Jaskier - Julian Alfred Pancratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-04-11 12:23 pm
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-04-11 12:23 pm
PSL Hypnosis with Monsterbytrade
The court at Cidaris was absolutely the most droll, boring court that Jaskier had ever been witness to--which was an absolute pity because the kingdom itself was rather delightful. Unfortunately, while the cities and towns of Cidaris were lovely and colorful, the court was as dull as dishwater and half as appealing. Normally, he would have declined an invitation to play at a celebration in the Cidarin court, but they had been relatively nearby and they still hadn't managed to replace Geralt's silver blade.
Playing a young Cidarin prince's birthday party was, on the whole, about the least interesting job Jaskier could imagine taking...but it paid well and was easy. So, after talking up the event, he'd asked Geralt to accompany him and the two of them made their way to coast.
The party had gone well enough, even if the night had seemed to drag on.
The boy had only turned ten, so the entertainment had been a bit on the childish side--Jaskier included. He had been specifically requested and had been hired over a whole host of Cidarin bards. He hadn't anticipated anyone wanting his head at this particular event, (not apart from those other bards, at least,) but Geralt had accompanied him nonetheless. He nearly made it through the night unnoticed but, once Jaskier had a request for Toss a Coin, Geralt's anonymity was up. After that, the Witcher had suffered a barrage of questions from the gathered gaggle of young boys. They questioned him regarding every type of monster they could recall, for near on two hours before the pomp of the celebration had forced them to disperse.
Overall, it wasn't the worst way to spend a night. The seaside chateaux they held the party at was removed, private, fairly pleasant overall. They had been granted room and board, their horses taken to the estate stables--there was even a bath waiting for them afterward. It was a firmly middling job that paid well and didn't involve murder. Jaskier called it a win.
Unfortuantely, ever since they'd arrived, Jaskier had a niggling sensation that he was forgetting something. It stuck in the back of his head like a burr caught on fine leggings, but he never could quite grasp it. All night, something about the guests, about the location prodded at him. It wasn't until he was nearly asleep, just drifting on the border of waking and slumber, that it came back to him. He heard the distant sounds of wooden and shell windchimes, the whistle of the ocean breeze, and Jaskier realized they were in terrible danger.
"Oh fuck--" he hissed as he bolted upright, eyes staring at the fine manor room around him with open suspicion. No assassins suddenly leaped out of the woodwork, nothing turned to snakes. He pawed at his chest, wondered if the drink had been poisoned, but no--he felt fine. Maybe she'd forgotten him, eh? It had been years, long years, since he'd last been in this part of Cidaris--surely the lady who owned the manor was just throwing the party for status. She might not have even noticed he was here--yes, that seemed likely.
"Geralt--Geralt--" Jaskier hissed quietly and reached behind him to grab at the Witcher's shoulder and shake him awake. The bed was wider than their usual fare and he nearly toppled over in his haste. "We have to go--"
Playing a young Cidarin prince's birthday party was, on the whole, about the least interesting job Jaskier could imagine taking...but it paid well and was easy. So, after talking up the event, he'd asked Geralt to accompany him and the two of them made their way to coast.
The party had gone well enough, even if the night had seemed to drag on.
The boy had only turned ten, so the entertainment had been a bit on the childish side--Jaskier included. He had been specifically requested and had been hired over a whole host of Cidarin bards. He hadn't anticipated anyone wanting his head at this particular event, (not apart from those other bards, at least,) but Geralt had accompanied him nonetheless. He nearly made it through the night unnoticed but, once Jaskier had a request for Toss a Coin, Geralt's anonymity was up. After that, the Witcher had suffered a barrage of questions from the gathered gaggle of young boys. They questioned him regarding every type of monster they could recall, for near on two hours before the pomp of the celebration had forced them to disperse.
Overall, it wasn't the worst way to spend a night. The seaside chateaux they held the party at was removed, private, fairly pleasant overall. They had been granted room and board, their horses taken to the estate stables--there was even a bath waiting for them afterward. It was a firmly middling job that paid well and didn't involve murder. Jaskier called it a win.
Unfortuantely, ever since they'd arrived, Jaskier had a niggling sensation that he was forgetting something. It stuck in the back of his head like a burr caught on fine leggings, but he never could quite grasp it. All night, something about the guests, about the location prodded at him. It wasn't until he was nearly asleep, just drifting on the border of waking and slumber, that it came back to him. He heard the distant sounds of wooden and shell windchimes, the whistle of the ocean breeze, and Jaskier realized they were in terrible danger.
"Oh fuck--" he hissed as he bolted upright, eyes staring at the fine manor room around him with open suspicion. No assassins suddenly leaped out of the woodwork, nothing turned to snakes. He pawed at his chest, wondered if the drink had been poisoned, but no--he felt fine. Maybe she'd forgotten him, eh? It had been years, long years, since he'd last been in this part of Cidaris--surely the lady who owned the manor was just throwing the party for status. She might not have even noticed he was here--yes, that seemed likely.
"Geralt--Geralt--" Jaskier hissed quietly and reached behind him to grab at the Witcher's shoulder and shake him awake. The bed was wider than their usual fare and he nearly toppled over in his haste. "We have to go--"
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Consciousness was less than pleasant.
Geralt felt emptied, aching, hollowed out to the core-- and that was just his head. He groaned and put a hand against the floor in order to rise, only to find upward movement too large a hurdle at the current moment and rolling onto his back instead. Broken rib, possibly two. His knuckles, back and knees stung. Trying to focus his eyes upward at the ruins of the chandelier and the ceiling beyond was unpleasant and he still felt out of breath, felt raw in a way that he couldn't quite place... until Jaskier's face swam into view. Jaskier.
"Fuck," Geralt breathed out, closing his eyes. Jaskier's face and the sound of the ocean brought enough back, the sensation of drowning, of fighting a losing battle against the incoming tide. When he searched for how he got here, what had happened he found nothingness interrupted by the pale shock of Jaskier's face, the smell of whiskey and flowers, the downward swing of the chandelier and the sound of the ocean. What had happened? A mage, that much was obvious. But was it over? Had Jaskier taken care of it? Grunting, Geralt reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the bard's devastated doublet to help him pull himself up. Why didn't he have a shirt on? Why the fuck was he in the ballroom? "Jaskier, what happened?"
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"I am so glad you're not dead," Jaskier told him and left off as that maid in the corner started sobbing again.
"It's a bit of a tale but the long and short of it is: this villa is owned by a witch. She is not a fan of mine." At this point Jaskier twisted and shouted up at the ceiling, for some reason. "Good thing she's a predictable bitch with a penchant for shells!"
Vanessa probably couldn't hear him. She was probably not even in the manor, itself, but the shouting was still very cathartic. Jaskier let out a sigh and returned his attention to Geralt--his smile was chipper, even with the devestation around them.
His gaze drifted to the marks on Geralt's face and Jaskier debated, a moment, whether to fill the Witcher in on the nitty gritty (horrifying) details of the night. He started to elaborate--well, he wanted to start--but there wasn't really an easy way to detail the last few minutes.
Fuck, had it only been minutes?
"I can regale you with the tale another time. For now, let's get out of the pile of glass and twisted metal. Can you walk?"
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And in fact it only did take a little help to get Geralt to his feet. He blinked at the other people in the room, people he recognized from the party earlier tonight. He didn't understand why they were all in this room-- he could certainly guess at a few connections but it didn't seem worth the ache of his head, only that for now the worst was over and they seemed in much better shape than he felt. The... the chandelier had fallen on him? He shook his head and rubbed his eyes and then turned his hand over and pulled a shard of glass from between his knuckles, letting it fall to the ground. He was sure it was in his hair and other places as well.
As Jaskier's words sank in, Geralt stopped picking his way through the mess of the floor and looked at his friend. "Is she still here?" His body tensed with the possibility, ready for a fight.
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"Here?" Jaskier repeated and spun, eyes combing the dark for the witch. His alarm was telling but she was nowhere to be found. "No--no I don't think she had been here all night."
He certainly would have remembered seeing Vanessa at the party. She was not the sort of woman given to subtlety and the drama with which she liked to enter rooms was on par with Jaskier.
"Honestly, if she had been here, I would have bet she'd be in this room, waiting to watch me get torn to ribbons by the crowd, or flung off the balcony into the surf."
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It was quite clear to Geralt that Jaskier had been through something tonight and likewise it was quite clear that he himself had been involved in it-- but until the bard decided to fill him in on the details he wasn't going to bother to speculate why he had glass sticking out of him like he was some demented porcupine and broken ribs from a chandelier that just missed crushing his skull. Frankly there were more pressing matters, even if the witch wasn't here. When they reached a set of doors, Geralt looked back at the mess of the banquet table. He knew where he was-- which was a start for the night-- and the people around were clearly shaking off the same trance as he, but vengeful women were generally if not prepared then at least happy to be redundant in their efforts... at least, it seemed, where Jaskier was involved. His medallion was shivering against his chest but it seemed a tremor compared to what he'd ignored yesterday in the daylight, the more fool him. "No more cities," he growled under his breath as he pulled the door open. The crash of the sea outside was a constant sort of itch against his nerves and all Geralt wanted to do was get the fuck out of Cidaris and perhaps somewhere landlocked.