middaeg | March Catch-All [Open, Mostly]

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March Catch-All [Open, Mostly]

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!))

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[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?

[Ferran sees that grimace, but mistakes it for distaste with his suggestion thanks to its lack of merit. He simply twitches his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. If the bard doesn't like it, that's fair enough.

Although he looks intently curious as Jaskier tries to explain his process, his expression shifts quickly after the question into something startled with a polite smile as if it would shield him. Love has quickly become a complicated affair in his own life, as it turns out. At least in his head.]

Ah, heh. Uhh—maybe? [But enough about him!!] So you're trying to capture... how someone makes you feel? But it's complicated, I'm guessing.

[Ah. Jaskier imagines that reaction says much more than his words, though his words aren't exactly subtle, either. Jaskier smiles, and it does draw a soft laugh out of him.]

No need to be embarrassed about it. I myself have been in love many times.

[Many, many times. To the outsider, Lightning may just be another soul in a long life of many of them. But each love is so different. So -- hmm. Precious.]

In a way. That's what this particular song needs. [Complicated, or is he simply slipping? No, there was no way the great Jaskier would be slipping. One does not simply lose their ability, but one... one can have bad days.] It's hard with some people, more than others. The feelings they elicit in me, or others. [He tips his head. He may not be making much sense, really.] I know she must have known others here, whether I'm aware of it or not. So it's a song... for her, and for me, and for them.

[Hmm. That may work.] Or is that too broad a brush to paint with? That's the question.

[The artistic method at work.] Here, you've clearly been in love, haven't you? Everyone has. What comes to mind first when you think of it?

[Although Ferran might have tried to express other thoughts or encouragement about the attempt at a song, he doesn't get the chance before the lens has turned back to him again.]

I, uh... [This is way out of his depth. Even if he tries to think for a moment or two, his mind comes up entirely blank. He may not be Puca, but this sure is inspiring that freeze or flee response in him. If not for the conscious effort of his glamor, his embarrassment would show clearly in the color of his face.]

I'm not good with... describing feelings. [Not without a lot of very prolonged inner thought, anyway. And he's kind of tried not to think very hard about his love life, for as complex as it's gotten very quickly. But he doesn't want to be rude and avoid the question entirely...] Intense?

[Now that Jaskier's seen how the questions plague him, he can't help but want to poke a little. Lighthearted, of course. He's never seen someone so quick to anxiousness over a musing musician's idle question.

At least he's thinking seriously over it? Jaskier's flattered by the consideration.]

Ah. I know men just like you, don't worry. [But his smile comes so easily now, watching him squirm. It's the first time in weeks he's genuinely felt like teasing a bit. Which is... gods, what a relief!] Intense is a truthful, wonderful start. So you have been in love! An intense love, even. A rare sort, sometimes. [Jaskier set his notebook aside, picking the lute back up. He plucks at the strings, the rhythm quick and flighty, each note short and to the point. Intense.] Overpowering, even? The sort that leaves your heart quickening in your chest?

[This is good, actually. It's bringing all that intensity he's been missing for his art back, or at least a shard of it.] Are you in love now? Any lucky Bonded, perhaps?

[LISTEN, SOMETIMES HE CAN BE THOUGHTFUL AND WELL SPOKEN, JUST NOT ON THE SPOT...

Ferran turns his eyes to that lute and the movement of the bard's fingers, if just to avoid looking at the man's expression. His own becomes somewhat perturbed, and although his mood certainly isn't sour enough to leave the conversation, his manners would have locked him in for the time being anyway. the description gets a hesitant answer out of him.]

I—guess so...? [He's come up with a few more descriptions, he thinks, but he's too embarrassed to express them now. Whoops.

There's another topic presented almost immediately, anyway. He answers the question without answering it, as his Fae nature dictates, though with a little personal touch of self-deprecation.]

Lucky may be an overstatement.

[Certainly not a wizard with words, is he? Jaskier doesn't hold it against him, of course; it is rare anyone can match his rapier wit. He may poke fun, but there's no need to push too much.

Jaskier plucks something a little more complicated, watching Ferran's gaze. Is he intrigued, or embarassed? A mixture of both?]

There's no need to be shy. I'm a lover of love, so to speak. [He tilts his head. Ooh. An interesting choice of answer.]

Hmm. For them, or for you? [His tune turns a bit slower, more mindful in the notes.] It's presumptuous, but I imagine anyone who would be happy to Bond with you wouldn't agree.

[Of course there's a chance they weren't happy, or it was a matter of convenience. He's not ignorant to such exchanges, but they certainly don't happen in his world.]

[Has "no need to be shy" ever helped someone not be shy? He has to wonder.

Ferran lets out a laugh at the implication; things could have very well gone a different way, had someone else answered his messages the day after he arrived. Hell, if his nightmare had joined him through the mirrors, he still might have...

Well, no reason to dwell on that right now. It turned out for the best. He returns his gaze to Jaskier properly to explain exactly why that presumption is off.]

Both of my bonds knew me for about an hour at most before we had the ceremony. I'm definitely the lucky one, though.

What?

[Jaskier stares at him. A matter of convenience. Ugh. So stuffy, so depressing! It's a miracle Geralt didn't do it himself. And he would have, he bet, if his best friend Jaskier weren't here.

It's different for him, when the only Bond he thought to ask after was Connor's. And yet --]

I absolutely cannot imagine sharing dreams with others through a mere business transaction. [Not that he's judging!! He's judging terribly, actually, but some people have such a hard time forming attachments.] Color me curious, my friend. Why do you say that?

[Saying it was a business gives Ferran way too much credit; it gives off the impression that things were planned. Thankfully he hasn't experienced any dream sharing, and he has to assume that was in part due to bonding with strangers in the first place. Closer bonds are supposed to have more of that kind of thing, or so he's heard.]

You can just call it desperation. [Ferran won't pretend he was in any kind of decent state when he was bonded, as much as he might these days.] But things would have been a lot harder for me without them. They've been great to me, in a lot of ways... and in return, I've mostly saddled them with my issues.

[Teaching one of them to read and tending to the other one when she was injured seems minor in comparison, in his mind. He only rarely thinks his attempts to help are enough, even when he's not soul-bound to someone.]

Desperation? Oh, my poor boy.

[The pity is genuine. Jaskier finds the whole business fun, really, finding Bonds, sharing deep ties. He knows he's a rarity when everyone so much overthinks these things. And, to be fair, his Bonds have gone swimmingly.... until Yennefer's dream had sucked them into her trauma. And then when his own had done the same.]

Well, I think it's high time you stop moping about it. [He grins wryly, switching the music to a slower jig. (The words could be said to himself just as easily.) The jig pops and jumps around, the sort he sings with extremely baudy lyrics.] And consider doing something to show your appreciation. Something simple, if you're talentless. Bake a loaf of bread. Gods know anyone could manage that. Ooh, or buy them something nice! Or comedic. Plenty of fun, cursed items around here.

[Ferran lets out a few low, nervous chuckles before making a realization that the conversation has taken a sharp turn into a territory he wasn't prepared for. That's a lot of suggestions to respond to!]

—you're not wrong, but wasn't I supposed to be the one giving you advice?

[Not that his initial help was that great, but listen. ... shut up.]

[That tends to be how conversations go with Jaskier, especially considering the sort of man he spends most of his time around barely manages three or four sentences an hour.

He doesn't even need prompting to keep talking. Which is a good sign for himself, actually. He's feeling more... human.]

Well, not to be rude, but your advice was --

[How was he not supposed to be rude about this?]

It left a little wanting, that's all. [Yep. That's all.] My, you're a bit allergic to talking about yourself, aren't you? I'm well acquainted with the type.

[He shrugs with an amicable expression. Ferran isn't bothered by the comment or the unspoken insinuation... he knows where his faults lie.]

I wouldn't say that. [He is a little bit allergic to it. Only a little though, especially compared to some people.] I'm just more interested in learning about other people. And I don't know how much giving me suggestions will actually help with your song.

[Plus Jaskier's cursed item suggestion was just about as useful as Ferran's own advice...]

Ahh, the inquisitive type.

[He fully understands! He's exactly the same way. Exactly. Except Jaskier does like talking about himself, a lot, in every sort of situation. It is a rare moment that anyone around him is not quite aware of how he's feeling about, er, generally everything.

That's why now is slightly different.]

All experiences help when music has to be universal to be enjoyed. [Ferran, you are strangely interesting, despite being so easily flustered.] Also, I'm nosy and like poking my nose about to help others. And since no one ever listens to my advice anyway, it's quite rare.

Heh... at least you're honest.

[The nosy type who wants to solve everyone's problems... doesn't that sound familiar?]

I don't know that music has to be universal, though. A lot of music where I'm from is personal to the ones who write it, but people can relate in their own ways anyway.

If there's one thing I've been truthfully called, it's certainly honest.

[Perhaps as a flaw?? Though Jaskier certainly doesn't think so. And generally he sticks with it, unless he's sucking up to a royal or somesuch, so he escapes whatever banquet he was invited to with his head intact.

He regards Ferran for a moment in silence, except the plucking of his strings.]

Not if you mean to make a living off of it. [Though he doesn't necessarily disagree. Was Her Sweet Kiss not terribly personal as it was? Not, of course, he would ever perform it. Not as he'd rewritten it.] I do get your point, but as a bard, it's up to us to spread enjoyable, memorable stories, and large swaths of history... and try not to die along the way.

[As much as Ferran appreciates tact, honesty has come to mean a lot more to him than it used to. He means it as a compliment... mostly.

Jaskier certainly has the look of a bard, but it's still kind of a surprise to hear the actual word used sincerely. He thinks of it as something in fantasy fiction, rather than whatever actual history those portrayals were drawn from.]

It sounds a lot more dangerous than a musician's life where I'm from... but they usually hire security of some kind. [He hopes you have the money for that, buddy.] How'd you decide to be a bard, anyway?

[It's not Ferran's fault he bursts out laughing all of a sudden. He holds his lute to his chest until it subsides, but -- gods, for the first time in weeks, there's a hint of tears from laughing in his eyes.

Hired security! Fucking imagine!

Oh. He sort of did that for the banquet, didn't he --]

Luckily, my security comes free. [If Geralt is paying attention to any of this, it's only in a solid, annoyed flick of his tail. Or he's dreaming something interesting. It could be either way.] Ah! It, well... it was a sort of a dream of mine, I suppose. It was certainly not the road I was born to be set upon, yet... music has always touched me in a deep way, and I wanted to share it. When I was sent away to university, it was one option of many. [He wipes at his eyes, giving Geralt, the wolf behind him, a glance. No. Still asleep.] I suppose my family meant for me to be a... a banker. Perhaps a merchant? Terribly boring lives, if you ask me. I've seen so much of the world simply between my own two feet and a horse or two.

[What in the world is that all about? He has to wonder if he's really suited to talking with people from different worlds if he's this clueless in a mundane conversation with a stranger... but at least he gets an answer to his question, and a topic he can relate to to some extent.]

I like having a place to come home to, but you certainly learn a lot more by traveling. About people, history... maybe yourself, too. That's how it is for me, anyway.

[Ah, he looks about as perplexed as anyone Jaskier's told about being a bard, so at least he's a bit used to the expression. Really, in a place like Aefenglom, he doesn't see how it's that surprising.]

As much of a cliché as it is, home has always been where you make it. Besides, a man has to make his own lot in life. I couldn't sit around and expect coin to come my way.

[Otherwise he may have been forced to be an acting viscount, which is a terrible fate.] It's the same for me. I've learned quite a bit about... well, everything. [He strums, his ring clicking against the elven wood.] Aefenglom rather forced me to take on a permanent home.

[With the difficult time Ferran has had since losing the only home he'd known nearly his entire life, he doesn't know that he can relate to the saying, however true it might be. But it's hard to make a home when you're not even comfortable in your own skin...]

It doesn't exactly encourage travel, does it? I don't even know what's outside the island...

[And not for a lack of interest. It seems like Aefenglom is too tied up in its own problems to worry about keeping records on anybody else.]

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March Catch-All [Open, Mostly]

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