Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2020-09-07 11:56 am
cointosser) wrote in middaeg2020-09-07 11:56 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] I know you're strong enough to do this on your own. ♫
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.
II. Apple A Day. Septeril 8, Aegenflom, early evening.
III. Weapon Testing. Septeril 9, Aegenflom, afternoon.
IV. Wild Card. Early to mid-Septeril, Aegenflom, various times.
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. ]
yeee connor c:
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.
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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.
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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.
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[He eyes Jaskier too, to see if there's any Monster traits... but he sees none.]
You must be a Witch? Your love for music isn't attributed to your changes, then?
[From the ease with which he plays, Connor assumes he's been playing for a while.]
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Jaskier props his head on a hand and raises his brows. Well, it's a safe guess at this point, isn't it?]
I am a witch, but I can promise you my love of music has nothing to do with that. [And since Connor enjoyed it, Jaskier is happy to talk about it. In length. Forever.] I'm a bard. The bard Jaskier, at your service. [He lifts his head only to dip it with a devilish smile.] My music is not magically enhanced, either, don't get me wrong! It's all natural talent.
[And a shitload of hard work, over two decades of work... maybe an Elven lute. He doesn't want to give the wrong idea.] And you must be a monster? [Gods, that will never feel natural to say.] Your scaling is exquisite. The colors are akin to streaks of a sunset on ocean waves.
[Oh, yeah. He's laying it on thick.]
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Thank you. I'm a Merrow, yes. And my name is Connor.
[He holds out one of those scaled hands.]
A pleasure to meet a musician with such talent.
[If Jaskier wants to lay it on thick, then Connor can match him.]
Admittedly, my own love of music may be part of my transformation... but I can assure you it's still genuine.
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[Now this is a treat. Jaskier is a gentleman, of course, and would never ask to touch (unless they were in a bit of a more compromising position), but the offered hand allows him the courtesy to touch his scales without being, er. Overbearing.
He takes his hand and shakes it.]
You flatter me. Please, do go on. [His smile is a tease.] As a musician, I must insist that the origin of the appreciation matters not. We only care that you show up to listen. [Here it comes. He's rolling into it. Slowly. Professionally.] Do you come here to listen often?
[Nailed it.]
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[Connor happens to think he looks damn good in Merrow form... his colours are bright and his fins are flashy.]
I come here sometimes. Admittedly, I must have missed you until tonight. I would have noticed you.
[Connor notices everyone, it's what he does. But Jaskier doesn't need to know that.]
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Yes. Ah, his little heart pounds with a familiar, lovely feeling. Elation. How Jaskier has missed the simple back and forth of a good rowdy flirt. Everyone here is so very dour -- regrettably for plenty of reason. Or the problem is he's been around Geralt far too much, who is extra dour, both from his recent changes and all the Yennefer drama.
(Not that he doesn't worry. But a man must learn to find the better things in life to stay bright.)]
I travel between all the taverns. Mostly wherever I end up that night. [I would have noticed you. Oh. Absolutely.] Seeing a Merrow in the water -- was that perhaps an invitation? I've been doing research on Monsters, you see... it would be very advantageous, I believe, to my writings.
[That bit is at least a half-truth. He's done research, but has mostly considered the idea of journaling about the Monsters here, if only to help Geralt see he's not the only one on the wrong side of the moon.
Mostly, he's just horny.] I could write a little song for you, if you'd like. In return.
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[Connor has his own troubles right now, and a distraction would be welcomed. Jaskier seems to be willing to provide one, and he won't turn it down.]
Do you want to leave now?
[Maybe he could sing Jaskier a little song in return when he's in the water... Jaskier might want to document the effects a Merrow's song has on him.]
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He smiles.] Absolutely. I've made my coin for the night. And I'd much rather spend it in your company, besides.
[Going somewhere alone with a Monster could possibly be a terrible idea, and certainly the sort of idea Geralt would kill him for having. Or for going through with. Well, what his bonded doesn't know won't hurt him. Jaskier is quite confident in his character judgement. He stands, chair squealing, holding his hand out in offering.] Well, Connor. Do you have a place in mind? A watering hole for yourself, I suppose?
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My home has a pool that my Bonded made for me.
[He gives Jaskier a smile.]
If that isn't too forward for you, that is.
[It's just the best place to go, in Connor's opinion. It's quiet, nobody is home right now, and it's private.]
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Ah! If only it was always so simple to make a -- friend.
Even the word of a Bonded doesn't wipe the smile from his face. An interesting way to think about it -- that being Bonded does not mean the intricate relationships they might have on the Continent. No marriage involved, for one (though his partners' marriages never stopped Jaskier).]
Oh, you dear. There's absolutely nothing too forward for me. [That wasn't even an exaggeration.] Tell me about them! How is the Bond for you? I don't know much what it's like on the other side of one. [He pauses, curious.] Are you two... a thing?
[The wiggling of his fingers is suggestive of what that means, exactly.]
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Sometimes.
[Not often enough. Connor has been craving more than just cuddling for months now, but Hank never seems to be in the mood. Kissing is about as far as they go now, and it's usually Connor who initiates it.]
His name is Hank. He's tall and well-built, with grey hair and a beard. The Bond is strong, it keeps me from going feral, and Hank is exceptionally kind to me.
[Connor does still occasionally give in to his Merrow urges and steal things that catch his eye, but he always makes a point of secretly paying them back when his guilt sets in.]
Ideally I'd find another Bond, though. I'm always happiest with more than one.
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Ah, well. I understand how it goes.
[It is, of course, natural for him to wonder if it is different between the Bonded. There's no equivalent on the Continent he can think of that would be akin to being Bonded here. Perhaps being bound to another by a wish, but from how he has watched Geralt and Yennefer dance around it, he imagines that is much more painful than the Bond has ever proved to be.]
Hank sounds lovely. [Tall and well-built is a wonderful preference. He would know.] May I pry for a moment, then? Have you had more than one before? I only have one myself, and it already feels like quite a lot.
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[He smiles wistfully as they walk.]
I've gone through the Bonding process four times. So far, only Hank has remained, and I Bonded with him about a month after arriving here.
[He glances over at Jaskier.]
Who are you Bonded to?
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His jovial response dies rather quickly. Ah. Were they all in good standing, perhaps? The witches, of course, had explicitly detailed the pros and cons of the Bond, and how it could be annulled. And, with more difficulty, the effects if one of them should die.]
I'm sorry to hear that. But you and Hank must have a strong bond at this point, mustn't you? If you forgive the wordplay. [And here he'd gone through by coercing Geralt into the damn thing. Of course many would willingly find they wanted more... yet it was relieving to hear it. That one could want that much.]
Ah! If only you'd heard me before, you'd know well of his exploits. [At least Jaskier's mood lifts, because he is always happy to discuss the legend (that he created, of course).] Geralt of Rivia. Perhaps you've heard of him? Where I'm from, everyone has. Thanks to me, of course. [He never misses an opportunity to bring that point up.] It's rather hard to miss him. Big, scarred man. White hair, gold eyes. He stands out.
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[Connor smiles slightly as he leads Jaskier down a path towards his home, and he lets go of him briefly to open the gate to the garden.]
I haven't heard of him, but he sounds very interesting. Has everyone heard of him because of your songs?
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(Do merrows eat people? He may ask later. For the bestiary.)]
Why yes, absolutely! You are quite astute, Connor. Yes, everyone learned of the tales of the White Wolf because of my excelling in storytelling and bardic work. We were known across the Continent! Quite the duo, if you ask me. I made him famous and, dare I say, less of a pauper. [And yet it took an arm almost lost between them to get Geralt to bond. And hardly then! Though Jaskier doesn't mention that out loud quite yet. As he rolls up his sleeves, it'll be quite apparent something happened with the large torn scar up his right arm.
And he's rolling up his sleeves because he means to get wet, of course.] Perhaps I can sing you a tale or two, if you're into that sort of thing. [His tone implies that Jaskier knows everyone, obviously, is into that sort of thing.]
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In any case Connor isn't shy about taking off his shirt, kicking off his shoes, and unbuckling his belt. He might even give Jaskier a small smirk as he undresses, before he moves to the water's edge in his underwear and dives in. When he comes back up, pushing his hair out of his face, he looks significantly different. Brown eyes focus on the scar on Jaskier's right arm, but he says nothing... yet.]
I'm sure you could make him famous here, too. And yes, I'd like to hear a song. I can sing one for you afterwards, if you'd like?
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Jaskier is not the least bit shy about watching in return; if he's being given a free show, who is he to turn it down? His eyes slide over Connor's body to see how far down the scales do really go (a little relieved to find that, merrow or not, he appears to have the right sort of endowment judging by --)
Annnd there he goes! Jaskier moves to the edge of the pond, peeking through the water until Connor pops his head back up. Jaskier startles, nearly jumping backwards.] Holy fuck. [He clears his throat. That might come across a little rude.] Excuse me. I didn't expect such a vast change! But my, aren't you beautiful? [Fins and tail and scary sharp teeth. Jaskier is quickly opening his list of attractive qualities to include ones he had not considered before.
Ah. He was saying something. Jaskier blinks, tearing his eyes away. It's hard not to want to take in all the wonderful changes a bit of water can manifest.] Yes, of course! Ah, I'll start with my first. Please, share one as well after. I'd love to hear. [He takes a comfortable seat by the water's edge, removing his lute from its case to carefully situated her in his lap. The gold intricacies around her soundhole catch the light.
Serenading a monster. His life certainly has taken a turn.
Jaskier clears his throat, tests a few notes, and breaks into his first song about the White Wolf. His breakout hit, so to speak. A song that nearly every soul on the Continent knows by heart (not to speak to his ego too much.)
The story is... mostly true. It skips the part where the King of Elves let them escape the mountains because Geralt was surprisingly good at reverse psychology. That the lute is from Filavandrel himself.
When it's over, he looks as happy to play it as he was the first time.] All a true story, you know. It was a very exciting adventure.
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It sounds exciting, though I'm sorry you got hurt.
[Clawed fingers tap his lower lip idly as he tries to think of a song, before he settles on one.]
Please don't be alarmed by how this may make you feel.
[After all, a Merrow's song- while wet, anyway- can be quite powerful. He starts to sing, and his voice echoes unnaturally, the song working to pull Jaskier in. He keeps close so he doesn't act on any possible urges to fall into the water with Connor, and the Merrow can't help but to trail his claws lightly over Jaskier's leg as he sings.]
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[His ballad, of course, does not detail much how Geralt got them out without a fight, how they'd been tied up and a few seconds from two slit throats, and how Jaskier had nearly nursed a broken rib. Elves kicked hard. One lesson he'd learned. Jaskier settles his lute in his lap once the last note fades, leaning back on his hands.
How rare it is to be performed to in return.
He perks up.] That's a very ominous warning, Connor --
[He goes quiet. Not only is it an utter treat to have someone serenade him -- because isn't that how it feels? Something personally crafted for him? -- it's that the song is beautiful, and longing, and to him, it sounds terribly sad.
It's a very real desire, suddenly, to slip into the water. He places his lute to the side (she is foremost in his mind, of course), moving a bit closer. Connor's hands stop him, if only because the claws are terribly distracting. He shivers, placing his hands on top of Connor's. The scaling is... different. But different has always been fascinating. He encourages the exploration of his hands, moving to the exact edge of the water.]
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When he finishes the song he squeezes Jaskier's hands, and nods to the water.]
Do you want to come in?
[He wants the answer to be yes... enough that he might just start humming again to sway his decision, though perhaps to Jaskier it seems like innocent song.]
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He blinks only when the song is over, a lingering fullness in his head. That was --]
Quite beautiful, indeed. You undersell yourself. [The question comes a moment later, as he realizes what, exactly it is.
In? The water? Ah, he's done so many messier things for love. Dipping into a pool was nothing. The humming is barely needed, yet any lingering concerns certainly vanish with its help.] Absolutely.
[He only pauses to shoulder off his doublet -- far too thick to allow to get wet -- and his boots. Then he goes to the edge, dipping his feet in with a small shudder. Oh. That's quite cool. Still rather nice after their weeks of warmth. He pushes in, the water quickly weighing down his clothing.] I hope you have no romantic ideas of drowning me. I can promise you it will be quite ugly.
(no subject)