, but. You know, what does it matter? It's fun. He loves the idea of it. Of course he has his preference for words, but words cannot always say everything.
As much as he'd like.]
This is much more complex than I was thinking. And would it not depend on the receiver interpreting it the same way? I suppose you'd know, sending it to a specific person.
[What would Geralt think if he send him some cocktail glasses and a gust of wind? He'd, perhaps, not speak to him again.]
Oh. Fuck me. [He looks through them, imitating the swipe of her finger.] This is exceedingly complex. Wait, wait. [He moves over to a peach, touching it.] I know this one well. My lady, how I pine to see you leave / But is it from a glut of you / or a wish for the sight of your rump / Round as a peach?
[ Words are great, but he also has no frame of reference for how quickly a text conversation can go. Modern people are incredibly busy, you know, they don't have time to think about flowery turn-of-phrase when they can just slap down a devil face and go. Also, Julie has a fairly decent attention span for her age, so take that as you will, Jaskier. Appealing to the young folk requires brevity now!
And that face totally implies sneakiness. ]
Exactly! It's like talkin' in real life, you have to know the person to know what you can say to 'em without gettin' weird or punched.
[ Her claps are very genuine, and quickly become quite enthusiastic even as she laughs at the incredibly lovely ode to a juicy ass. She cannot fathom what she would ever reply to that in the real world. It would almost be better to get an unsolicited dick pic, because at least she'd know what to say in the latter case. But if she were going to receive a Shakespearean couplet about her ass, that's a good one.
She adds a few more emojis, 🍆🥠🎆🤯😍💍, lets him try to work that one out as she polishes off what remains of the wine. She is well aware that he will have no idea what a fortune cookie is (she is prepared to give him one if asked), but assumes that the visual will make enough of an impression. ] That one's for a real good night.
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
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She's not put out at all, but he has far more in common with Lady Gaga than he'll ever truly understand.
Following him up the hill, she beams at the horses, strokes the muzzle of one of them before they wander away. Taking a seat and crossing her legs, she looks out over the vineyard, and it is truly a beautiful place. Empty in a way that she finds disconcerting, but beautiful. ]
When it looks like this, sure. Before I got to Abraxas, the only time I ever saw pretty nature was when I was walkin' to Vegas.
[ She manifests a corkscrew to open the wine. ]
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[Yes, he did go out of his way to make it look absolutely idyllic. Sometimes the sun rises or set in ways that go against nature, simply because he enjoys the way it looks. And no matter where one goes in his domain, the Singularity cannot be seen. He simply wishes to pretend it does not exist.
The joys of a fantasy world. He makes what he wishes: horses, birds that flutter by, the caterpillars on the grapevines. Hector's giant goldfinch, as always, perched on the toolshed, her great gold wings tucked in against her.
And Moglad, in the distance, playing his harp.]
Vegas, is it? [The word is unfamiliar, but he's sure she's said it once before. Perhaps while he was drunk. He holds both glasses out for her to fill, conjuring them up a tree stump as a table.] I imagine it doesn't all look like your, ah, club.
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Maybe that's why the Singularity is blocked from view. Julie hates it too. She understands.
Setting the bottle back down, she takes one of the glasses and gives it a sniff. She doesn't know jack shit about wine, but she knows that smelling it is somehow very important.
It smells like wine. She doesn't know what she was expecting. ]
Las Vegas. Or, well, I guess technically it was New Vegas by the time I got there, but it's just a name. [ She takes a sip, looks marginally surprised by the taste, then takes a bigger one. ] I mean, it's a real big city, so no, not all of it looks like the club. But Vegas was... it was a really unique place. It's in the middle of the desert, and their whole thing was always that it was a place you could do anything, things there were illegal everywhere else. Gamblin', prostitution, pretty much everythin' you can think of. They called it Sin City. People from all over the world would come to visit it, just to see it.
[ She thinks about how much she's not expressing, how she can't get across the neon and the fountains and the everything in words.
Then she realizes that she doesn't really have to.
Setting down her wine glass, in one hand, she manifests a framed picture, of the most iconic image of the Strip she can remember. In the other, a lit-up toy. She holds both out to him. ]
This is the Strip, one of the most famous streets in the whole world. It's all luxury hotels and casinos and shoppin', and that's where I went to live, that's what everyone comes to see. And this sign, when you get to the city, it's the first thing you see. You can show either of these to almost anyone from my world, and they'll know exactly where you're talkin' about.
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He did not put that much effort into it for her not to like it.]
Sin City? Gods, I would've loved to visit. Sounds like it was made for me, in fact. [He gives a laugh, taking a sip. Mmm. Yes. It comes out perfectly. Far were his thoughts from the negative when he was making it. Julie's presence only brings good memories -- the feeling of those pills, the drinks, how unbelievably warm he'd been. Julie coming to him as a safe, fun choice for Nadine. (Which he believes he'd been, for sure.)
He turns to her when the wine is set down, eyebrows rising. Oh. Oh, he knows what this means --
But he is not prepared to see it. He takes the picture first, running his hand over it. Except... he isn't sure what it is. A portrait, except the details are not painted or drawn. It's as if he's looking through a window.
The other... thing, blinking at him. He stares at both, struck silent, his own wine glass forgotten.]
Honestly, I -- I hardly know what I'm looking at. It's like a sea of stars. [He isn't new to lights like that, though, if only because of Julie's club. At a certain point, it's easier to accept things as magic.] It's stunning. I don't know how you manage to look away from it all.
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She laughs softly, not at him, but at his shock. There is nothing she's found in this world that tickles her more than showing people from the past or other worlds all the things that they've never experienced before. Smiling, she starts pointing things out. ]
This is called a photograph. This is exactly what it looked like, at least at the minute they took this. Kind of like a memory you can hold. It was a lot for me the first time I saw it in person too. This one here is where I lived, called The Inferno. This line across the street, with the circles, that's actually water, the Bellagio fountains. They're lit from beneath and there's a show, like they dance, every half-hour. Sometimes I would sit on the balcony and just watch 'em for a few hours. During the day, it's not this nice. You can't see the lights in the sun. But this is what it looks like at night.
[ She sighs, and there's something slightly wistful about it. She's gotten used to living in this magical medieval world, but she misses electricity and cameras and all the other trappings of the modern world. ] You probably are one of the only ones who woulda liked it. Shit, if you were from my world, you'd probably have a daily show at Harrah's. And the food. Jaskier, I swear, y'all don't even know what you don't have.
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He starts.]
That's it! I think -- I think I've seen one of these before. At Sam's. Quite a bit ago, when I met him. Here. He had portraits in these wooden frames. Of people. Of people I didn't know, and some I did. [And that made sense, didn't it? They were memories. Memories of people Sam knew, that he knew. The Countess de Stael, holding his bloody heart. How many years had it been since she broke it? As if he didn't remember the very day.
He traces across the picture as she points them out. The very size of the fountains alone is unfathomable; they look as big as pools. And those are... buildings. Buildings as tall as castles.]
A show? Here? [He would've loved having shows anywhere, yet. It would be here, every night, seeing this. Does it ever get boring? Exhausting, looking at all these lights? Is it ever overwhelming?]
Ciri showed me this drink. I think one of you must have told her about it. Hot chocolate. Possibly one of the best things I've ever had. [If his tone goes soft in its description, it's not for the drink, but for Ciri gifting it to him. Sharing this... new thing between the two of them.
He finally lifts his gaze from the picture.] Why don't you show me? Something you miss from home. I'll even let you laugh at my reaction. I know it's rather fun for you lot, how old-fashioned we must seem.
[One would have to be blind to the way people react to him, to Geralt. If only he had a coined crown for every time someone had questioned whether he was serious, being a bard. Or attempted to explain interplanetary travel.]
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[ Julie is a person who spent hours every day taking selfies and scrolling Instagram. And she had somehow got used to there not being any photos, no cameras, but she is shocked at how quickly the pang of homesickness for them hits. All of her pictures, her memories, locked in the camera roll of a phone in a different world.
She points out Harrah's for him, although there was nothing special that made her pick that particular hotel. ] Lots of really famous, important people have Vegas residencies. Why not you? You're way better than most of the lounge lizards who get repeat shows.
[ She laughs softly when he talks about hot chocolate. Yeah, she can imagine that being a mind-blower to someone without access to cocoa. God, how can she even begin to tell him that there are five different kinds of chocolate? ] It wasn't me, but I'm glad you got to try it. Did she give you marshmallows and whipped cream too? Hot chocolate always needs whipped cream.
[ Clucking her tongue lightly, she pats the back of his hand as if to scold him. She doesn't do it to laugh at them! There's just something nice about being able to expose people to new things. She spent her whole life around the same people, going about the same daily routines, with nothing unique to ever share. Now she has a whole world's worth of information and inventions. ]
Oh hush, I ain't gonna laugh. Unless it's really, really funny. It's just... it's fun, to show y'all things you'd never have otherwise. Okay, lemme think for a second. [ Her eyes roll to the sky as she considers, and then she has it. On the stump, a bottle and a bag appear. ] Now, this is a Dr Pepper. It's a kind of soda, it's real popular where I'm from. There are other kinds too, they all taste different dependin' on what they're made from or flavored with. And these are Doritos. They're a snack made from corn, but with flavor dust, this one is Nacho cheese. Cool Ranch is good too, but I always liked Nacho better.
[ She opens both for him, snagging a Dorito for herself first, and god, it tastes better than she remembers. There are a billion other foods she can think of, Reeses and Pop-Tarts and a proper plate of nachos, but everyone has to start somewhere. She offers him the chips first. ]
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He laughs.] Ah, right. Like The Lady Gaga? Perhaps I would have played a show or two with her.
[He shakes his head at the question.] I do know of whipped cream, however. We would eat it slightly chilled with fruits. It was lovely.
[However, he isn't terrible offended that she may laugh, anyway. It brings her joy, and that's enough for him. Besides, his curiousity is a hungry, burning thing. All of these stories, these experiences, and yes, even the cuisine -- things he cannot imagine, that no other bard has ever seen. Uniquely available to him through the lives of his companions.
Of course, her first choice of food is -- some sort of cylinder and a bag. Er. He's pretty sure it's a bag, though it's akin more to a pillow. When she opens it, the smell is. Indescribable. It's... like salt, but. Not salt. Slightly pungent. Sort of like a potato that's been left in a sack too long.]
Flavor... dust?
[He wrinkles his nose at the idea, which only gives an image of one licking across dusty floors. Peering inside the bag leaves him not sure what he's looking at, but the color is uniquely grotesque.
Maybe he'll. Wait on that.
He goes for the bottle instead, frowning a bit as he realizes it's. It's hissing. Why is it hissing? As he brings it to his ear and gives it a shake, the sound grows even louder -- which startles him enough to drop it.
The bottle hits the corner of the stump holding their wine glasses, which is apparently where a demon resides, simply waiting for its chance to spread chaos. All at once, the liquid inside explodes its way out of the bottle specifically to coat him in a horrible, sticky wave of -- of evil, foul liquid with the tenacity and volume of Alucard's swarm of screaming bats.
He will not admit he may have screeched himself in surprise, and now he sits there, dripping, wiping what is apparently a doctor's potion out of his eyes.
It sort of stings.]
Somehow, I feel like I should not be surprised.
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Oh sure. I mean, whipped cream is like, three ingredients. Four, if you get fancy. We make it the old-fashioned way for pies and parfaits and stuff, but we also have these cans. The can whips it for you, so we put whipped cream on pretty much anything sweet. Or just straight outta the can. [ There is nothing better than a mouthful of whipped cream directly from the nozzle.
She watches him with amusement, ready to explain the concept of "flavor dust", which is obviously a very technical culinary term, but then he grabs the soda before she can properly explain it, and she starts to reach for it. ] Okay, that's -- don't -- [ Then he starts shaking it, and she tries to grab it from him with an expression of mild panic, but.
It had absolutely not occurred to her that he might not know what carbonation is. And it certainly did not strike her that it might scare him. Toddlers drink soda, or at least ones with parents like Julie's do. She had not expected him to exactly like Dr Pepper, but nor did she think he would basically throw the bottle down.
The bottle does what exploding soda bottles do, hits the stump and spins in a wild circle, and Julie at least has the knowledge to turn her face from the spray. The remainder spills out onto the grass where the bottle finally rests, and there's a moment of silence before he speaks.
She gingerly squeezes Dr Pepper from her hair, looks down into her lap where her dress is now stained brown and holds a puddle between her thighs. Her voice is slow when she answers, finally getting out what she was trying to say. ] It's carbonated. You can't shake carbonated stuff.
[ Honestly, she's just stunned. ]
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He squeezes it from is own hair, wiping his face. He sniffs, and it gets up his nose. Somehow it's even worse up his nose, bubbling like -- like who the fuck knows.
Jaskier sneezes.]
Yes. Yes, I think I understand that is not something to do with your cursed modern beverages.
[Thank you, Julie. He holds out a hand.]
A moment. I can fix this.
[He does. The Horizon is brilliant, one's limitation only being what they can think of. And what he thinks of is... the two of them, in the same clothes, except they're dry and clean.
There. It works for himself, at least. His hair is dry again, the little droplets of potion floating off of him like baubles, before disappearing altogether.
He's dry, clean, and yet still feels vaguely sticky.
He picks up the bottle, flicking grass off the top, and takes a sip. Coughing immediately after as this sour... sweet... he's pretty sure this is some sort of acid, and it's killing him, actually. After he chokes for a second, he clears his throat.] I kindly request you keep this moment us.
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Reaching out, she takes the bottle from him gently, as if she does not trust him with it, and instead places the wine in his hand. The chips have disappeared; it's entirely possible that she is wary of giving him packaged food in general. Sure, most of them don't explode when shaken, but why risk a faceful of flavor dust?
Instead, she offers him a single, large cookie with a raised eyebrow. ] Okay, let's scale it back. No processed foods yet. Try this. Peanut butter chocolate chip.
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Jaskier only pouts a little.]
Look, one incident does not mean I am incapable of consuming... er. Whatever that all was. [She definitely attempted to explain it, but it's sort of left his mind in the wake of the traumatic explosion. He still sort of tastes it, too, like a film on the inside of his mouth. Not unlike Ciri's hot chocolate, but far less pleasant.
He takes her cookie.] You know, I've had a biscuit before. [He sniffs it, nose wrinkling. Not in distaste yet. He's already breaking a piece off and popping into his mouth. Apparently he's not learned anything.] Do your people simply put chocolate in everything?
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She snorts. ] Yeah, but I know you ain't had peanut butter before. It's about as American as it gets. And yeah, we kinda do, at least everything sweet. There are ways to make cookies without it, but I always made my peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips.
[ She refills her glass and watches him, because peanut butter is definitely not something he would know, right? She swears she's heard that it's considered basically a novelty outside of North America. Anyway, she'll be extremely upset if he hates it, because this is one of the only things she ever actually learned to bake. ]
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You mixed... nuts with butter? I've had both of those things, thank you. We're not completely uncivilized. [He does not mention that butter is rare and hard to come by when you're traveling, because it keeps but it also melts when you store it against a horse's flank. Don't ask how he knows.
There's so many questions here, like what on earth is an American. Why the nuts and the butter are in a biscuit. Why the chocolate has been added.
He nibbles on it. It's. Salt. It's a lot of salt. Also, it goes terribly with wine.
But he licks his lips and takes another, larger bite.] It's... a lot. [He's not sure how to describe it, honestly. It's so much salt. So much butter. It's like taking a mouthful of it.] But it's terribly good. [Probably evident he's now shoving the rest of it in his mouth and sort of talking around it. This is probably the birth of a future sweetaholic and Julie is the only witness.] Ah, do you bake? That's... huh. I'm rather surprised to hear it, actually.
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She rolls her eyes and scoffs as she takes another sip of wine. ] That's not what peanut butter is. It's a spread made from ground up peanuts, oil and sugar. We put it on bread and in other kinds of food, it's basically one of the most popular flavors for anythin' back home. You can even just eat it straight from the jar with a spoon.
[ With a giggle, she beams smugly, elbow planted on the arm of the chair, chin propped on her palm. ] I don't, really. But basically everyone knows how to make chocolate chip cookies. They're one of the most popular sweet things... ever, probably. I mean, they put the recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag. Anyway, you gotta have one trick up your sleeve for when you need a gift on short notice.
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[Sorry, it's only the idea of eating this straight with a spoon. He has a delicate, refined palate, and that would be. Quite a lot. Already his mouth feels like it's been permanently coated and it needs a wash.
Suffice to say, none of this goes well with his wine, either.
He doesn't mention that. However, beside the wine does appear a few glasses of plain milk to help wash it down. With the hot chocolate still on his mind, it only feels suitable.]
Well, not everyone. [He smiles. Is this peanut butter something he could find in Cadens? Perhaps he could surprise Ciri in turn.] You must show me how to make them one day.
[Why not? He could use more ways to spoil the witchers -- or to surprise them, at least.]
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Milk, however, is a good choice. Few beverages pair better with peanut butter than milk. Julie will happily down the rest of the wine. ]
Sure, I'll teach you. I don't know how easy chocolate is to get here, though. Or peanuts. [ She sighs. Medieval world is the worst. ] Eatin' in Abraxas is like eatin' wallpaper paste. Nothin' has any flavor, it's all just bland white mush. I'd kill someone for a bottle of paprika or cayenne pepper.
[ She snorts into her wine glass, then gestures at Jaskier with a vague but bright noise. ] Oh, I was meanin' to ask. So I know you write songs and poems and stuff, but do you write anythin' longer? Like stories or books? I already went through everythin' you left in the karaoke machine, but I need other stuff to read. Everythin' I try to make is stuff I already read back home.
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Enough practice, I'm rather sure I could grow a peanut. It's only a nut, after all. They grow on trees! Literally. Sometimes vines. If my chaos decides to behave itself.
[It goes without saying he could not tell one how to make chocolate, nor what it grows on. He has some herbal knowledge, and more than he would estimate most here have thanks to his time with a Witcher, but he's still far from an herbalist.]
What have you been eating? Our food is perfectly wonderful. And my friend Alucard braises quite the rabbit. You know, it's a shame you aren't closer. There's plenty of spices in the market here.
[And then he can grow things to fill in the gaps... or he could, when his plants weren't dying from. Well, according to some, it was emotional magical constipation. And it was... annoying.
To say the least.
And he would deal with it.]
Oh? [He lifts his head, a little flutter in his heart. No one really asks about any of his writing, let alone if he writes something other than song. In fact, most assume that's all he does. As if poetry only had one form of it. As if a talent in one genre cannot extend to others.] When I was younger, for sure, I dabbled in whatever caught my fancy. It is funny you should ask, though... I'm not sure if it would interest you, but my longest project has been working on a sort of... bestiary. During our travels, I would often learn far too much about the creatures Geralt hunted. I assumed the truth might help the people, considering fact and fiction are so easily mixed up.
[He summons a few notebooks; a facsimile of the project left behind on the Continent. And if a real, true note of sadness crosses his face at the sight of these pale, leather-bound books, at least there is only one witness to it. They're tied together with leather cord, pages filled out with spaces between them. Quick notes of quill ink, Jaskier's attempts at sketching the monsters accurately. There are plenty of blank pages, even after all these years.] They're yours to peruse, if you'd like them.
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She can't help but to laugh a little, shifting to lean over the arm of her chair, knees in the seat. ] Yeah, nuts do. But peanuts ain't real nuts, that's just the name. They grow underground. And no one eats 'em raw, you gotta roast 'em and salt 'em before you do anythin' with 'em. Here, lemme... [ She holds one hand out to him, palm open, and there are now a few peanuts in her hand, still in their (roasted, salted) shells. Again, not exactly something to go with wine, but she's never let that stop her before. ] Just crack it open and eat what's inside. I mean, you can eat the shell too, some people do, but I wouldn't start with it.
[ She quickly demonstrates as she considers what food options she has available. ]
There's a lot of potatoes. But like, not even good potatoes. And like, cabbage and radishes and stuff? There's a lot of seafood in Nott, which is fine, except they don't have the right seasonings for any of it. Maybe it's different out in Cadens, but they don't never seem to have any good spices or blends. Cayenne, paprika, basically kinda chili powder, cajun, Old Bay. Good stuff. It's mostly like, salt and black pepper and dill.
[ The honest truth is just that Julie finds the pre-television, pre-internet world to be dreadfully boring. She is used to a constant stream of entertainment available to occupy herself with, and re-reading the books she could remember enough to manifest got very old, very quickly. Her distaste for the Singularity makes reading Abraxan books difficult, as they talk about it a lot. And she would much rather read about his world anyway.
Her hands are delicate when she takes the notebooks, opens one to quickly scan over the writing. Yes, these will do. And maybe Ciri will stop mocking her about the difference between dragons and wyverns (Julie still does not get it). ] Thank you, sugar. My daddy used to say I couldn't read anythin' that wasn't made up of emojis, but look at me now.
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As instructed, he cracks it open. The noise is rather satisfying, and inside? Salty, again, but less overwhelming. It's almost... refreshing. Interesting.]
They're a lakeside city, aren't they? I suppose it's not surprising. Not much land to grow such frivolous things. [He doesn't say it, but he can't help worrying about those still so close to Thorne. Technically still fallen under the kingdom's lands.
Yet... a few complains about a lack of flavors is hardly a real problem to him. At least they can eat and work. It's been a long time since then, but Jaskier still recalls a time where he would go days, if his performances went badly, without eating.
Jaskier gives her a tip of his head. It's a strange sort of feeling, seeing those notebooks in someone else's hands. Only one part of the culmination of his life, and she's to read them to chase away boredom. Well. That's the point of entertainment, isn't it?] I... don't know what that means, but I think he should have set his expectations for you a bit higher. Besides, you can let me know if it gets too dry. I couldn't help but add a bit of my own spark to it.
[It's definitely informative, and what he's written is true to the best of his knowledge, but occasionally there's, like, a dirty joke, or a picture of a slightly familiar, scowling man on the back of a page.]
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She grimaces just a little at the mention of the lake. It's not the fault of anyone from Nott, but she is not a fan of fish. ] Yeah, they pull in most everythin' from the lake. I almost never ate seafood before I got to Nott. Where I was from, it was thousands of miles from any coast. We had all the beef, pork, chicken in the world, but not fish. Least not that I would trust.
[ She doesn't fear Thorne, not really. It is, of course, not ideal to be within their purview, but Nott had been quietly simmering and pushing back against the capital long before she got there. If there was to be a fight between them, it wouldn't start with a search for her group, and there would, presumably, be time to get out. Frankly, she's not sure any of the other options are all that much better. Nott, at least, is significantly more ambivalent about the Singularity than anywhere else, and being there gives her access to a kind of magic that would be extremely difficult to find instruction for elsewhere. Everything has to have a trade-off.
With a snort, she turns a page, skims the first paragraph, but then closes the book again. She doesn't mean to be rude. ] Oh, emoji? They're these lil' pictures that we use as kind of their own language, because we mostly talk to other people in texts now. So imagine if I sent you a message on the mind... network thing we have, but you couldn't tell if I was bein' sarcastic. With emoji, I can add a little face that's laughing so you would know I was jokin'. We can't do it, though. I tried. But you can write a whole story in emojis, if you try. A bunch of 'em have double meanings, or unofficial ones, so you kind of hafta learn to read 'em before you can use 'em.
[ It's yet another thing that she's realizing is too complicated to explain to someone with absolutely no context. It's easier to show, so instead she just manifests what appears to be a late-model iPhone. She doesn't know enough about phones for it to be in any way functional as a phone, but it turns on, and she can make it show various apps. She opens the text app and quickly hammers out a series of emojis, then hands the phone to him. It reads
😏 u 🆙 or 😴❓ 💭 maybe 🍸🍸💨 then 🤷♀️? u in?
She does not translate yet. ]
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Considering he has now seen the place she lived in once, he's far less surprised to hear that she had all the meat in the world. No roadside camps where her companion would hunt a rabbit or a squirrel, if he could find one. Mostly rabbit. Birds, sometimes; wild chickens, or ones purchased from market. Not the sort of woman, he suspects, who has ever eaten half-chewed bread from the floor.
At least a lack of food isn't the only problem most people have. Only a large one.
It's a topic he doesn't really want to bring up, so he doesn't. He only listens, leaning over to her when she holds out a, ah. A square. Rectangle, to be exact. He's not sure what he's looking at, but there are things on it.]
Ah! Some sort of symbol-based language to emphasize tone when words cannot suffice. That's fascinating, actually. [He's going to simply accept this, because a glowing rectangle that displays words versus, you know, a hand-written book, is a lot to take in. It's magic. No less than the picture of her city full of lights and the tallest structures he's ever seen.
He frowns, looking over them. Rubbing his chin and the shadow of stubble there.
Attempting to read it.
It's... going...]
I have no fucking idea what this says. Oh, wait, this one, that's a cocktail glass, isn't it? "Maybe cocktails, then...?" Is this some sort of code?
[Look, he's trying. He's beyond boomer.]
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Her family had been deeply impoverished, never had a spare dime for much past necessities, but there was always food available, simply from the sheer volume of farming around them. It didn't mean she wasn't shamed for not cleaning her plate, it didn't mean that her family wasn't reliant on government programs and charity, but it meant that there was food there, food that she knew she could get her hands on if she needed to. Hell, if she were willing to eat nothing but corn, she really only had to drive a few miles to the nearest mega farm and slip into the field. She'd be malnourished, sure, but not hungry.
She's never eaten floor bread (well, in a way that's not 5-second-rule-ish), but it's more due to coincidence of circumstances than class or true wealth. That luck is not lost on her -- she knows that plenty of people in her world, in her time, were starving to death. But is it any different from being born into nobility? Her access to food, to the wealth inherent in being American, was not something she could change or singlehandedly distribute to the needy. She trick-or-treated for UNICEF every year as a child, surely that offsets some of the unfairness in the world.
Though she does giggle, she claps when he deciphers even one of the symbols. Honestly, it's more than she was expecting, so it deserves praise. Leaning over, she translates character-by-character. ]
Okay, so the first face kinda sets the tone. Like, this guy is all smirky, so it's gonna imply that you're up to somethin'. You up or asleep, is the next set. "You up?" is kind of like... it's not just askin' if the person is still awake. It's usually for either goin' back out to party, or else the person sendin' it is hopin' that it'll lead to sex. Who sends it is how you know which way it goes. Then the thought bubbles for "I was thinkin'", and here it's "maybe drinks and smokin' weed", that's the wind gust. The shrug for "I don't know". Then you're askin' if the other person is in it with you. Like I said, a lot of emojis is about the specific person you're talkin' to.
[ She taps the keyboard at the bottom and it shifts to nothing but emojis, hundreds of them, and she swipes through a few pages. ] So you can add any of these to any message you send to anyone you know. Some of 'em are exactly what they look like, the flags and stuff, but most have other meanings that just sort of... happened. A lot of the foods double as sex stuff.
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He's not sure how well he buys into this face implies sneakiness, but. You know, what does it matter? It's fun. He loves the idea of it. Of course he has his preference for words, but words cannot always say everything.
As much as he'd like.]
This is much more complex than I was thinking. And would it not depend on the receiver interpreting it the same way? I suppose you'd know, sending it to a specific person.
[What would Geralt think if he send him some cocktail glasses and a gust of wind? He'd, perhaps, not speak to him again.]
Oh. Fuck me. [He looks through them, imitating the swipe of her finger.] This is exceedingly complex. Wait, wait. [He moves over to a peach, touching it.] I know this one well. My lady, how I pine to see you leave / But is it from a glut of you / or a wish for the sight of your rump / Round as a peach?
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And that face totally implies sneakiness. ]
Exactly! It's like talkin' in real life, you have to know the person to know what you can say to 'em without gettin' weird or punched.
[ Her claps are very genuine, and quickly become quite enthusiastic even as she laughs at the incredibly lovely ode to a juicy ass. She cannot fathom what she would ever reply to that in the real world. It would almost be better to get an unsolicited dick pic, because at least she'd know what to say in the latter case. But if she were going to receive a Shakespearean couplet about her ass, that's a good one.
She adds a few more emojis, 🍆🥠🎆🤯😍💍, lets him try to work that one out as she polishes off what remains of the wine. She is well aware that he will have no idea what a fortune cookie is (she is prepared to give him one if asked), but assumes that the visual will make enough of an impression. ] That one's for a real good night.
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