[OPEN] I know you're strong enough to do this on your own. ♫

[cointosser]

Who: Jaskier and ♪ You ♪.
When: September, or in the language of the common folk, Septeril.
Where: Those places. You know the ones.
What: Jaskier making up for his now pampered lifestyle (electricity! running water!!) by putting himself in increasingly dangerous situations.
Warnings: Just some gory stuff from his memories, probably.



I. Playwritin'. Septeril 6, Dorchacht, morning.

[ Being the most talented bard that the Continent has ever had the pleasure to know -- and the horror to lose -- it is only inevitable that Jaskier would offer his services in aiding the education of the next crop of bright-eyed musicians. And with the chance to expand his reputation past the confines of Aefenglom's walls, Jaskier is eager to make his way to Dorchacht.

A short-lived eagerness once he heads into a city that is far from the shining potential that he'd, er, hoped for. Look, he's been a bit preoccupied with his settling in Aefenglom, his best friend becoming a monster, and his contorted, conflicting feelings about Yennefer, which used to be much more straightforward before the first full moon.

Well, that's all right. They're just recovering from... oof. Absolute rebellion.

Cutting it a little too close to home. However, Jaskier is quite far form the ministrations of the Nilgaardian empire now. Though he's a bit out of the loop on the news, his volunteering for the scripting and sheet music for the play clearly help him catch up on a child's point of view of the rebellion. Your typical one, if you were the type to write about them. It feels all a bit separated from him when he was not here to watch it.

Jaskier's stints as a tutor at Oxenfort help him, er, minimally. The problem being his fellow students were not exactly children when he was working as a tutor on the side. He forgot how much they talked. (He knew Geralt would laugh at the irony.) Jaskier, being a chatterbox himself, tries to keep up, if not talk even more than the children while teaching.

Feel free to catch Jaskier nearly passed out on a bench somewhere, recovering from having the energy to overtalk several children before his age smacked him over the head after several hours of it. A pile of inked and half-scratched out sheets of music surround him.

Or: Jaskier on a small stage they've built from, basically, a bit of rubble, bricks holding up a flat bit of wood. Several children recite the pages they wrote together, and though the notes are not exactly perfect, there's clear effort put into them. You had better not ignore the baskets nearby clearly labeled for donations, both monetary or otherwise. Jaskier will pin you down with a glare if you pass by without pause, and he has assigned two rather rowdy, rusty-looking boys to follow you around and shame you for being a cheapskate.

Or, finally: come see Jaskier peeking out from the side as the play holds its first (perhaps only) showing, as the children recite a bit more confidently, pantomiming a great battle that is only made of about five or six children armed with sticks. In typical Jaskier fashion, the story is not fully the truth. But it certainly sounds heroic and breathtaking, a legend in the making. ]

II. Apple A Day. Septeril 8, Aegenflom, early evening.

[ There's certainly something to be said for the sort of day-to-day life Jaskier now lives in Aefenglom. None of those weeks of clomping along dirt paths, surviving off dried nuts and meat for days upon days, drawing water from wells along the way and hoping they're not haunted by some angry dead woman (it's happened before, all right?)

To put it succinctly, he's a bit spoiled.

It's made him restless. Jaskier has always been quite restless, but certainly now he's expending all the extra energy he has from his refocused magic through the bond. Extra lessons at the Coven, playing in the taverns several times a week, and of course, taking on these extra tasks for a bit more coin. His tastes are, unfortunately, quite expensive. His cottage doesn't decorate itself.

Of course menial labor like picking apples is not his usual interest. And, truthfully, he didn't come for the apples. Being restless makes Jaskier go out and do things. And, further, gives him terrible ideas.

He came for the moths. (All right, and a few apples. Apples are delicious.) He has in his head the idea of crafting his next mixture with a bit of the moth's dust to create a new weapon that is, essentially, the most efficient way to tell someone to fuck off.

It's an awful, terrible idea. Will it stop him?

Well, it will after he miscatches the first moth and disturbs a whole nest of them. The dust catches him in the eye, making him sneeze.

And catching the dust ends with Jaskier desperately trying to climb an apple tree, screaming, brandishing a dagger at a snarling, bear-sized rabid wolf that is snapping at his heels. Desperate for another taste. If you were unlucky, the golden eyes and the medallion around its neck might look familiar. ]

III. Weapon Testing. Septeril 9, Aegenflom, afternoon.

[ Suffice to say, the idea with the moths -- while Jaskier would argue it was wickedly clever -- did not work. For one, during his attempts to harvest their dust he was stalked by a vision of a wolfed-out Geralt attempting to literally tear him apart which was terribly unfun, and for another, he had a guard threaten to beat him for even contemplating bringing one of the moth's larvae back inside Aefenglom.

Which. Er. Fair.

It was back to the drawing board, then. Perfecting the two weapons he had already crafted, both with Geralt's input and Percy's additions to the timing mechanism of what he could only really think to call bombs, though they were more fairly potions than anything.

If you're in the neighborhood, Jaskier is just inside the garden in front of his cottage, where he's begun working on growing a box of herbs and small wildflowers. If you walk close enough, you might be just in time to see a small puff of purple smoke rise up from something in his hands... and promptly watch him slump over, asleep.

He pops awake a moment or so later, yawning. He rubs his eyes. Right. Still off on the timing. ]

IV. Wild Card. Early to mid-Septeril, Aegenflom, various times.

[ Jaskier is becoming a well-known frequent performer at Aefenglom's various taverns as well as just outside the city walls, where he has frequently gone to entertain the Cwyld-infected population that live there. He can easily be caught between songs for a drink (if you catch his eye, you're guaranteed a free one on him) or a bit of chatter, possibly mostly from his side.

It's not hard to catch a man dressed head to boot in bright blues and reds, strumming a lute and singing loudly. If you've met Geralt, you're sure to catch his name and some of his exploits as a monster hunter in Jaskier's ballads. Please feel free to ask about him so Jaskier can ruin his life by telling everyone they're bonded. ]

Comments

I.

[gynvael]

[ Entertainment and children do not mix with Witchers. The only reason Geralt is here is Jaskier, who he's accompanied to Dorchacht. For...reasons. Besides, they're bonded and the Coven has bothered him about making sure they maintain that bond. Geralt has little interest in fucking it up, so he's here.

Could be worse. The children are enthusiastic and they run circles around the bard. Geralt watches with some amusement. When Jaskier eventually sends the children off to play for a bit, Geralt comes to find him sprawled on a bench.

He picks up one of his sheets of music, turning it over in his hand. He doesn't need to read more than a few lines to know this isn't exactly how the rebellion went. ] Taking liberties with the tale as usual?

[cointosser]

[Just as he is about to drift off into the lovely, warm arms of an early autumn nap, he startles with Geralt's voice, sending the sheets of music on his chest fluttering to the ground.]

Ugh. I was almost asleep, you cretin. [Jaskier sits up, rubbing his eyes. Sleeping on the job? Well, yes. A man needs his beauty sleep. Besides, there were plenty of other volunteers, thank the gods. He couldn't have done this alone.

Though, so far, he was quite pleased with their progress.]

I'll have you know that some of those liberties, as you say, were not my idea. Especially the dragons. So many dragons. And yes, some dragons were involved, but the children wanted just dragons. [He gathers up his sheets that had fluttered away, giving a big yawn.] Don't tell me you've come to watch the play? Because if you haven't, I'm absolutely forcing you to, anyway. You don't want to disappoint a handle of lovely orphans.

[gynvael]

[ Amusement glides across his face for a brief moment. Geralt returns the music sheets to Jaskier, leaning on the backrest of the bench where Jaskier is lounging. ]

Add some wyverns. Variety. [ He watches said orphans run in the distance for a moment. Guess most of them must've lost their parents in the battle -- or prior. It's a strange thing. He's grown up amongst those without parents, but a different sort. Abandoned rather than lost. ]

Mm. [ He moves around to sit next to Jaskier. Despite the overall circumstances, Geralt is noticeably more relaxed. A full moon without any bloodshed or near-death incidents has at least eased that particular worry on his mind. (Even if the change leaves something to be desired. The ache lasted for days. But as he often does, he keeps what bothers him carefully pushed aside.) ] Depends. Do I have to see the playwright? I hear he's insufferable and has been courting bakers.

[ He glances sidelong at Jaskier. Yeah. Lightning did tell him about, what was it. Karen? He's giving him shit, but the truth is, if Jaskier has been busy flirting, then all is right in the world. ]

[cointosser]

[Wyverns. He would say that. He doesn't admit he might take the idea, but then he'll need to explain to impoverished ten year olds the differences between wyverns and dragons, which Geralt has made sure to extensively explain to him at some point.

Because he hadn't stopped bugging him about it.

The memory was fond. Jaskier swung his boots to the ground and sat up, taking his music back. So much for napping, but. Ah, well. It wasn't terrible to be interrupted by Geralt. Of course, it was only the bond that made him forgive him for it.

Jaskier bumped him with his shoulder. It was meant to be more annoyed, yet.] Ah, you can't lie to me anymore, Geralt. I can feel the undercurrent of fondness. [He grinned. He couldn't. But he knew the idea would annoy him.] Now, I daresay that sounds like gossip. Who could possibly be passing town gossip with the White Wolf? Don't tell me Karen is announcing our love affair to the entire city already.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt's brows draw into a frown. He looks away, exasperated at the concept of fond and Jaskier in the same sentence. ]

The only one lying is you. [ He picks up another one of Jaskier's written music sheets. There are lyrics scratched out in Jaskier's typical handwriting, a few smudges of smeared ink. It's not bad poetry. Not that he'll say it.

As for who: ] Lightning.

[ Now that he knows Jaskier has met her, he's curious exactly how the fuck a woman like Lightning has not only had a run-in with Jaskier without clocking him over the head but has apparently spoken to him enough to know about his love life. ]

II. she was going to do something actually reasonable but this is the mental image that came instead

[foundfamilies]

[ Leslie knows both the medallion and the golden eyes, but when a bunch of dust lands on you from above when you’re crouching down to pick up some apples that fell to the ground and you look up to see a giant, rabid wolf...let’s say she is not quite so concerned about details.

What she is concerned about is the man who is clearly on the wrong side of the wolf. She doesn’t know whether or not this is an illusion, and she doesn’t know if illusions from the moths can hurt people or not. If either of those answers are on the wrong side of it, that man seems in trouble and does not appear to be adept enough with his dagger to fight it off before he can make it to a safe height in the tree. (Is there even a safe height for a wolf of this size?)

Leslie does have some magic that can be used to defend in such a situation. She even has a little recent experience to know what kinds of things she can and cannot manage. But she’s still not used to situations like this, so rather than reaching for a spell, she reaches for something a little closer to hand.

And so now there’s a short child who looks about ten years old (excuse you she’s probably thirteen) throwing an apple at the illusion Geralt wolf.]

Hey! Leave him alone!

[She throws a second one, intending to distract it long enough for the skinny man to get some distance. She’s not...completely sure how to deal with the wolf if it comes after her next, but she’s got some magic, it’ll be okay, probably.]

leslie no!!

[cointosser]

[Jaskier is so busy staring Geralt down (not Geralt, a part of him assures him, because it's... it's all wrong, but he can't focus it, can't parse out why the fuck that's true) to notice the small girl that's too close. Far too close. He can't even see her through the branches underneath him, tugging painfull on his doublet, as sweat springs to his palms. He almost slips, falling, the bark scratching his palms open.

Geralt's snarling fills his ears.

And somehow over it he hears her shout. Her. Her? What the fuck? As Jaskier stares, his heart beating too loud in his ears, time slows, enough so he can see the apple go through Geralt -- no, it hits him in the head, knocking against one of his ears. The wolf begins to turn.]

Don't! Don't you dare! [He slips off the branch he had half-climbed onto, hitting his knees hard, but with the dagger still in his hand. Geralt wouldn't. Not a little girl. Young enough to be his Child Surprise. (He would. He had, to his best friend.) But the full moon was over. (Or was he never controlled by the moon at all?)]

Oi! Run! [He shouts at behind Geralt's hulking shoulders, that snarl from Geralt's pulled-back lips leaving the dagger shaking in Jaskier's hand.] Get out of here!

[Heroic, he might think later. If he had the chance, if enough of Geralt was in there still to leave him alive.]

leslie yes

[foundfamilies]

[...Wait, this is the exact opposite of what she was trying to accomplish. Instead of buying him time to finish climbing the tree, the man is now right in the thick of danger. For half a second, Leslie contemplates drawing the short sword she brought with her today, the apple orchards being a little too close to the proper Wilde for comfort, and rushing the beast to rescue this man, but she’s brave, not foolhardy.

Instead, she turns and scurries to the tree nearest to her, beginning to climb it in a compromise between his demand for her to run and her desire to be within range to help him magically. She’s clearly not practiced in the art of tree-climbing, but she’s reasonably strong for her size.

Even as she does so, though, she shouts back:] But what about you? You’re going to be hurt! I can help!

[It’d probably be helpful to specify she means able to help as a witch with magic rather than leaving the declaration of her competence open, but such is where we find ourselves.]

this is going swimmingly

[cointosser]

[Jaskier made be a terrible bloody coward, but he's not the sort to run and leave a child to get eaten by his... feral best friend. Or any wolf, really! He's a witch now, godsdammit! He --

Is also terrible at magic! Fuck!]

I don't need help! I'm fine, I assure you! [The panicked cracking in his voice is not really making that statement believable, but at least he's taking his eyes off of Geralt's hulking, snarling film for a moment to dig into the little leather bag at his side, keeping the dagger gripped in his other hand. Where the fuck -- ah! He catches hold of the small sphere he now carries with him everywhere (being nearly torn apart by a monster can make a man paranoid), shaking the liquids inside. If he can get Geralt a bit closer --] Just... stay up there! He's confused, that's all!

wildcard!

[plasticasshole]

[Connor likes the taverns for the music, and only the music. The atmosphere can be pleasant, of course, but his Merrow instincts draw him to the songs. Tonight he's sitting at a table on his own, as he often does, enjoying the song Jaskier is singing. He doesn't recognise the name Geralt yet, but he does wonder who that could be.

Between songs, he does glance in Jaskier's direction. Wondering idly if those songs were based on fact or fiction.]

yeee connor c:

[cointosser]

[To anyone who has met Jaskier for more than five seconds, it's no surprise that, while he plays and entertains and dances to his own music, that his eyes are always open for any pretty face that passes by. His heart is too big to be restricted to one pretty face, after all, and he... is sorely reminded of his current relationship status with Geralt's early morning, mussy-haired walks from Yennefer's cottage.

That only happened once. But he is sure it's just the only one he's seen.

Not that he hasn't spent plenty of time around the Coven as well. Between lessons. Or in some lessons.

While Connor's face isn't the sort that normally catches Jaskier's attention immediately -- he's much more cute than he is, shall we say, sexy -- what does catch his eye is a light. Literally, from what he can tell. A circle of light, right above his brow. So when Jaskier's set ends and he takes his bows to a clapping crowd, he shoulders his lute around his shoulder and swings by the table seating the man alone.] Enjoying the show? [He smiles his big, flashy smile, brushing a hand (attractively, he thinks) through his hair.] I couldn't help but notice your rather attractive, ah... [He gestures to his own brow.] Monster marking, perhaps? No insult meant, of course, if that's not the case.

[plasticasshole]

[Connor eyes Jaskier as he comes over to his table, and tilts his head a little, amused, at his assumption. His hands and forearms are covered in blue and orange scales that very much give away his status as a Monster, but the LED has never been mistaken for a part of his transformation before.]

I'm enjoying it a lot, yes. But no, this is something I've always had.

[He fixes Jaskier with a smile of his own.]

Don't worry. No offence taken.

[cointosser]

Good. That's what I like to hear. [That little blinking light is certainly a bit more less Monster-y than his scales, but Jaskier's only intent was starting a conversation. Though he does take in his scales as well. Scales could mean a few different things, as he understands from his studies.

It's been a shame, lately, that he seems to be caught more in with witches than Monsters, who he's much more fascinated by.

Without invitation, he pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from him. Smiles in response are always invitations.] May I ask what it is? It's... a light? Were you cursed? As curses go, it doesn't seem so bad. Certainly no one's going to lose you at night.

lets write those plays

[usurpers]

[ jaskier might finally catch his break on the bench he sprawls across, and after a stretching moment of silence, then two, then seven with the blather of children farther away from his ears that they had been before in the annoying banter to come onnnnn mr. jaskier there's still more to do! we want dragons!, he'd realize: they're leaving him alone. they're actually leaving him be! the reason would be clear when and if he brings his attention to the far right backstage corner of the theater. a dragon (more a wyvern, if you count it down to detail) has stolen the gaggle's attention and plead for a story or ten in a circle around him. you were there, right?! the dragon with jewel horns, erzorion the incandescent night!!. another child chimes in with objection: nuh-uh, it was erygon the northern stormbringer! ]

. . . None of those are my name. Where's your custodian?

[cointosser]

[Ahh. Blessed silence. Truly the perfect moment to relax while he can, to take in the quiet of the city moving around him, even if it's not quite the glory and population of Aegenflom.

Hmm. Should it be this quiet? Feels like he should be a bit bothered more.

He sits up. Ah, fuck.

Not that he is the appointed guardian of this gaggle of children, but there is certainly a bit of implied, er, responsibility there. At least it's not difficult, in the least, to see what has distracted them so: a towering monster that pings him as horribly familiar. In a way that makes him feel as if it was a mistake. With a huff, Jaskier pushes himself to his feet, quickly gathering the music before stumbling over. Perhaps literally, because he's still half-edged into sleep.]

Oi! Are you all slacking off? You were supposed to be working on the second act's rhyming scheme! Go on! [Jaskier shoos them off over the sounds of their groans and complaints. But really, he's already promised them treats later on, which he has found the easiest way to have children cooperate.

Yes. Bribery.]

Ahem. [He turns back to the monster and looks up and. Up. Yes. This is terribly familiar. Oh, no. It was when he was drunk that first time, wasn't he? Half of that night is still a fuzzy sense of vague memories.] My apologies. They're, well, children. [Jaskier squints up at the horned, somewhat scaled face.

He remembers... scales. Touching a scale.] I have a feeling we've met before. [He blinks. Ah.] Wait. I think you licked me.

[usurpers]

[ oH oh it’s . . . him. everything from That Night felt like something out of a wicked dream. he might’ve— ah, yes, he threatened to eat him, somewhat. that’s how they parted ways, but this time the bard doesn’t seem drunk or enabled. the lesser evil.

never mind he threatened to eat someone and that didn’t, at the slightest, seem wrong. he was being rather troublesome, perhaps bothers warrant cannibalism threats. jaskier’s sleek blue friend, eren’s linger-than average forked tongue slips out to get a feel for the air around them, the smell, specifically, coming from the approaching one and . . . testing, part two. ]

You still taste bitter.

[ an affirmation to who they both thought they were, which were both correct. the children, or at least the majority of them now scamper into place, one of the more interested little ones whining and dragging themselves into place. ]

I was just giving them details. You’re taking care of the music?

[cointosser]

[Oh, yeah. It's Him. Jaskier is having similar thoughts when he sees that long, inhuman tongue and he gives an involuntary shudder. The memory manages to poke through the drunk haze that night had had.] You're that man who licked me! Wha -- are you tasting me again? Stop it!

[He huffs. There's nothing bitter about him, thank you. He's actually wondering if he should have allowed the children to continue to bombard him with inane questions. (They were sweet. Really.)]

I am. The writer, conductor, er... producer? I'm winging this a little bit, to be honest. [He takes him in for a moment. He'll... probably remember his name. Maybe. Later.] Don't suppose you want to be a stand in for a dragon for our little play, do you?

iii

[exsoldier]

[ Zack's making his way back to the cottage, one that he now only shares with Cloud. They've already spoken of moving yet again, his second time in just a few months, because they no longer need all the space that the cottage offers. They're from four residents down to two, which means that they've got too many reminders of both Aerith and Nier scattered everywhere.

Chances are they'll end up back in an apartment in the city before long, but they haven't yet gotten around to making arrangements for that. So it's on his walk past the other cottages on the way to theirs that he spots none other than Jaskier in the garden of one of the cozy homes.

At first Zack's only intention is to say hello, seeing that the two of them haven't had the chance to speak since they first arrived. Zack has heard of Jaskier in passing since then and is now aware of his connection to both Geralt and Yennefer. There's a lot for them to catch up on.

Before he can even get a word out, though, Jaskier collapses to the ground with no explanation or warning. Zack startles, then immediately rushes forward to see if he can offer aid, only for Jaskier to sit back up as if nothing happened. ]

Oh... Hey. [ Zack pauses. He's standing at the small fence around the property, having not actually barged into the garden proper yet. ] You all right?

[cointosser]

[He hears the stomp of boots and, in the moment of being half-sleep, thinks it's Geralt. Of course, that means something is going wrong, which --

Ugh. Not a great time for it. He rubs his eyes and yawns again, getting to his feet.]

Oh. [Not even close to Geralt. Wonderful.] Zack, hello! [Ah, this one he remembers. Finally, someone he didn't meet when he was inebriated.] All right? Why -- [He looks down. His bright yellow undershirt is now a bit dusty from the dirt he'd landed in. He hastily brushes it off.] I'm just fine, thank you, just a momentary lapse in, er, consciousness, which comes with the territory of magical testing. It's been quite a while! How are you?

[exsoldier]

[ Jaskier brushes off the fact that he passed out for no reason as if it's nothing, and Zack doesn't know if he should be concerned or not. The look on his face is briefly incredulous, but Jaskier seems fine and the explanation of magical testing at least means it wasn't some random fainting spell. So there's that. ]

Yeah, it has! I'm all right. A lot's happened since we first got here... I'm sure it's the same for you.

[ He doesn't want to invite himself in if Jaskier's in the middle of something just to have a chat, but he also can't help but be curious. He takes a quick look around the yard. ]

What kind of testing are you doing?

[cointosser]

[It's quite clearly not the first time that's happened. Jaskier has certainly kept his magical testing mostly to himself. It's a little... private. All the passing out and sleeping and, er, minor explosions.]

Absolutely. Luckily, not altogether awful. I've been enjoying it here in some regards.

[Jaskier waves him in without a second thought. He's always glad to welcome company to his cottage and, to be honest, it's mostly been Geralt coming to ask him for things. (And some witches from the Coven, but... you know.)] Come in! I'm finding a new interest in, ah, magical weaponry, I suppose you could say. Defensive, of course. [He really has no interest in people thinking he's going around planning on blowing things up. Plenty of other crazy witches for that.] I've almost gotten it -- [He yawns again] -- perfected.

[He holds up the sphere he'd been messing with, a bit like a round potion bottle with a partition that can be seen in the small sliver of glass visible.] These two potions mix and make a sleep-inducing smoke. The timing's always been a bit off. [He looks up suddenly. He may be explaining like an amateur for all he knows.] Magic makes me prattle. Are you, er, a witch? You may know better than me, even.

ii one dumbass to rescue another dumbass

[demonass]

[ If there's someone who can understand restlessness and a need for some action? It's Nero. He'd been bedridden for part of last month and then dealt with the unfortunate turn of events that's caused him to re-lose his right arm. Now that that's mostly under control--barring whatever the hell is now growing in it's place--he needs something to do. (That isn't related to Nico's new, erm, business venture.)

Pick some fucking apples for a nice stack of coins? Boring, but done. They need more supplies, anyway, and he's pulled back a bit on the monster-hunting shit when he's not sure what other weird thing is going to start growing on himself. And it's going pretty swimmingly, albeit uneventfully until he hears screening further down the orchard. Never let it be said that he goes apple picking unprepared, because Nero's on the job sprinting over with a big ass sword strapped to his back.

Look you never know when you're going to need it. And clearly that time is now, because that's really a big fucking wolf attacking some guy. It doesn't look familiar, but it doesn't need to--see monster, kick it's ass. That's kind of his schtick. ]

Hey, fido!

[ Nero reaches up with his left hand, gripping the handle of his sword. He revs it once, the sound of the engine an foreign sound in the trees, sending red sparks off into the air behind him. ]

Didn't you see the signs? This ain't an off-leash dog park.

two halves of a whole idiot

[cointosser]

[There are only a few specific things that could have made this situation any worse and, as a result, left Jaskier screaming louder. Something like the tree he's clinging to being on fire. Or the wolf being on fire. That would be twice as bad to be mauled by, probably.

Another one he originally would have not imagined was a man running towards Geralt with a giant sword.

A giant sword that makes a terrible, terrifying racket. Great! Not wolves on fire! Swords on fire!

In any other case, he really would have appreciated the taunting.]

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait, wait! [The wolf turns with a snarl, foam forming around its teeth, though one paw has still attempted to swipe at Jaskier's foot hanging from a branch.] You, with the -- the bloody fucking sword! Don't you dare kill him!

[Yes, he probably should be encouraging the wolf killing, but in his dust-addled brain, that illusionary wolf is definitely also the Turnskin he's currently bonded to.]

[demonass]

[ Nero doesn't exactly go into the whole fighting monsters business for the positive reviews. Sure, it helps when people feel at least a little grateful that they didn't get consumed by a demon or had their blood sucked out of their bodies to feed some unholy ritual that might actually end the world. Nice, but not necessary.

That doesn't mean he's expecting any potential rescuees to be upset when they see the guy prepared to handle the situation show up and ask him...not to fight the monster?

Which is why Nero frowns instantly, lip turning upwards as he shifts his gaze to the guy dangling from the tree. ]

What?

[ Is this guy crazy? The wolf looks actually rabid. That's foam. That's definitely mouth foam. He cock his head towards said animal ]

Is this your dog?

[ He keeps his hand on the sword, though. ]

[cointosser]

[Distantly, he does have to wonder if this man is an idiot. He cannot imagine a single time in his life mistaking a wolf the size of a bear for a dog.

Or is it derogatory?

Not important!]

He's -- [Ah, fuck.] Geralt, you stupid bastard, look over here! [The wolf had begun turning a bit too much attention to the man with the sword, and horribly he recalls how Geralt reacted even worse when Jaskier had his own weapon last time. Wiggling about on the branch, he grabs hold of a pinecone of some sort, lobbing it at the wolf.

It doesn't hit him, but Geralt does turn his eyes back on him. Jaskier swallows bile down.] He's my friend, I -- [The way Geralt is looking at him is not friendly in the least bit. In fact, the gold of his eyes is somehow turning fiery red. Jaskier's arms begin going numb from how tightly he is holding onto his branch.] He's feral, it's the full moon --

[It may be very easy to note that the full moon has been over for several days and is almost a half-moon already. And whether it's because Geralt is tired of hearing him talk (likely) or because he is no longer content simply looking menacing, he claws at the tree trunk and, from the strength of his size, begins climbing, straight for the bard.

Jaskier yelps, his grip slipping. Ah, so his final options right before death are dismemberment and being eaten, or breaking his neck from a fall. Wonderful.]