[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

[usurpers]

[ telling eren to stop what he’s doing is like deliberately telling him to keep going. of course, he doesn’t do it without meaning to, not does he want to miff the bard into an inconvenience! it’s a new leaf . . . if not just a touch of payback for poking his forehead button. eren pulls his head away from the bend that causes the undesirable contact, but it doesn’t stop his tongue from doing a blep every few moments or so. he can’t say he remember’s the other’s name either, so . . . that can come up. eventually. right now, his ears point up, akin to interest. he’s in charge, then! so, he should probably know, with a point close to his side, ]

She wants to play the dragon.

[ the little chimera girl with ram horns and sleek green scales hops on the tip of her toes with excitement, scanning eren to attempt mimicking his posture and exclaims to jaskier: i’m gonna get decaperated!!

decapitated. but close enough. doubly close, since that wasn’t exactly the detail and eren’s traveling gaze says it. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier is simply going to accept that the man, er, lizard -- dragon? -- does that tongue thing despite himself. Gods, is this what Borch looked like? No, absolutely not. They had told him he was a grand looking thing. And this one was... lizard-y. Like the kind you find under a rock at the Edge of the World. Poor thing.

Jaskier follows his gaze down.

And laughs. He eagerly drops to a knee and gives her a grin. Unfortunately, he misses Eren's expression.] Absolutely! We're going to cut that head of yours clean off! [He makes a slice of his hand right over his neck, with a ugh! noise and a theatrical tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Jaskier has not much experience with children, but he has quickly learned that the more detail, the better.

And some of them were alive to see... awful things. If they could see the fun in make-believe, then. Well. Why not?

He should really not be around children. He peeks back up at the very, very tall man beside them.] What do you think? Should he be a tree? Ah, Dorchacht doesn't have many trees in the center of town, though. A shame.

[usurpers]

[ he could be . . . a building!! the chimera child chimes, even though eren had no intent whatsoever in joining in and. well. if they say please he might as well be a building that crumbles, he'll accept his fate. either way—! the dragon's gaze remains keen and precise, looking between both of them with blunt, unintentional fun-killing: ]

That's not how it went.

[ especially with a bit of a kink in the bridge of his nose after that . . . dramatic decapitation, jaskier. come on. he probably looked that way (but he'll allow it to slide back this time, since the funny face had made the child giggle). ]

[cointosser]

[Oh, no worries, Eren. Jaskier has heard this argument many a time. And perhaps the smile he gives him is only a little touched with condescension, regarding someone who clearly doesn't understand art. Or perhaps he has a bad habit of relying history to the ones who created it.

Now that he thinks of it, this grumpy, invasive dragon is starting to remind him of Geralt.]

Yes, well. Don't you know what they say? History is written by the victors. [He pats the chimera's head, agreeing that a building is a wonderful choice.] Honestly, I believe the children could enjoy a bit of levity in their history, whether it's the total truth or not.

[usurpers]

[ excuse you jaskier have you seen his macaroni art? his caveman paintings? eren is appalled already. and speaking of appalled— the bard has earned the famous iguana stink eye. history is written by the victors is so fucking true it makes the bridge of his nose crunch. ]

Being decapitated is levity?

[cointosser]

[He should definitely show it!

Ah, he knows that face well -- that sort of scrunchy grumpy face that tells him he's said the exact wrong thing. Well, too bad. The truth hurts and, as a very well-respected history teller, he knows what the people want to remember.

Jaskier sends the little chimera off to join some of the other children in a game which apparently involves trying to hit a faun's tail with a stick.] Unfortunately, I've long since learned that the taste for violence develops early.

[Eren is young still, he suspects, dragon scales or not. (It's a little hard to tell. He's not good at aging lizards.)] MAybe you know so already?

it’s cool!! gmail was out to get all of us this month

[usurpers]

[ . . . ]

Since I’ve known myself. [ the dragon glances down at the children, as if to indicate: their age. six. eight? nine. after that, it’s all he knew, and probably all he’d ever really know. ] I wouldn’t want the same for them, but I can’t do a thing if that’s how they are.

[ just as no amount of proper raising, a loving mother and a present, supportive father didn’t matter when he was still born a killer.

he gestures, with a jerk of his chin, to jaskier. ]

What do you have done?

[ he’s a bard, isn’t he? at least the music should be good. ]

it really was

[cointosser]

[Oof.

This took an incredibly heavy turn. Yes, of course, he's the one who brought up decapitation and all, yet -- some of the people in this place are terribly depressing. (Okay, for good reason.)

It makes him think of Mikasa, who only wanted to be a farmer, drafted into a fight she'd rather not be. Then again, that sort of story isn't unknown to him. Plenty of peasants sent their children out to die, for the good of some kingdom, or simply for one less mouth to feed.]

Yes, well. It appears a bit too late to change things. History, at least, has settled itself.

[The least they may do is remember... the important bits. Which, speaking of: he's grateful for the change in topic, actually, and more than happily offers a sheet of music for him to peruse. Why not?] Plenty. Act I as the witch rises to power, and a bit of the second act. The coming rebellion, the rising of the underdog, you know. [He wiggles his brows.] The exciting stuff. The bit with all the dragons. Which will be impossible to make considering the lack of costuming materials here and my own absence of skill, but... I suppose enough of the children have scales to make it come off right.

[usurpers]

[ best to leave the big hulking stone in the middle of the room rather than beating it. eren too, takes some of the sheets to scan over and redirect his attention to. did he actually care about these sort of details? no, but it was something to occupy himself with. eren’s gaze shifts from the sheets to the bard, and with an extension of one of his talon, he points to jaskier and flatly declares: ]

I want to see you play.

[ and now he’s watching. intently. ]