[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

swimmingly, but in a riptide

[foundfamilies]

[There are people Leslie would trust could handle any fight thrown their way. Their presence makes her feel assured, as though they are invincible.

This is not the impression Jaskier is giving right now.]

He doesn’t look confused about what he wants to me! [Raw bard, by the current look of things, which is something she’s worried he’ll get if things continue like this.

On the other hand, Leslie being in the wrong place at the wrong time did not work out well for the people trying to protect her, so she will stay a little ways up in the tree. But she will grab the branch beneath her and send out her magic in the form of little fingers of frost that slip down the tree across the way toward where the two are tangling.]

Be careful where you step! [With that warning, the frost beneath the wolf turns into a smooth, flat sheet of ice right below the wolf’s feet. She hopes that it will make the wolf, but not the bard, lose his footing.]

a tsunami, if you will

[cointosser]

[She has a good point. Geralt is certainly not confused about how horribly and terribly he would, absolutely, love to eat one of them. Both of them, probably, if he could get away with it. He feels it is also pertinent he does not tell this darling, wonderful girl that she may be a few seconds from being eaten.]

It's fine!

[It is not fine. Jaskier swallows heavily, his hand shaking around the sleeping bomb in his hand. A wolf yelp distracts him from where he was turning a small crank on the sphere. The wolf attempts to move, slipping under -- ice? Unmistakably ice, shining in the waning sun, sliding down to its feet.

What the --

It distracts him enough that he forgets to actually toss the sphere, as the crank clicks and the two fluids inside mix. A bright blue smoke erupts from his hands and, with a squawk, coats Jaskier's face and falls to crack and shatter against the ice. He holds his breath right when he realizes what happens, but a breath of the smoke goes through his nose. Unfortunately, Jaskier's experiments with his sleeping spell had gone a little too well. He wobbles on his precariously perched branch, then falls, a complete dead weight as the smoke sends him to sleep.

Only by Destiny herself does his head avoid hitting the ice, and once his limp body hits the ground the giant wolf -- or the illusion of it -- disappears.

It's several minutes later that he wakes with a gasp. Oh. Ow.] Fuck.

[foundfamilies]

[Technically, she solved the problem very efficiently, but Leslie very much doesn’t see it that way.

When he opens his eyes, he will find that he’s no longer underneath the apple trees. He missed the sight of Leslie carrying princess carrying him with the help of a strengthening enchantment cast on herself. She’s not experienced enough with either that kind of magic or with the awkwardness of carrying someone significantly taller than herself to take him far, so he’s not completely out of the nightmare dust danger zone, but at least it should be less likely for him to get doused again. Probably.

He will also see the girl that he’d heroically...sort of saved is hovering over him with a very worried expression. There’s some relief that sprouts when she hears him wake up, but she still looks very worried and very guilty. ]

Does your neck hurt? Do you need me to heal you? I’m really sorry!

[ “Um, is it okay if I ask what ‘fuck’ means? Does it have something to do with necks?“ “Umm... Y...es. It's a word adults say...when their necks...hurt.“ “I see. So that's why ‘fucking massacre’ means to break the nape.”

One day, Leslie will meet someone brave enough to explain to her what the word actually means in a situation where there is the opportunity to figure out why she keeps asking people about their necks when they swear. For once, it’s not an entirely out-of-place question, though. ]

[cointosser]

[It takes him several very long seconds, possibly filled with more cursing, before he recognizes at all that he's awake, let alone having been moved from where he fell (which he was asleep for, rather luckily. His limpness may have saved him from breaking any bones.)

It does not ease the ache of hitting the ground, though.

He blinks.]

Oh. Hello. [He clears his throat, sitting up, finding he is... no longer gripped in an overwhelming sense of terror. He pats over his chest, his legs, finding no broken bones or split skin. Yes, he is sore, but. Alive? Not torn up by wolf teeth? He looks past her for a second for Geralt, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Ah. Fuck. The dust. They specifically warned him about this. It was exactly why he was here. Finally his attention lands on the girl, who, thankfully, looks unharmed.] Oh, shush, don't worry about it. I'm perfectly alive, though frankly, it's a bit of a surprise. [He sits up gingerly, rubbing his neck.] Are you all right? That was good thinking, you know, the ice. I mean, I think. I sort of missed the second half there. Er.

[How terribly embarrassing. And to frighten her on top of it! How was he to forgive himself?] A-actually, I wouldn't mind a bit of the old healing touch on my neck. I'm afraid that's not my specialty.

[foundfamilies]

[Leslie is honestly a little uncertain how to react when the source of her panicked apologies just says hello back, which does at least have the effect of stopping those apologies. But well, there’s something for her to do, so she moves to be able to put a hand gingerly on the back of his neck.]

You should still talk to a real healer later. I don’t know enough to do everything, but I’ll do my best.

[After a moment with her mumbling under her breath (rather than fancy spell incantations, Leslie tends to describe what she wants in precise terms to cast instead), a feeling like a cool breeze moves through his neck. She might not be a real healer, but she can manage to dull the pain and decrease inflammations.

Meanwhile, as her magic got to work, she feels like she has done enough that she’ll get back to his questions, which seemed less important in the face of “man is hurt and needs my help!!”]

I’m all right. You didn’t really miss anything important. Um, because there wasn’t a second half. After that blue smoke and you falling unconscious, the wolf disappeared, necklace and all.

[She hadn’t gotten a good chance to look at the medallion around the wolf’s neck, aside from the gleam of the metal it was made from, but it definitely struck her as an odd thing for a snarling wolf to wear.]

So if something happens with my nightmares and it gets dangerous, I won’t get mad if you knock me out.

[This is a somewhat dangerous offer to make to someone she’s just met and doesn’t even know the name of, but Leslie is of the belief that anyone who wants to do her harm would bear an openly hostile manner, meaning that since this bard doesn’t look hostile, he must be a good person!

One day in the house of Trust Nothing And No One, she’ll learn about people who fall between these extremes.]

[cointosser]

[He has to give it to his young, ah, savior, that she's very good at readjusting herself to the moment at hand. Despite Jaskier not thinking it was an actual real offer, he goes still as her small hand goes to his neck.

He sighs. Oh. Tingly. It's rather pleasant, actually, and once her hand lifts away, the sharp soreness has ebbed away. At least for the moment, but it's more than he could ask for.

The relief ends quickly. Not physically, but -- Jaskier, for possibly the first time in his life, looks flustered and, impossibly, embarrassed. The lightest pink touches his cheeks as he gets carefully to his feet.] I do pray you're good at keeping secrets, because I'd prefer we never tell anyone what just occurred.

[A reasonable request. The... the falling out of the tree, the unconsciousness. Completely unintended on his part and, perhaps if he was not so battered by the effects of the dust, something which not would normally have happened.

As he's dusting dirt off his trousers, he looks at her with surprise. And, perhaps, intense concern. He cannot recall a child ever offering him the chance to harm them.] I... excuse me? My dear, I'm not about to knock anyone out. [Besides, how terrible could her nightmare be? Jaskier could fight off monsters under the bed. They weren't real, clearly. (Because he did so well with the wolf, right?)] What sort of nightmares?

[After a moment of considering the offer, it seems a fair question.]

so genshin impact stole my soul this month

[foundfamilies]

[Leslie looks a little confused by his request for her to keep it a secret — she personally thinks that causing the person she tried to help to fall in a way that may very well have resulted in his death if that were a real wolf is much more embarrassing than anything that he did — but she does nod.

She is about to make the promise to keep it a secret verbally, but the question of what kind of nightmares makes her stiffen up.]

Things. [What a complete answer.] Scary things. [Ah, well, that explains everything. Her eyes dart around a little as she tries to think of what of the several options she has she would be most willing to talk about. She stops to look across the field to where the Wilde things are must be in the distance.]

I — I was attacked by one of the horse mon — [No, monster means something different here.] creatures last month. I wouldn’t want anyone to be injured trying to rescue me again. It would be easier for everyone to knock me out, if it was one of these nightmare illusions.