[Open] January catch-all

[cointosser]

Who: Jaskier and you
When: Throughout Ieneuer
Where: The Green Petal Tearoom and various shoppes
What: Doing what Jaskier does best: performing, making money, being an overwhelming, talkative presence
Warnings: None yet!



I. BIRD OF PARADISE (HOSTS WITH THE MOST); Aefenglom; throughout Ieneuer

[If there ever was a job that Jaskier was made for, it absolutely was this one. The Green Petal Tearoom lived up to its name, and Jaskier made sure he was ever the bright flower among its leaves, wearing a sky-blue uniform with a mettalic sheen. Metallic -- completely new to him, and may as well have been the result of magic, shining like the edge of a blade.

He had made sure to bring his lute to their little interview, performing a song off the top of his head without pause. With his reputation already running through a few taverns throughout the city, it was plainly clear to him he would be chosen. Jaskier approached it with a renewed eagerness, too: after a month of being out of commission with sickness, than another to allow his throat to heal (Yennefer's orders, of course, but he imagined it was more because she wanted silence in her home) he wanted nothing more than to return to music.

The observant may notice Jaskier's attention sometimes flicks over to the gruff, white-haired man in the corner, but it flutters quickly back to his current target: a new customer who has yet to be greeted, which he does with gusto, playing the lute with clever, talented fingers as he welcomes them to the tea room. The lute strings glow, and he showers little harmless lights around them.

Whether you are the newest customer or someone who has been drinking and just spilled tea all over the place, Jaskier is more than happy to pluck his strings. What's that? Help clean up?]

No, no, you've got it quite sorted out. Here, just -- here, use that napkin. There you are. What about a jig? [He's already playing a jig. Hope you like music accompanying your misfortune.]

It's called black tea. Very imaginative, isn't it? A bit too bitter? Ah. But sometimes we must face the bitter parts of life with an open mind. They can make our other moments so much sweeter. [Or your innocent tea sipping.]

II. NOT-SO-FOXY (MODELLING PLAY); around Aefenglom; the new moon on the 12th

[There's no need to look so glum, my boy, Jaskier is told by a faun that he's fairly certain he's older than, but considering, er, the state of a faun, he's not sure whether the white bits of hair are distinguished or part of his coloring. Fabiano, at any rate, is clearly the top of his class, and Jaskier has more than heaped praise upon him... to his benefit.

The coat Fabiano has clothed him in, to Jaskier's taste, is absolutely lovely. It's so new -- Aefenglom's fashion is both wildly drastic to even the most eccentric nobles in Toussaint, and yet is so lovely in its own right. As coin has poured in between his performances and his quest outings, one of the most enjoyable parts of his stay in Aefenglom have been the trips to the clothiers.]

I think you're missing the point, Fabiano. [Jaskier gestures at the one black fox ear on top of his head. He has, mysteriously, been missing from public eye since the night before, in which he'd used his newly developed transmutation magic -- after a long, grueling two months of working at it -- to walk the Cwyld with Geralt as a sure-footed fox. And only now, when he feels he's gotten the hang of it (no horrible bone cracking or unplanned patches of fur during the spell) it's backfired. Terribly backfired.

Of course the Coven has warned about the effects of a new moon on magic. Has Jaskier listened? Well, no.

So now... this. One pointed fox ear on top of his head that flicks and tilts and he can't control it, and it would be utterly the worst if Geralt were to see it, lest he have I told you so echoing in his head for days. Even worse, his... normal ear... is now missing on the right side. At least he's curled his hair to hide that fact, but it's more obvious than he'd like to acknowledge.

He's agreed to show off Fabiano's newest design in town regardless, but he may be hiding instead at the back of a hat shop, muttering to himself as he places a new hat over the ear, watching it nearly topple off or slope to the side.] That's... fashionable. Yes. [He turns to the closest fellow, bright blue eyes a little marred by his frown. Is that a patch of reddish fur near his forehead...? Yes. Don't ask.] The tilted hat, I can make that work. Right? This could be a whole new trend.

III. WILDCARD

[Feel free to tag with your own prompt -- Jaskier can easily be found wherever food, drink, and music (and attention) are sold -- or poke me at scathefire for plotting!]

Comments

III + wildcard

[gynvael]

[ Curiosity is part of the reason he's found himself outside the shop. He's sensed an anomaly this morning, an unusual shift in the magic of their bond. It doesn't feel dangerous. Or concerning. But he knows it has to do with Jaskier.

It's not hard to track him down. Of course he's at a tailor. Geralt expects to find Jaskier near the front; instead, he can't quite glimpse the bard, despite knowing that he's definitely in there.

He decides not to enter. Just in case he gets accosted to buy clothes he won't care to wear. He lingers instead outside the building, leaning against the brick walls until Jaskier finally exits. (It's possible Geralt is hiding his own appendage, a small fluff of white that's begun growing on his. Backside. Fuck, whatever. He's thrown a cloak over himself to hide any evidence. It itches and is uncomfortable as hell.) ]

Surprised you didn't walk out with more outfits.

[cointosser]

[Specifically, and only specifically, because Jaskier spent the day making sure he gave a wide berth to the sort of places Geralt frequented -- including Yennefer's cottage -- hearing the growling voice of his Bonded starts him. The squeak he makes is not dignified, as he grasps quickly onto the hat tilted on top of his head.]

Geralt! [It's far too high-pitched. He clears his throat.] Ah, Geralt. Skulking around trying to give people a fright, I see. I can always return and get more, thank you.

[He shuffles the packages in his hand, all while trying to make sure the hat doesn't tumble off. He does have a very dangerous hat pin skating across his scalp to ensure that, but...] Who are you hiding from? [Jaskier tugs Geralt's cloak without a second thought.] And what can I do for you? I know you didn't come here to shop.

[And that knowledge is disappointing.]

[gynvael]

[ His golden eyes roam over Jaskier's outfit, head to toe. He's rarely seen Jaskier with a hat, even though it seems to be the fashion for the locals here, but before Geralt can think much about it, Jaskier's gone pulling on his fucking cloak.

He moves away from his bonded's curious fingers, brows drawn. There's a handful of reasons he's here. He acknowledges none of them out loud. ]

Skittish, are we. [ He studies the hat tilted on Jaskier's head. Normally, he'd ignore whatever Jaskier has decided is in style lest the bard decide he should participate -- but Jaskier knows him well and he's getting too damn close to what Geralt is, in fact, hiding. A distraction is in order.

He reaches up, intending to shift Jaskier's crooked hat back atop his head. ] Is this thing supposed to be sliding off your skull?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier, if he didn't know better, may think Geralt a prude, even after their very special night with Yennefer. That he could even pull away after all that -- all right, that is a bit suspicious, actually.]

What? What do I have to be skittish about?

[As if to prove he's full of shit, he hops back and smacks Geralt's hand.] Yes! It's called fashion! [He carefully tests the hat to make sure it isn't about to stumble off. It's more than a vague hope that Geralt did not see the curve of claws underneath his gloves.] You know, I could say the same for you.

[He indicates his cloak with narrowed eyes.] Afraid I'll leave it smelling like rose oil?

[gynvael]

[ Uh-huh. Geralt eyes his friend. The bond isn't necessary to know something is off. Especially when Jaskier's movement lets him catch a scent through the air. One that is distinctly not the sort of scent Jaskier normally has on him.

Fox-like. Interesting.

He ignores Jaskier's question in favor of stepping in closer to sniff him, less to confirm what he's smelled and more to make a point. ]

Jaskier. [ He takes another step forward, all but cornering him. ] You know I can smell it on you.

[ Geralt does not, of course, know precisely what "it" is. But he does know Jaskier is going out of his way to hide it. ]

[cointosser]

Ahh! [He swats him again.] Stop smelling me! You know I hate that!

[Actually, he normally doesn't mind because Jaskier, of course, is very confident in the sort of smell he exudes, carefully crafted from handmade oils he boiled and brewed himself.

Jaskier stumbles back, grabbing the hat and pinning it firmly to his skull. Possibly hard enough to bruise it. His palms sweat. This is terrible. No. He'll never hear the end of this. And it's bad enough he's quite aware Geralt and Yennefer already assume he's awful at his magic. Fucking it up all the time. Bombs going off when they shouldn't. Now he's half a furry and has nothing to show for it except a missing ear. Well. A replaced ear.] So I'm trying a new cologne out, leave a man to rest. It may not be quite perfected yet!

I

[braidmage]

[ Reynir is definitely not one of those observant customers who would notice that Jaskier's attention keeps drifting towards mister tall grim and brooding over in the corner. In fact, he's not observant enough to even recognize Jaskier, though he has been bobbing his head along with the excellent music since he walked into the tea shop. He's had an entirely new appreciation of music, since he came through the mirror and all this Faun business had started.

Despite Jaskier fluttering around, charming and quite literally shiny, Reynir is preoccupied enough with his thoughts that he doesn't realize who he is, right up until the moment he clumsily spills a hot cup of tea all over himself.

When the musician makes his way over, right at the moment that Reynir would like to avoid observation and attention, thanks very much. He feels a deep flush coming up on his freckled cheeks as he frantically dabs at the (now probably stained) tablecloth with his napkin. At least the sweater he's wearing is dark-dyed wool and doesn't show off just how much of the really rather uncomfortably hot liquid he'd splashed all down his chest.

As he looks up at Jaskier, his expression quickly shifts from embarrassed annoyance to embarrassed recognition: ]

Oh! It's you!

[ The incredibly smooth and talented musician who had stumbled on him practicing music down by the docks when he'd only just started to learn and was absolutely horrific at it. What is it with his luck? Does this guy just have some kind of magical aura that means if Reynir is within 10 meters of him, he becomes a complete disaster? ]

I'm - sorry, um, I'm cleaning it up-

[cointosser]

[Lucky for Reynir -- or at least, for a few moments -- Jaskier doesn't recognize him, either.

He blinks, and the terrible, dawning horror of obviously having been recognized but feeling, distinctly, as if he had forgotten the recognizer dims his sunny disposition. Only for a moment.

It happens sometimes.] Er, yes, it's me!

[Wait a moment. Only when his newest customer fumbles terribly and, in the process, apologizes, does he -- ahh. It all fits together.] Ronald, right? No. No, that's not. Er. [Oh, dear. Having met him once, he imagines a bit of spilled tea could be a humiliating experience for one such as him. (He is beginning to suspect that he's so wonderful a specimen that Reynir, perhaps, has a bit of a thing for him.) He snaps. It may be obvious that remembering his name is more important than helping him clean up the spill.] Reynir! Ah, yes, I see you're still --

[Trying. He's trying. Jaskier can. Recognize that.] Here. [He offers him a handkerchief, masterfully embroidered with a large, ornate J.] Just rub it into the tablecloth. It's fine! Probably. No one needs to know.

For Jin Guangyao

[cointosser]

[Now that Jaskier has ducked questions about his, er, new extremities, he's let himself relax a little. Even though the winter is brisk and cold, Fabiano's coat keeps him safely warm, especially when he's adorned with fur-lined gloves to match (which thankfully hide the bits of curved nails that slightly resemble claws. They'll go away. Of course.

He keeps telling himself that.)

And where should a musician go first to gets his mind off of things? Jaskier is a frequent goer to the sorts of shops that have the loveliest and strangest instruments displayed in the front windows. Woods and strings he understands, but there's others: drums imbued with magic sigils, or tubes that are a mixture of wood and metal. His own lute is strapped to his back, as he rarely leaves his home without it.

Absently, his hand rubs along her neck, safe in her leather case. He inspects a lute with a long swan neck, her strings nearly black. It couldn't be catgut with such a sheen, could it?] Always so different, but nothing beats Elven craftsmanship, it seems. Not even in other planes. How well would you channel magic, my dear?

[Yes, he is speaking to a lute. Wooing her, even.]

[turmoiling]

[Though he's picked at a few things here and there over the last few months, Jin Guangyao has been preoccupied with work and Council and issues with his Bonded. It doesn't truly matter; he's not a witch here, with no way to weave music into something with greater effect. Even then, he does think some others from his world would look at him with suspicion and listen carefully should he happen to play in their hearing.

But it would be pleasant to play with Xichen, even with the situation as it is.

He's only been browsing for a short while; most instruments are not technically unfamiliar by now, having spent the time to listen and learn, but none are quite a guqin -- and he's still uncertain what would be the most suitable for him these days.

Jaskier's adoring words catch his ears and he lets out a small chuckle, gold snake eyes flicking to the one he's crooning to.]

I'm sure in the hands of a skilled with any here would be quite fine. But they truly are quite different for me as well. I hardly know where to start.

[He admits. Of course he's clearly not a witch himself, with scattered scales and a long snake tail instead of legs -- covered in a cozy socklike garment for the winter slithering but look, some indignities must be suffered if he doesn't want to just sleep the winter away.]</small?

[cointosser]

[It's possibly for the best that Jaskier has been frequenting the city for several months, taking in all the sights that this new plane has to offer. Mostly because, otherwise, a half-snake man possibly could have given him a heart attack.

It still manages to startle him, much more than someone overhearing him sweet-talking a wooden instrument.

He clears his throat quickly, hiding his surprise behind an easy smile. It is easy; barring the snake tail, his conversational companion is extremely beautiful. It's rather relieving to see some men still care about their appearance. And the scales, after his tryst with Connor, are... actually rather attractive.]

Very lucky that I have the skill. I'm only reluctant to have straying eyes from my own love. [He pats the lute against his hip.] A fellow musician, then, or are you a beautiful, browsing novice?

[turmoiling]

['Beautiful', well now. If unsure quite what to think -- though it's true his features took more after his mother's than his father's -- he accepts the compliment with good grace, smiling and lowering his eyes slightly. If he has to be half snake, he will make certain that he's the most well-kept and pleasant snake, that surely no-one could even imagine being bitten by.

Jin Guangyao replies humbly:]

Hardly an expert, though I played once in a while before my arrival here. I'm afraid many of the instruments here are quite foreign, but I had a thought to spend a little time on such things once more, despite my deficiencies.

[He adds to that, spreading his hands a little -- the 'deficiency' in question being a prosthetic right hand. A very nice once, articulated with intricate bronze mechanisms to move fingers, but still a prosthetic.]

Is this instrument very common in your realm, then?

[He adds curiously, indicating the lute.]

[cointosser]

[Ah. Demure. Or at least his new acquaintance comes off that way -- which is probably for the better considering his rather surprising lower half. Still, he's quite striking. Jaskier has to bury the urge to reach and touch his scales.

He's still listening. Definitely. It's a dream to discuss instruments with beautiful men, after all.]

Quite a few a foreign to me as well. With a few extra coins, I might pick up one just as a hobby.

[Deficiency? Curiousity crosses his face. Taking it in, he can tell the hand is not, er, natural -- but Jaskier has never seen a prosthetic beyond a crudely carved wooden peg. His brows raise nearly into his hairline.]

I -- ah, my lute? Yes. [And though he may normally hound on how it's so rarely perfected in hands that aren't his own, he's so terribly distracted by that hand.] Would you mind? [He gestures to the prosthetic.] A peek? I've never seen such a thing before. Have you always had it?

[turmoiling]

[Though still quite self-conscious about how it looks, there really isn't any avoiding bringing it up in this sort of discussion, so without sign of discomfort, he gracefully offers the hand to be examined.]

No, the injury happened not so long before I arrived here, in a fight with a terrible villain.

Such a solution would hardly have existing in my own lands either, so I am truly fortunate for such skilled artisans as there are here. Should you ever need metalworking of any kind done, I can say nothing but good for the work of Percy and Hiccup at the forge outside of the city.

It is fine enough for swordsmanship but perhaps not a guqin... or even, ah, a 'piano' I believe it's called. But I had hoped to find something with some air of refinement to it all the same, to play along with my Bonded.

ii.

[killuwatt]

[ The hat shop just happens to be next to a street vendor selling hot chocolate to warm up shoppers on the street as they brave the cold for necessities, or just out of boredom. It's the latter for Killua, who has ducked into the hat shop to get out of the wind, holding his hot drink up to his face to enjoy the warm, delicious-smelling steam wafting up from the glass jar it's served in. He's not wearing gloves, but he's pulled his sleeves over his hands to protect his fingers from the heat.

When he's addressed, the boy looks up, surprised. He could have sworn he saw the hat twitch. And what's up with that weird patch of fur? This guy looks like a weirdo.

Killua shrugs. ]

Uh-huh. Suuuper fashionable.

But I don't think it's big enough. Get a bigger hat, with a feather in it.

[cointosser]

[One may say Jaskier probably did not mean to address a child, but that would be completely incorrect. All he's looking for, of course, is agreement.

He takes a second look at him, considering, for a moment, that could be a joke. (Also because that hair reminds him terribly of Geralt, who he needs to. Keep avoiding.)]

You know, that's not a terrible idea. Feathers are certainly statement pieces. If only I knew some generous harpies... [He's already plucking up a hat and imagining it. Oh, yes. He's going to run with this idea.] I don't suppose you're hiding some fancy feathers anywhere?

[killuwatt]

[ Killua snorts. ]

Of course it's not a terrible idea. Why were you expecting a bad one?

[ He only has good ideas, thank you! And very good fashion sense. Where none of the colors match. It's lucky (for everyone else, probably) that Aefenglom's shops don't sell too many adventurous designs unless they're custom-made and he's not rolling in money like he's used to, but it would be boring to wear all black or brown or whatever boring shade 'gentlemen' around here are supposed to prefer.

Killua is absolutely wearing blue knee-length shorts over purple leggings, and goodness knows how atrocious the shirt and waistcoat combo is beneath the relatively tame, dark blue coat covering them. His scarf, for some reason, is striped in pink and white like a cotton-candy candy cane.

But in all of that, alas, there are no feathers. He shakes his head. ]

Nope. Don't know any harpies looking to give them away, either. But you could probably add it later if you find one.

Hey. What's up with your head, anyway?

[ No pulling punches here. ]

[cointosser]

[The question is so blunt. The poor child. He must be blind.] Well, er...

[Jaskier feels that, perhaps, being rude in pointing out the very, very obvious has no obvious net gain here. (Though he does like the scarf.) Besides, Jaskier can't say much against bright colors; his waist coat is a deeply rich shade of apple-red.]

Ah, no matter! [A shame. He'd still like to meet a harpy. One with something bright blue, perhaps, like a peacock --

He startles.] Er, my head? What's wrong with it? I mean, there's nothing wrong with it! [His surprise easily turns into a bit of a glare.] That's quite a rude question, you know? I don't go around asking people about their strange quirks. For instance, like why it looks like the color's been scared out of your hair. Which would be rude thing to ask.

[killuwatt]

[ What an amusing reaction. Instead of getting offended or even defensive, Killua just starts laughing. ]

Scared out? That's funny, old man.

Is this not a normal hair color where you're from?

[cointosser]

[No. No, this rude, albino child did not just call him an old man.

Jaskier sputters with the righteous indignation of a forty-year-old man who has the maturity of a twenty-year-old. (That's probably being generous.)]

Excuse you? I am not old! [He doesn't look his age, at least, which is definitely a point in Jaskier's favor. It's hard to feel old when your best friend is, like, ninety.] Of course it isn't! Only the elderly and very unlucky fool Witchers have white hair. And, I suppose, goats. [This child is beginning to remind him of an ornery, rude, overly colorful goat, actually.] And cows.

i

[sparkstrikes]

[Lightning has been feeling a little on the sniffly side as of late. She'd like to think it's the cold weather bothering her, and so after a long morning at work, she seeks out refuge in one of her favourite tea shops—the Green Petal Tearoom. She comes in every once in a while, when she's feeling the craving for something warm and comforting, or for a quiet place to sit with a new book in the back of the shop.

However, things seem a little different today when she walks through the door with a shiver. The sound of a lute being strummed makes her seize up at the shop's entrance, and Lightning finds herself unable to move as she's caught between the cold on one side and what she knows will be a very energetic and musical welcome on the other.

WHAT DOES SHE DO—oh god, she's made eye contact. It's too late. Soldier down.]

[cointosser]

[!!!!!

To Lightning, it may soon appears as if Jaskier has some sort of awful sense of Lightning-dar, in how quickly he hones in on her. More realistically, it's because he's been greeting every new entry into the Tearoom with gusto, considering this is possibly his favorite oddjob he's plucked up so far. He would very much like to keep it if the opening remains.

Jaskier is already turning, strumming a new song, when the doors open.

Clearly, it's Lightning. While his smile is normally quite polite, this time it practically splits into a grin as he glows to see her. It'd been quite a while since he'd seen her again after being holed up in Yennefer's guest bed for a month. Not even well enough to take a trip to his favorite bakery!] Lightning! My dear! Welcome to the Green Petal! Please, please, come in. You're going to freeze out there. What can I get you? Black? Green? How have you been? You know, I didn't imagine our next drink together would be one I serve you. I'm truly honored.

[sparkstrikes]

[It isn't as if she hates Jaskier or his company. Far from it, especially after the last time they were able to sit and have drinks together. It allowed her to see a simpler side of him—one that wasn't so flowery and decorative. She could at least prepare for those drinks. When she can mentally prepare herself for an afternoon with him, it isn't so bad. It's when it's unexpected that it throws Lightning completely out of her element...

Like right now.

When he greets her, her smile is crooked, but still... there. At least she doesn't turn and bolt out the door... baby steps!

Admittedly, it is nice to see that he's actually doing something with himself rather than ... whatever it was he did before, so she humours him just a little as she undoes her coat, prepared to get comfortable in the warmth of the room.]

Haven't even found me a table yet and you're already asking.

[cointosser]

Ah! In my excitement, I've become a terrible host. Come in! [He swings his lute to the side to offer an arm to hang her coat. Inside the pleasant, tropical climate of the Tearoom, coats are certainly not needed.

He must learn a bit more, in order to woo her, to temper himself as well. Now that they have had their first outing together, it's clear Lightning is easily startled. A bit like a horse, maybe.

With a gesture, he leads her to a nice, quiet table to the side, with a large frond of green leaves hanging over it. A single candle sits on the table, providing orange ambiance.] Let me start again. Welcome to the Green Petal, Lightning. Your peace of mind is my only concern. [To be fair, it's not the first time he's said that today. Not that he means it any less for its repetition. He only just stops himself from bowing.] Might I suggest a calming mint tea to start off?

[sparkstrikes]

[Rather than hand him her coat, she slings it over her shoulder instead and follows him to a table set off to the side. He knows what she'd like out of a place like this at least—she'll give him that! Some of the greens that hang over the table droop low enough that she walks right into a piece as she goes to take her seat, and she swats at it like an angry cat before she drops down into the chair.]

To start? [She finally asks with a snort.] How many d'you think I'm having?

[She's just giving him a hard time. After some careful consideration, she's come to a sort-of decision.]

Not in the mood for something minty. Got anything stronger?