March Catch-All [Open, Mostly]

[cointosser]

Who: Jaskier and you!
When: All through Mareuer (March)
Where: Aefenglom, mainly the shopping/entertainment districts
What: Livin' life as an ex-Cwyld kidnappee who has never had a bad thing happen to him in his life, singing sad songs about his lost love, learning how to dance again the way he danced with Lightning.....
Warnings: Body horror in the third prompt for Yen, mentions of last month's plot.

I. CELION DION IN THE CAR ALONE WHILE CRYING; Aefenglom; early Mareuer in the Shopping District

[After the time between his current moment and his last second in that cage lengthens, Jaskier becomes more... not quite himself, but certainly more than a shade of the bright bard he previously was. It seems fair that as things become a little brighter, he must be brought down by even more bad news.

It's one of his rare decisions to leave his, Geralt and Yennefer's home and take a walk around the city. As much as he wishes he could simply go for a walk on his own, he asks Geralt to come with him, throwing his lute onto his back. Not, he imagines, he'll find much use for it. It's simply something constantly by his side. A bit like Geralt as of late. Geralt shifts before they leave, and honestly, Jaskier doesn't question it. He understands the implicit desire behind it.

Once in the depths of the city, he doesn't really mean to go looking for her. He thinks seeing a familiar face -- perhaps one that managed to escape all of the Evergreen Circle's machinations -- will help cheer him up. Even if Lightning is possibly the last person, next to Geralt, to seek for cheerfulness. He ducks into Karen's patisserie (who at least gives him a warm welcome) only to come to find Lightning is not there, in her usual pink, frilly apron. The one that matches her hair so well.

Karen twists a towel between her hands as she shakes her head, glancing over his shoulder to peer at the wolf waiting for him outside. Sorry to say she isn't here anymore. Didn't come into work one day and I checked with the Coven. Back home, they say.

Jaskier stands quietly in the middle of the patisserie, feeling awkward.]

Oh. I see. [While some faces he's met before he's not seen again, this is the first time the loss is so visceral and in his face. Before the Circle's intervention, he had been working on a very special song, just for her, something to play on a quiet moment as they drank coffee or tea. Jaskier could say he had set aside a piece of his heart for her. And he, of course, had imagined their relationship evolving --]

Well, thank you for letting me know. I'll come by for a few more of those croissants later. They're a favorite in the house.

[Jaskier gives her a polite smile after buying a nice, fresh loaf for Geralt. He steps outside to meet his Bonded. The weather is warming finally, and the sun is out. A nice day.] I was thinking I might play a bit.

[Geralt nods and follows him. They find a nice little spot in the sun near the patisserie with a patch of grass and well-cultivated flowers. The giant white wolf curls up in the sun and Jaskier sits against him, cradling his lute in his lap. Perhaps not a waste he'd brought it with him, then.

Occasionally he leaves Geralt when the wolf begins to sleep (and only fair, for his sleep has been so terrible as of late) to walk as he strums. He plays a song (minus the Office reference) off and on, and another for Lightning as he experiments with a word that would rhyme with lightning ("Bitening my heart," he sings, then wrinkles his nose, crossing the words out the notebook laid across his leg as he mutters, "Fuck, I'm terrible, aren't I?"), his booted foot tapping to the rhythm. If one has heard Jaskier perform before, these songs are opposite of his normal jovial, upbeat tunes, and not quite performed with the sort of energy he's had before.]

((ooc: Geralt will be in the background snoozing, so mention if you want to directly interact with him or both of them!))

II. SHADOWS LINGER EVEN IN DAY; Aefenglom; closer to mid-Mareuer somewhere in the Entertainment District

[Nearly a month later, Jaskier is able to, at least occasionally, go out on his own. He no longer flinches at the sound of his own name, which is quite reassuring. Still, his sleep is often interrupted, even though the physical scars on his body left by the growing Cwyld mushrooms have nearly gone completely. Mostly it's only the original scar they sprouted from, his skin split by Geralt's teeth, that still remains.

With the weather warmer, Jaskier has rolled his sleeves up a little. Enough that some of the scars may peek through.

He's felt good. For a week, even more. And yet when he steps deeper into the bright lights and loud noises of the Entertainment District, Jaskier begins to feel he's made a mistake. As fucking frustrating as it is -- this was a place he flourishes. Now people sometimes brush too close and he backs away, or there's a laugh quite too loud, or he passes by a few squirrels or cats tucked into cages, curled up with a tail around them --

That does it. Bile rises in his throat and he rushes past a music hall with the distant sound of strings, but when he catches the smell of what is, undeniably, cooking mushrooms nearby, he loses it. A chill rushes through him, his body shaking, and he ducks into an alley with the urge to vomit. He can feel it all over again, the heated pain in his right arm from the cutting. The cultivating. Even if the voice does not echo in his ears anymore, Jaskier distinctly remembers what it sounded like.

What the Cywld itself sounds like, as it urges its host to spread it.]

It's gone. I'm rid of it. This is all -- [He shakes his head to himself.] A terrible memory.

[Boy, it's good no one can see him having a breakdown in this darkened alley.]

III. SHADOWS EXPAND BY NIGHT; Aefenglom; the Witcher household; closed to Yennefer

[Truthfully, it was miraculous since that time in Yennefer's head they've managed to keep themselves separate, especially when Jaskier spent, at least for a week, more often then not his nights shivering to himself, having woken up with a choked scream in his throat. It's done shit for his ability to sing, which is simply the cherry on top.

The fluctuation between intense sadness and righteous anger has done shit good for his heart, too.

And feeling Geralt withdrawing further away from the two of them, whether he means to or not. (Which, of course, he bloody does.) Oftentimes now Geralt simply is absent at night, or in the early morning, and Jaskier hasn't had the balls to ask him why. What it is, specifically, he's doing.

Because it is, of course, something to do with him.

It's another night where Geralt is missing. He's either too tired to keep trying to keep his mind closed or he's let his guard down, and in the end, it doesn't matter. The nightmare doesn't so much creep in as catch him by the ankle and drag him into it. His body is tied down to the ground, the dark Cwyld forests closing in around him. At least, he's sure he's tied -- until he lifts his head to find the mushrooms have spread down his arm so much that they blend in to the ground. Or his hand itself is now part of the ground, melted into the soil as the Cwyld takes over his body.

Enough black he can't see the tone of his skin anymore.

He screams. A light flashes through the forest, bringing a wave of heat. Fire. It's flicking at the tree edges, catching leaves, snapping up the Cwyld mushrooms along the forest floor. Coming for him. They'll burn you when they're done, I suspect. Once they've taken all those lovelies off of your skin. His harpy nurse, lover of the Evergreen Circle, coming along with her feather-tips as sharp as needles. Just a guess. They don't tell me everything around here, but it's been a delight to watch.

The cold of the cage bars plays with the heat of the fire, and just behind the flickering flames, bright gold eyes are waiting to finish the job. Somehow, even over the fire, he can hear the growls from the monsters.

Much more patient than the ones that waited for him in the Circle's basements.]

((Feel free to add a wildcard prompt if it tickles your fancy! Jaskier will be wandering Aef as always, sometimes with a white wolf Turnskin (i.e., Geralt) following behind him or watching from the distance. You can also ping me at scathefire if you have any starters you'd like!))

Comments

II.

[themogget]

[Unfortunately for Jaskier, he isn't quite as alone in that darkened alley as he thought he was. From further down the narrow space a pair of vibrant green eyes glint, flashing once behind a blink, and then a small white cat emerges out of the shadows.

At first, he says and does nothing. He watches the bard as he talks to himself and tries to calm down. Mogget hasn't forgotten what he saw that night nor the conversation that they had, though he does wonder if Jaskier was put-together enough at the time to be able to remember it.]

It's understandable, you know.

[He's sure that Jaskier knows, but sometimes it's different when you hear it from somebody else. The cat approaches, sitting down a couple of feet away from the man's boots.]

A memory can feel just as real.

[cointosser]

[Now would possibly be the worst moment to sneak up on Jaskier and, considering he's but only a witch, his ears are not trained to hear any little creature sneaking up on him.

The voice coming out of the dark makes him jump, every muscle tightening as he prepares to bolt. As easily startled as a fucking doe. But the voice he recognizes, even as Jaskier grabs his chest to slow his poor heart.]

Honestly, can you stop doing that? [He rubs his face with both hands, a cold sweat covering his palms. A miracle he didn't actually lose his lunch at this point.

At least the cat is... being kind? Actually, that's quite strange. He drops his hands, kneeling down to be closer to him. It feels rude, honestly, to talk while hovering over him.] Were you eavesdropping? Really? [He gives a soft huff, pushing the bangs out of his eyes that turned black after his infection. Yes. They can feel more real than he ever thought they could.] It's good to see you got out safely.

[themogget]

Shall I announce myself with a parade next time?

[Mogget doesn't have to be terribly observant to see the state that Jaskier is in and despite the acidity of his words they don't come out with the level of venom that might be expected. He might act like a jerk a lot of the time, but Mogget isn't completely heartless.

He watches as the bard crouches down, and then gets up and very lightly brushes his side up against Jaskier's knees. Yes, yes, maybe he's glad to see that everyone got out as well.]

I didn't there there was any doubt that I would. [He says then, and he watches the end of the alleyway as the tip of his tail continues to twitch.] And no I wasn't... you're just not very quiet. What I said stands all the same.

II

[adventageous]

[Would be a shame if a pretty girl found him like this!

A month out from the events with the Evergreen Circle, Alice is finally feeling fully like herself. Her actual memories are whole, including what happened during her time in Dimitri Urmanov's custody, while what had been implanted by the Circle remains merely as a series of facts rather than falsely lived experiences. She's still shaken from the mental violation and the entirety of it all, but at least she's positive of who she is.

With her newfound (re-found?) confidence in her sense of self, Alice has started leaving the house more frequently and is eager to reconnect with people she knows. As she moves through the Entertainment District, she sees a city starting to come back to life after trauma. It's heartwarming to see and be a part of--the resiliance of the human spirit never fails to inspire her, even in the face of unspeakable malice and tragedy. It's true of back home, and it's true here.

Across the way, a familiar face catches her eye. Or, at least she thinks it's familiar--her memories of Jaskier from the night of the party are understandably hazy. Alice remembers their conversation and his misery much more clearly than his features, so she pauses to second-guess herself before crossing the street to approach him. In her hesitation, his complexion pales and he dashes around a corner into an alleyway. Alice rushes to follow. Right man or not, he's clearly in distress and needs help.

Alice arrives in time to hear him muttering to himself in a panic. The voice, she recognizes.]

Jaskier?

[Alice approaches quietly, being careful not to spook him any more than he already is. She circles around to stand in front of him, recognizing herself--or a past version of herself, more accurately--in his expression. Without consciously decided to do so, she shifts into assistance mode to help him ride whatever this is out. Other conversation can wait.]

You'll be all right. Just breathe right now. Trust me, the last thing you want to do is cause yourself to faint.

[Speaking from experience on that one.]

[cointosser]

[This would, quite possibly, be the worst moment for anyone he knows to find him.

Of course, he's not thinking about it now. His forehead cools against the stone of the wall and, for a moment, he feels a little more grounded. Enough that it isn't the precipice his consciousness was before he slipped into another hallucination. He can say that, at the very least, he has not hallucinated again since the Coven released him from their care.

The memories of them is far too sharp for his liking. His memories of most things, in fact. Enough he was beginning to consider allowing Yennefer to bury in and erase them, if she could --

He looks up at the sound of his name, a bit of panic crossing his face before he rubs it away, then rubs his hands on the back of his pants. After clearing his throat, he stands up straight.]

Er, yes? [It takes him a moment. The cage, that last night. The last night had truly been the worst for him, when the Cwyld was buried so deep it may have in fact touched his thoughts.

It's so far from him to forget the name of a beautiful woman. Then again, he hasn't been himself for a while.] I recognize you -- [He does. He --

Oh, gods, how could he let himself remember? The last night. The food. Perhaps the only thing that had kept him conscious through all of that. It's not her fault, of course, but he chokes for a moment, holding his arm as a phantom pain jolts through it. He has put a lot of effort in trying to not remember that night.

He nods, leaning against the wall. His focus on breathing, as she says, and not how it feels his heart might burst, or his eyes might instead, itchy with the chance of tears.]

Right. [He catches his breath, nails scratching over the stone.] How embarrassing that would be? I have -- [He pauses to breathe, still feeling short of it.] A reputation to uphold.

I

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard's errands list is changing with the spring weather. Time for seeds and planting, even more time outdoors. He enjoys walking in the woods more than most, doesn't mind the risks that come with it, but there's a difference between appreciating the forest and actually wrangling a garden. All of that is in addition to the usual grocery shopping and daily tasks.

He's en route home, having had to respond to an emergency paprika shortage (of all the mundane problems to have) when he heads past the little patch that Jaskier and Geralt have staked out. Alucard knows the latter far better, and he pauses to say hello to the wolf when--]

Ah. I didn't realize he was dozing.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier can't think of a moment where he was ignored in favor of Geralt, of all people, especially with the latter being a wolf and not a man. While he's well aware Geralt goes gallivanting with these secret friends he has yet to share with his best friend, it's rarer still, he thinks, that they recognize him as a wolf. Jaskier stops his playing for a moment, laying his hand flat across the strings.]

I'm afraid his sleep hasn't been great as of late. [He smiles, immediately intrigued. Where has Geralt been hiding such a beautiful friend? He feels familiar, but he's not quite sure why. Has Geralt mentioned him?

Surely not. Or once? Not that Geralt tells Jaskier much. And they have certainly not been talking of such light things lately.] Jaskier. At your service. [He bows his head a bit. Now that Geralt is asleep, it's the perfect time to be a little nosey.] You must know him well?

[It's still a question. To be polite.]

[chaoticbeauty]

[ What Jaskier might not understand about Geralt's disappearances, Yennefer knows intimately. And her mind was safer than Geralt's should one of them end up in a dream. She could also likely handle whatever they might find in Jaskier's mind calmer than their other bonded could. Her ties to torture were far different from the Witcher's. Her physical torture had at least been her choice, though the years of emotional pain not so much.

She's not sure when she'd drifted off, but it's far from peaceful. That same sensation of being dragged into something unwillingly follows Yennefer, it taking a moment for her eyes to adjust and then to fucking figure out what the hell was happening.

If they hadn't gone through this once before, she couldn't even imagine her reaction to the scene playing out before her. She's unsure of what's real and what's just a re-manifestation of his hallucinations, swallowing hard at the sight of him infected once more. Fuck.

She doesn't try to touch him yet, just trying to get his attention and earn focus on violet eyes rather than gold. Much like her own nightmare, it came from something very real. Something that couldn't be discounted. ]

Jaskier. Jaskier. Look at me. We need to wake up.

[ Easier said than done considering the lack of cliffs nearby or escape routes. They'd need to get creative, or she'd need to get creative if she couldn't get through to him. ]

[cointosser]

[If it could possibly get worse, it does. Yennefer's voice may not have affected him at all had they not been Bonded; and, horribly still, she wouldn't be here either if they weren't. His scream chokes off as he tries to pull his arm from the ground, unable to still move. And as he watches, more of his skin sloughs off to join the mushrooms. Soon enough, he'll be nothing but Cwyld --

The sound of his name snaps him back. He knows what it means.]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried to keep you out. [And he had. Enough that some nights he got no sleep at all, if it was a particularly bad night. Even if he can hold onto the thought this is a dream, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because this happened, because these were real fears he'd lived with -- the promises of the Cwyld spreading until he was nothing, until he was nothing or a Shade.

He draws his eyes from the monsters snarling behind her. It helps. It helps her eyes are so beautiful, so unlike the others. Tears leak form the corner of his eyes.] I don't think I can.

I

[oratoria]

[It's a beautiful day, crisp and clear and much too nice to spend indoors. Kyrie's packed a basket with some fresh muffins to take to Nico in the shop before Nero can get hold of them and polish the whole batch off, and she's decided to take the scenic route. It seems a lot of people have the same idea as she does as she passes quite a few folk basking in the sun, including a man with a lute and his very large white wolf. He's singing a melancholy tune that causes her to pause and listen, immediately touched by the poignancy and wistfulness. It's almost like she's intruding on something very personal and she feels guilty for intruding. Then he starts plucking away at another song, one clearly a work in progress as he struggles with his rhyme scheme and she almost offers an alternative rhyme before she stops to think about how presumptuous that might be.

Bitening though... yikes.

When he calls himself terrible, Kyrie can't help but interject to the contrary.]

Oh not at all!

[She realises that she's completely bulldozed in with her opinion uninvited and she immediately looks sheepish.]

I'm so sorry to interrupt, I couldn't help overhearing you as you played... you're very talented, that's such a pretty melody.

[cointosser]

[Oh, he quite didn't mean to mutter that so loud. He looks up with surprise, to find a voice accompanying a lovely face. If only he could have gotten this sort of attention when he wasn't so... wrong.

But Jaskier, ever a gentleman, manages an easy smile. She may have interrupted, but he's never minded the company (if it's not some rude drunkard, which, to be fair, hasn't happened for years.) And though his singing ceases, he still strums the lute easily, with the practice of decades behind it.]

Believe me, I have no complaints about it if you're to be so kind. [And honestly, after so long ghosting around his home, he finds company twice as lovely as it'd been before.] Thank you. Perhaps I could play something a little more jovial for the noble lady?

II

[twilightskey]

[Roxas has been doing his best to recover as well. It takes some time, but eventually the young turnskin grows courageous enough to venture out without a chaperone accompanying him. He can't recover if he's hiding away inside all day, which is why he pushes himself to do small things like go for walks or run errands. This particular errand has him passing by the Entertainment District, and while the loud noises and jovial atmosphere still makes his skin tingle unpleasantly, he's getting better at walking past it and heading home.]

[He's just getting ready to head home when his ears flick, and a noise makes him pause. He halts in his tracks and turns, ears upright as he listens down the alley. That was a voice... a familiar voice.]

Hello?

[He hesitates, but makes his way down the alley, his desire to protect and guard overpowering his anxious desire to turn tail and flee. And he's happy it does, because he's able to see a surprisingly familiar figure cowering in the alley. A familiar figure from his time in the cages of the Emerald Circle.]

Jaskier?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier pretends very, very hard that the simple call of hello doesn't make his entire body tense with the urge to. Fuck, he's not even sure. Run? This is clearly panic. He is not panicking. Not here. Not now. There's no bloody reason --

His thoughts come to a screeching halt.]

Roxas? [He looks up. He'd barely seen anything in that cage that night; a hint of blond hair, and two pointed ears, but his voice was even and calm, even when he had every right not to be.] Fuck me! It's you, isn't it?

[The panic eases, overwhelmed with relief. It had to be! Who could mistake those ears? Oh, gods. He made it out. And he looks. He looks good. Normal. Uninfected. Fuck, it doesn't matter.

Roxas better run now, because this bard is coming in for a tight embrace.] You're all right!

i. aka SLAMS HERE FINALLY

[weatherscience]

How about brightening?

[ the suggestion comes from a woman with flaming hair and a brown bag full of, you guessed it, croissants that she carries under her arm.

she's never seen geralt in his wolf form and thus only glances at him, not connecting the animal with the gruff man she thinks makes a good friend to those he cares about... and so she's equally clueless that jaskier happens to be the bonded he was so worried about that he was drinking himself into a stupor in a tavern just recently.

instead, nami smiles at jaskier and his attempts at composing. despite the, well, rather terrible lyrics, his strumming sounds like that of someone who knows what they're doing. ]

That sounds good. Are you a musician?

[cointosser]

[He blinks down at the notebook.] Brightening. Yes. That's perfect. Well, shit, how did I not think of that?

[It's mostly a mutter as he scribbles a few more words on the paper, redipping his quill as he finally looks up.

Oh. That was. An actual suggestion. His muses often do not speak quite so directly to him. He clears his throat, making sure the word "bitening" has been crossed out so many times it appears little more than a black ink splotch.

A spot of trauma has not been kind to his creative endeavors.] Doesn't sound much like I am right now, does it? [His smile is easy though, as he meets her gaze. Oh. Quite pretty. He's been very lucky with such beautiful company lately.] I am. I'm a bard, in fact. [And while he would usually follow that up with the greatest the Continent has to offer or the master bard, actually, devotee of all seven liberal arts, he doesn't tack on anything additional now. He feels more like a master of writer's block and shit poetry as of late.] I think of it as my calling.

[His calling looks like the best he can do is put a wolf to sleep, but... to be fair, Geralt has never appreciated his art as it deserves to be appreciated.] And you? A master lyricist, perhaps?

I - Both if you want!

[turmoiling]

[A nice spot in the sun is a good draw for a naga. As the weather begins to warm, it's easier to spend some time outside, and with a couple pastries for lunch, finds himself hearing a voice he's heard once before. Not interrupting the first song, he stop and finds a place to settle into a loose coil and listen while he eats a midday meal (quite politely and not like a snake at all, thank goodness.)

Life goes on, despite the unfortunate interruptions to peace in the city -- and unfortunate events for him personally. Generally speaking, he looks well enough... except for bandages across his forehead, all the way down to his eyebrows. He probably can't get away with hiding the etching left by a certain individual's vigilante retaliation like that forever, when so many have healing skills in this city. But at least for a while, it will have to do.

It's only when the songwriting begins (and clearly needs a little work that he offers a suggestion.]

'Pining'? Though not exact, perhaps that might match the mood.

[He's not really in the mood for an upbeat tune either to be honest.]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier scribbles in his notebook furiously enough that he doesn't catch anyone around him, for the moment. A miracle he's not quite aware of, but certainly something he owes to the wolf Turnskin several feet away. A golden eye opens, and the beast huffs and returns to sleep.

Jaskier pauses.] Pining. Pining works. Lightning... A bit of a slant rhyme if you squint. Ah, and I am pining, aren't I?

[Oh. He looks up, startled only a little by the sight of the naga. At least he's met one before, he -- oh! It's this one, actually! Gods, that feels like ages ago, doesn't it? And Jin looks, well, a little worse for wear. As does Jaskier. Scars up his arm that peek near the bottom of his sleeves, especially now he's rolled them up a little in the warm afternoon sun. And now with large chunks of his hair black, if the naga is familiar with the Cwyld at all, he may recognize its lingering effects.] A fair suggestion. [He pauses, the strings thrumming gently and with a touch of melacholy as he attempts a new line: With a pining in my heart, risen with a start. The strings vibrate to silence.] I lost a friend recently, so I'm attempting -- very badly, it seems -- to leave her a little something. I promise, I'm a spot more talented on better days.

II.

[outofthebreach]

[ Although he'd spent a long spread of time after his own release from captivity, Brennan, too, has started to push himself to get out more. To move, to stretch his legs, to attempt to start to rebuild some of that strength that had withered away from both inactivity and the blight of the Cwyld. It's been an effort - as has been reassuring his Bonded along the way that he really was recovering and strong enough to wander on his own. Although he can understand the mage's paranoia, considering what happened last time.

But it's a sunny day today and Brennan's promised to stick to the more populated areas of town - not that he really had a destination in mind. It was just the urge to wander that has him out on the streets.

Although he does spot a familiar figure up ahead. One he hasn't seen since those dark days in their cells and he pauses to consider whether he should call out or not... when he sees the man abruptly dart into a darkened alley.

Stopping short, he considers for a moment before hastening in that direction. He rounds the corner just in time to hear those vehement words uttered into the shadows and stops, realizing he may have just interrupted a very private moment.

Although one he understands all too well... ]

Have you managed to convince yourself of it yet? Because I'm still trying myself...

[cointosser]

[Jaskier could be jumpy at the best of times, but the cry he emits when a voice startles him in the dark is not near as amusing as it might have once been. His fingers spark as he raises one in front in defense, the other clutching his chest almost dramatically (except it did, in fact, feel like his heart may burst.) The world spins for a moment.

Fuck. Fuck. Just what he had coming to him, wasn't it?]

You scared the shit out of me. [Ah, look. Stating the obvious. He rubs his eyes, his magic evaporating. He's not. There. Anymore.

Recognition rings dimly through his head after Jaskier stares. It's -- oh. Shit.] Brennan. [Oh, good. Wonderful. The perfect sort of person to watch him have a breakdown. To overhear it.] I -- [Could lie. But not much point, was there?] No. I haven't. [His hands raise, then drop.] As you can see.

I

[noblegarnet]

[Ferran is just a passerby today, taking a walk through town to get some fresh air and clear his mind without much purpose in the area in particular, when he comes across the muttering bard. He has a natural inclination towards people and watching them when he's not in his worst state of mind, so he doesn't feel shy about directing his attention the man's way. He can pick out something of a somber romantic vibe, and then with the attempted lyric...

Without realizing, he's already run through a few possibilities in his head out of an instinct to be helpful, and ends up half-heartedly suggesting:]

Ripening...?

[It's the best he's got. He has little literary talent and even less musical skill, but even a tone-deaf Fae can be interested in the subject matter of a song. His own innate curiosity is only amplified by his new nature, as hidden as it is under a glamor and a cape.]

You must have had something specific in mind.

[cointosser]

[Perhaps Jaskier's initial reaction to the offering shows too plainly as he grimaces, before ever even looking up at who offered it. Not that the word is a bad choice, necessarily, but there's something far too intimately close to his latest bit of trauma in the word "ripe".]

A, ah, a fair suggestion.

[He swallows bile. No, he's not thinking of it. Not a bit.]

No, not a word, not necessarily. [He looks up and his grimace shifts to a polite smile.] A feeling. Yet I have yet to define it entirely. [He doesn't explain his reaction simply because he can't stomach trying.] That may be the problem. [Not the invasive thoughts he's been suffering for over a week. Of course not. He sighs.] Maybe you understand. Have you ever been in love?

I.

[exsoldier]

[ There's only so long Zack can stay confined to the cottage by a concerned turnskin before he needs a change of scenery and some fresh air. Sneaking out while Cloud is asleep isn't the simplest thing, not when his hearing is so good, and he's been caught a few times over the past week. This time, Zack decides to just plead with Cloud instead, even pulling out his own set of puppy dog eyes, and that does the trick.

It's not like he's doing anything crazy, either. He just wants the chance to stretch his legs, especially now that the weather's becoming more mild. He hasn't even taken any quests on this month, so he'd say he's been taking it easy and then some.

The shopping areas of Aefenglom are busy and bustling enough that Zack chooses them as his destination. That energy should be good for his mood. It's as he's passing near the spot where he knows Lightning works sometimes, with just a quick glance pointed in to check if she was there, that he hears a familiar voice.

A singing voice.

It doesn't take long to follow the source of the noise, at which point he finds Jaskier seated and leaning up against a large white wolf. Zack's encounter with Geralt in wolf form was months and months ago now, but he still remembers well enough — and even if it weren't for that, it wouldn't take a genius to figure this out. It appears like the wolf is sleeping, so Zack steps lightly as he approaches. ]

Hey. Pretty sure we're due some drinks, if I'm remembering right.

[ The greeting isn't exuberant, mainly because Zack knows there's little point in acting like everything's fine when both of them know all too well it isn't. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier's lute lets out an unhappy twang as his finger misses a certain pluck, nearly chipping his nail on the string. He looks up, startled, before a grin splits his face.] Zack, my friend! You're safe!

[He doesn't pause, setting his lute safely against Geralt's leg to stand with only a hint of a wince now. It barely touches his smile, and he holds out his arms as he comes in for a hug.

Why the fuck not? The last time he saw Zack, he was looking down from the cliff over death. He looks... gods, alive, and that's the most beautiful he could look.] We're far overdue. I'm -- it's good to see you. You look... healthy. No persistent cough, I hope?

[Jaskier is certainly trying a little too hard. It feels like, considering how bad it was before, that he couldn't bear to let the mask of reality slip down too far.]

CELION DION IN THE CAR ALONE WHILE CRYING;; yk as you do

[benedicus]

( with all of the recent drama and tragedy, karen's patisserie has been short a few hands or perhaps more than a few hands. she'd reached out to the bakery in which aziraphale was regularly employed, requesting to borrow one or two skilled individuals to help with the day to day until the dust settled. aziraphale hadn't minded going, hadn't minded doing a favour for a different shop, particularly when it got him out of his own—not that there was any issue with his own, it was just a bit disheartening in the aftermath at the moment.

it's a sentiment that is clearly shared by jaskier, whom of which he only knows from a distance as they have yet to formally meet, when he comes into the shop in search of an employee that had been lost. aziraphale listens to the conversation from the other room as he kneads dough, concerned but not willing to overstep. he would like to see if there could be anything he could do for him, but it also didn't seem quite right.

although, aziraphale eventually changes his mind about the potential of overstepping after listening to jaskier play from outside the shop for a considerable amount of time. he steps out after his shift has ended at the shop, a brown bag of crossiants in tow, to approach him. )

You aren't terrible at all, sir.

[cointosser]

[It's for the worst that Geralt is leaving him alone; left to his own devices, he's folding in on his own moroseness. And Geralt is ignoring him about twice as hard as he has previously. They both know, of course, there's not much he can do about this. And after some time, the feelings aren't even about Lightning anymore.

He's glad she escaped all of this. Being captured herself, seeing this happen to other people. The depressing aftermath.

The song's getting far too morose. He's about to get something to lift his mood -- from the bakery of course -- before a polite voice stops him.

Sir? Oh, it's been a while.]

Oh, you weren't supposed to hear that. [He smiles. Wait, he's a bit familiar, isn't he? From where --] But thank you. [He's definitely seen him somewhere. Wait.] You don't work for Karen by any chance, do you? I feel I've seen you before. Come to chase me off before I scare away her business?