[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

[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.