[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

[cointosser]

What? [Jaskier looks genuinely surprised. Of course he's not a complete fool; Lightning didn't exactly seem thrilled with her current occupation, but not to the point where she might hide it from others. (Actually, the idea she might hide anything, especially from Geralt of all people, is a bit surprising.)

Well. Shit.]

You had absolutely better not mention I brought this up, then! I have no interest in embarrassing her. She was doing quite a good job.

[Okay, that's a lie, but he's keeping it up. Besides, whether it was his song or Lightning's, er, personable aura, the job got done, didn't it?

Jaskier frowns at him.] Excuse you! I know fully well what you're implying, Geralt. [He doesn't mention it's warranted, but he's also not quite so young anymore. (Did that ever stop him?)] I do not have my sights set on Karen, as kind and sprightly as she may be. My tastes have... [He clears his throat.] Matured.

[He so obviously is setting his sights on Lightning that he's not even considered Karen at all. (He is now, though.)] Oh, don't fret yourself sick over the thought of protecting me from vengeful witches. A few love potions and everything will be tip-top.

[That's a joke.]

[gynvael]

[ Matured. Geralt doesn't say what he thinks of that declaration, but he lets Jaskier defend himself without interrupting. What Jaskier does with his love life is none of Geralt's business. Or at least, he tries real fucking hard for it not to be his business. (Half the time, he succeeds.) ]

Saving your ass? Hardly. [ He contemplates. Not the love potions -- he knows Jaskier isn't serious. It's that, for the first time, he can now sense something underneath.

He's always known, in a vague way, that Jaskier truly does fall for everyone he chooses to pursue. Even if, in the end, it never quite lasts. But he's never really felt it like he does now, through the magic that links them. ]

Fine. I won't mention it. [ Not exactly encouragement. Absolutely not. But it's inching there, coming from him, and he switches topics before Jaskier can latch onto it as solid endorsement. ] Are you going to finish this play or not?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier snorts.] Yes. Hardly a thing you've ever done for me, or for anyone. [There is no need to make his words pointed when Geralt knows exactly what occurrence he's referring to. And it's probably best to not bring it up, what with the Cintran princess...

He's wondered, of course. He wonders very much, about Cintra and Sodden Hill and the child. But what is he to ask? To only ask so he brings up tragic memories for the two of them? His knowledge of what (may) happen will change nothing.

And honestly, it's quite depressing. Which is why Jaskier spends his time doing things like writing plays with children or perfecting his bombs. Nonviolent, non-sad things.]

It's only polite. [He trusts Geralt's word. Not that, of course, he thinks the White Wolf would ever get in the way of himself and his potential, ah, companions. Besides, he couldn't even if he tried. Jaskier can sell himself perfectly well without anyone's help or interference.]

Ah, a sudden interest in the arts, have you? [He prods him with an elbow.] Of course, but I deserve a break and a back and forth with a friend. We'll be putting on the show later today. Before dark, of course, for the children. And I had better see you there, or I shall never trust you again.

[gynvael]

That's your last straw? [ The hum he gives is edged with a hint of mirth. ] I'd be loath to do something so unforgivable.

[ There's weight to his wry comment he doesn't address out loud. They both know Jaskier has let go of things he's done. More than Geralt would've expected, yet some part of him isn't wholly surprised. He's learned over the years that Jaskier hides, deliberately or otherwise, what is a deep well of loyalty.

A quiet settles over them. It's easy and comfortable; not unlike the times they've spent between hunts by the fire or walking a worn road.

He does stay to watch the play. Or the rehearsal of it. There are multiple uses of sticks as swords. The dragons don't yet have wings. The children struggle to remember the newly penned songs. Still. Some promise there. Time yet, in any case, before the celebration in the coming weeks.

Despite himself, he waits for Jaskier afterwards. It's nothing. Just that after the attacks last month, he's more cautious of what else might be lurking on the edges of the cities. ]

[cointosser]

You're lucky I've had this much patience for so many years.

[And there's a smile curling the edges of his lips up to match Geralt's wryness, which is certainly his sort of humor. One Jaskier has learned well over the years; the same way he knows Geralt will show up to the play whether he verbally agrees or not.

Jaskier shuffles the music into their intended order, following some of the letters with his fingers. He even pauses to tap his pen against his tongue, fixing a letter or two he spots after the fact.

It's not a big deal. It's not as if the children are so trained to follow music such as his. He's impressed by their attempts, though.

The practice of the play does not go so far as to be without a hitch, but the hitches are amusing and Jaskier is not so stupid that he finds it more important the music is done correctly over the children having fun. The point is, as ballads, as music, often do, is to forget the terrible, to remember something better.

Or perhaps it's an optimist's hope.

Jaskier claps as it finishes, urging the children to take their bows -- of course they deserve them! They're doing a wonderful job. And if there's any other shows being done, of course theirs will be the best.

Jaskier promises to return for them to practice more, after leaving the children in the charge of their guardians. It's not worth mentioning that he finds Geralt after, clearly waiting for him. It's nothing.

As it always has been.]

So, what did you think? Tell me on the way. [He smiles.] I'll be sure to pass your criticisms on.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt pushes off the wall he's been leaning against while waiting and falls into step beside Jaskier. The sounds of children clamouring for more play time fade behind them. Not a bad outing. It felt like they deserved it a bit -- the children and Jaskier, too. Some mundane nonsense after all that's happened. ]

You're using children to bypass my criticisms now? [ It's not the first time Jaskier has asked for his opinion, even if Geralt usually offers something unflattering. But occasionally, he musters up a not bad or heard worse, which Jaskier always delights in as if he'd been given praise worthy of the gods. ]

Your dragons are more accurate than usual. [ Most likely, he thinks, from the tales of the dragon hunt. Geralt had not given him that story. (Obviously.) But he must've gotten it from Borch in the end. ] That song in the second act could be shorter.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier's laugh is sharp, nearly condescending.] Geralt, please. I have never feared your criticisms, when you see fit to give them.

[He always likes asking. Hard to say why. Geralt's criticisms are neither particularly helpful nor a disguise for compliments, which Jaskier strongly feels they should be. (There may be a small spark of him, somewhere, that cares what Geralt thinks. He will, of course, bear no hint of this truth.)

He smiles as they walk. What can he say? The children have installed in him a certain sort of levity.] I couldn't insult the dragons of Dorchacht after their harrowing tale of bravery. [Plus, it helps he's actually met some dragons, as strange as it is to think.

The secomd comment Jaskier immediately waves off.] Absolutely not! Listing the deeds of The Dragon so precisely in order, leading up to his final act, is what makes the climax so dramatic! No offense, Geralt, but you've never had the eye for drama, unless you're inserting yourself into it.

[gynvael]

[ Jaskier, as typical, waves off anything he doesn't find flattering. Geralt hums, letting the bard expound on his creative decisions. The real reason, he suspects, that Jaskier asks. He does like to hear himself talk. He especially likes to hear himself talk about how he's correct.

Then Geralt frowns. Wait, that's -- fuck. It's not drama; it's shit that won't leave him alone no matter where he goes. (It's drama.)

He sighs. Jaskier doesn't even know the half of it. He hasn't told him about the fact that there's been another version of himself here, one who seemingly has found the girl and grown close to her. Close enough to consider her his own.

He turns down the street towards the teleporter. His reply is couched in his usual deadpan, but there's a question beneath it, too, one he's not entirely ready to ask out loud. ] High time I start blaming Destiny like everyone else.

[cointosser]

[Of course it makes him frown. Jaskier only laughs at him, because even after all these years, the fool is still insisting that he doesn't insert himself into things. That he avoids conflict and messiness, even though he's doing the exact damn thing here.

Jaskier gives him a small break where it comes to Aefenglom. The messiness... some of it was forced upon him. On both of them. The Bond, their missing links to the Continent.]

Hah! [He runs a hand through his hair, brushing and fluffing it up.] So you might stop blaming your friends? [He shoots Geralt a pointed look, though it's not filled with any real heat.] A miracle indeed that I'll live long enough to see it.

[gynvael]

[ At this point, he should be used to how simply Jaskier annoys him. He rolls his eyes, giving him a look back. That's a low blow. Even if he deserves it.

He also distinctly doesn't deny that Jaskier counts as a friend. They're bonded now. And it hasn't been as...complicated as he thought. Nor has it taken as much getting used to. In a way, they still work the same. Just...there's something there now, that simply confirms what he's often been able to read from Jaskier.

Which is that Jaskier doesn't begrudge him for anything that's happened. ]

You'll be with the children for the show? [ Is he switching topics? He is. Geralt knows when not to dig a deeper hole for himself. ]

[cointosser]

[How relieving it is to not hear the first thing Geralt says be a denial of their bond, both literal and, er, not literal. Dare he think Geralt might finally agree? And all it took was a bit of a row and the man turning into a wolf. And Jaskier almost dying.

Well, some men certainly take extra effort.

He nods.] Someone needs to direct them. You wouldn't believe the sorts of vicious imaginations they have. I suppose it only makes sense considering what they've survived. [He pauses, picking at his nail.] You should invite Yennefer. It could be a nice outing for the two of you.

[gynvael]

Mm. We used to do much the same.

[It's a rare and brief acknowledgment of a childhood Geralt otherwise doesn't talk about. They do remind him of those days, though. The orphans, that is. Playacting violent deaths and gruesome battles. Luckily, there are only a small handful of people remaining who can attest to having witnessed Geralt playing as a boy. None of whom are here.

His gaze shifts sidelong towards Jaskier. ] Perhaps.

[ He suspects she'll be at the celebration regardless. It's a chance to learn more about the city. Besides, as much as he doesn't expect anything to go wrong, there's always the chance. So yeah. He'll come watch Jaskier's play, find a free drink or two. With luck, it'll be an uneventful few days. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier glances at him, a little surprised by the off-handed admittance. They come quite rarely, dropping like cursed little gemstones when he least expects it. Even now, after all this time, Geralt's past is quite clouded to him, though he's heard enough to guess some things.

He smiles.] Children do tend to violence rather easily. I used to go chase rats with sticks.

[Those were not really equivalent. Jaskier gives his friend a pat on the shoulder, gripping it and squeezing a little. It's, maybe, reassurance for their rocky relationship. Despite his confusing feelings for Yennefer, he does hope for Geralt to find some semblance of happiness. Even with her.] It's not as hard as you make it out to be. Just ask. I bet she wouldn't turn you down. Not for the children.

[Is he encouraging this horror? Possibly. If only because he saw her on Geralt's first full moon. It had changed a lot of things. They walk together to Dorchacht's teleporter (a concept he only imagines as Yennefer's teleportation spell, but fixed) to make their way back home. It's so simple now, the way it used to be: the two of them walking, with Jaskier predictably annoying him, and then they part to go to their separate abodes. Knowing it won't be a chance meeting on the road again that they hear of each other.

It's comforting, in a way. Not for the first time is Jaskier glad he has pieces from his home here with him.]