whatupbuttercup: (This is uncomfortable)
Jaskier - Julian Alfred Pancratz ([personal profile] whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-04-29 10:47 am
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PSL Family Obligations with Monsterbytrade


"It's fine," Jaskier repeated in slight singsong to Cantata. The horse appreciated the tone but did not, unfortunately, speak any human languages and could not return the sentiment. Jaskier, far from mollified despite his pronouncement, repeated the words again and let out a slow, manic sort of huff as he sat upright in his saddle and stared dead ahead. Were they walking, he'd be gesturing and flitting about--as it was, he had to tolerate simply twitching his feet and shuffling awkwardly in place.

"This is --fine," he announced again, louder, and his voice had a reedy quality. It was up about half a register from his normal speaking tone. He reached and adjusted the collar of his finest doublet. He looked ready for a party--he looked positively regal on his beautiful horse, in fact, and nobody would fault him. (That was a lie, they would all fault him for something--no. Focus. Fuck, there was nothing to focus on.)

He glanced sidelong at Geralt and opened his mouth, ready to give his warning again, but snapped it shut. Geralt had agreed to come (with surprisingly little begging on Jaskier's part) and Jaskier had given him his frantic assurances and instructions on the spot. He wanted, very desperately, to repeat them all but he knew it would do nothing but annoy the man riding alongside him. The warnings ate at his nerves, though, and Jaskier had so very few nerves left--they frayed with truly astounding speed as they rode down the blind lane and closer to his familial home.

"Now--and, once again, I cannot stress this enough--there is absolutely no call to seek out any conversation, whatsoever," Jaskier blurted suddenly, repeating himself for what had to be the fourth time this morning. One would think that Geralt was an eager participant, ready to sample the wines and chat up the wealthy attendees, rather than...well, he was basically a hostage. Or...no. Jaskier was a hostage, Geralt was his...emotional support warrior? This situation really defied colorful metaphor.

Geralt was going to suffer with him, or at least next to him, and that counted for everything.

"You will definitely be sought out, and that will be--" the bard made a noncommittal slightly strangled noise and waved his hand. Whatever he'd omitted, his expression did not imply a pleasant conversation was an option. "Just...act naturally or, if you prefer: evade. Evasion is a perfectly viable plan. I'd do it if I could." Jaskier continued and fidgeted, his hands stroking through Cantata's lovely mane rather than keeping firm hold on the reins. Fortunately, the golden horse was more than used to following Roach by now and didn't wander.

"Honestly, you know, I won't be even the slightest bit upset if you suddenly vanish, or even if you directly offend anyone--in fact, feel encouraged. The more offensive you are, the less offensive I'll seem--oh, or perhaps not, they might blame me for it anyway--" Jaskier babbled. "I'd prefer it if you didn't stab anyone, mostly, but I can't really cast aspersions on that given how likely I am to stab someone--maybe myself. Oh! If I were stabbed I wouldn't have to attend, you wouldn't have to attend!"

"Geralt, would you mind terribly stabbing me really quickly?" Jaskier asked and there was a not insignificant part of his tone that was serious.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day.

The summer sun was up but Lettenhove was an excruciatingly temperate bit of the continent, even high summer wasn't uncomfortable here. The trees were green, lush, and swaying. The grass was inviting, dotted with wildflowers that should have died out come the end of spring, and there were little colorful birds darting above them, flitting this way and that between the dense leaves. Clearly there were no hawks to be found anywhere nearby.

The road they traveled on was paved with an even set of matching stones, interwoven into a pattern, a bit of a rarity for a place this rural, and both the road and foliage alongside it was excruciatingly well kept. The lane wound this way and that through the thick trees, but whatever dampening effect the meandering, tree-laden nature of the road was meant to have, it wasn't up to the task of keeping out the sounds of the party ahead of them.

They were close enough, then, that even Jaskier could hear particularly boisterous bursts of laughter and the sounds of the distant string quartet. Fuck.

"Just a little stabbing," Jaskier plyed, his expression a touch desperate. "Please?"
monsterbytrade: (;simple and clean)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-04-30 02:06 pm (UTC)(link)
"Jaskier."

The name had been patiently repeated every time the bard managed to take a breath while their horses walked the well-manicured but winding path. The place was lovely in a... planned, sort of way. Of course, as they went on and Jaskier rolled right over every mention of his own name and into a high sort of babble, the scenery took second-place to simply staring at his friend and wondering if he'd manage to take a breath before he fell straight off the kelpie. Geralt had smelling salts but he'd rather not waste them on stopping Jaskier trying to talk himself into his own grave.

Geralt had agreed to come today (with only a small amount of begging) because of the particular register that Jaskier's voice seemed to keep climbing into every time he mentioned how very fine his family was, and how lovely the wedding of his cousin was sure to be, and how all involved would be pleased to see a Witcher, of course, because Lettenhove strove to uphold the old ways--

Honestly, Geralt had agreed to come because Jaskier was usually not so terrible a liar and that, coupled with the off-tune pitch, set the witcher's nerves strangely on edge.

When Jaskier finally acknowledged his companion-- only because he was searching for the nearest pointy object which might cause a fatal wound, apparently, since he was eyeing the sheathed swords hanging from Roach's saddle and not Geralt himself-- Geralt kneed Roach closer to the bard. Unfortunately for Jaskier it was not to put the swords within his reach. Their knees brushed, banged lightly, and then Geralt reached out and soundly flicked the man in the temple.

"Drink, keep quiet, and we'll be gone in the morning."

There was no doublet or silks for the witcher, but he had allowed himself to be talked into a pair of dark trousers that had actually been tailored for him (which, if he ever had the occasion to need to do again, Jaskier would not be allowed in the building whilst it happened), a thin, fine linen shirt, and a leather jerkin that had not a stud, nail, or mended hole from a monster to be found upon it. To the already stuffy look Geralt had even allowed Jaskier to wrap a completely ornamental belt around his waist. His hair was near shimmering when the sun dashed through the canopy to catch it and rightfully so for the amount of soap that Jaskier had severely and at length lathered into his scalp while mumbling about how no one really cared about appearances anyway.

No. No, Geralt did not like the tone that Jaskier's family put into the man's voice.

The path turned and the trees opened quite suddenly on a sprawling and beautiful villa, set clearly with purpose to catch a small hill and the views around it. Flowers hung everywhere, either growing or strung to the point where the entire front of the place glowed as the interwoven white and burgundy petals caught the sunlight and set a gorgeously-planned fire. Only a blind man would have not known something special was going on here today-- actually, perhaps a blind man would know as well; Geralt's nose wrinkled at the smell. Despite all things, it seemed that there were some preferences that were hereditary.

Roach had stopped walking without the pressure of the witcher's legs and the kelpie pulled up beside her; the golden horse reached out and bit discreetly at the mare's mane. Roach only tossed her head but the jangling of her tack pulled Geralt's attention back from the overwrought house to the man at his side. "Drink," he growled, because after seeing the house and the state of Jaskier's face it seemed to bare repeating, "and keep quiet. We'll be gone in the morning."
monsterbytrade: (;to your health)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-04-30 08:25 pm (UTC)(link)
As much as Jaskier spoke before coming to the house, he seemed to have fallen completely mute after it came into view. Aside from the wedding decorations Geralt wouldn't say that the place was all that pretentious; it was well made and well kept, the windows beautifully set against the rest of the place. His measure-stick was his companion, however, and the only thing worse than an off-pitch Jaskier was a silent Jaskier.

Geralt dropped off his horse and handed his reins to the man Jaskier seemed to recognize, nodding a brief thanks. He knew, somewhat, that Jaskier had come from money but he hadn't even set foot inside of the house and the wealth of the entire operation was already on display.

Julian.

He grunted agreement at Jaskier words and lead the way inside when it was clear that Jaskier's feet didn't feel like moving. He didn't need to turn to hear the bard catch up as they stepped inside the propped double doors and into the large foyer, more flowers here as well as curving staircases with impressive wrought railings. The next room was a large and open, another grand set of glass doors on the opposite wall swung open to the outside veranda and entirety of the affair. It was hard to take in everything from their position hardly past the foyer, for it seemed that every conceivable thing that might be in a wedding had been erected across the green of the expansive back garden.

He'd been wrong a moment ago. Money seemed a loose term, now. Wealth perhaps, was better. Geralt looked at Jaskier and considered the man sleeping on a bedroll and couldn't quite reconcile the two things. Jaskier had grown up in this easy opulence?

Geralt grabbed two glasses off a moving tray and pressed one into Jaskier's hands even as he was lifting the other to his lips.
monsterbytrade: (;you don't say)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-05-01 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)
There was little to do but follow along like a mule tied to a completely terrified lead horse, being spurred on by an idiot.

Geralt only grunted at the idiot-- dressed ostentatiously enough to offend-- as he was given no real acknowledgement at all. A fine representation of a class that should have already died out due to inbreeding. He reminded himself that these were Jaskier's people before a metaphor he'd been seeking all day long to describe Jaskier's actions finally leapt to the tip of his tongue. A soldier returning to war. Geralt swallowed the thought as his eyes narrowed at the broad-shouldered man who pulled them both outside, the witcher's knuckles paling slightly under his sudden tight grip on his glass. He forced himself to relax it, lest he break it the delicate flute into pieces.

In the sea of guests that gleamed across the lawn like the sun falling on ocean foam, Jaskier in his deep golden doublet (it was Cintra fashion, and Cintra was a powerhouse of the Continent) and Geralt in his habitual dark colors stood out like the sorest of thumbs. As the barrage of welcomes were thrown at Jaskier like darts at a board there was a small mental itch at the back of the witcher's mind-- had Jaskier been so worried that he'd forgotten the dress code? Such details were normally far enough within the bard's wheelhouse that it felt strange that he should have missed something so large. They were both used to standing out, certainly, but only Geralt understood how to be an outsider.

Each dart landed and Geralt watched Jaskier's smile grow, his laugh easy enough to sound pornographic. Geralt realized that his fingers had tightened again and he swallowed the glass down just to get it out of his hand-- he turned to the plump woman who had called Jaskier a vagabond and pushed it at her chest, savoring the shocked look on her face even while his own face remained passive. He looked to Jaskier. "You promised you'd introduce me to--" ah. Fuck. "--him," Geralt finished, nodding his chin in a direction at random as he hooked fingers into Jaskier's elbow and pulled him away. Anywhere but there. Obviously there was no one at all that he'd been promised to be introduced to.

He stopped them in the shade of a large tree. "Why are we here? The truth, Jaskier."
monsterbytrade: (:clean)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-05-02 06:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Geralt obligingly swiped two small thimbles off a passing tray and handed only one of them to Jaskier-- the other he reserved for himself because it took him quite a lot of liquor to feel the effects that he was certain, suddenly, that he was going to need to get through the night. He turned the shot up, swallowed, and then uncaringly dropped the glass against the soft moss-covered roots of the tree. "Do you care if she forgives you?" That seemed the first and most important question. Geralt wasn't going to get involved but Jaskier was his friend and all the rest were farts in the wind.

"And what is the other thing I am responsible for? Spit it out." Better now that later, when he was half-drunk and more angry and Jaskier told him that he had promised him to pick the embroidery out of some asshole's doublet with his eyes closed for entertainment.
monsterbytrade: (;going to hell)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-05-03 11:59 am (UTC)(link)
It wasn't the idiotic promise the bard had given that made Geralt suddenly loom closer to Jaskier, hedging him back somewhat against the wide, rough trunk of the tree-- though the still look on his face could have been anger as easily as it could have been its opposite. He wasn't angry; in fact the witcher had written off the words almost as quickly as they'd fallen from Jaskier's lips. Jaskier could promise the sun and the stars but that didn't mean Geralt felt any overwhelming need to jump as high as possible in order to try and pluck them down. No, the words didn't matter at all; what had struck him soundly was the voice that the bard had managed them in. Geralt hadn't truly noticed the friction of the skin that that Jaskier had sunk behind until it was drawn aside and his nostrils flared slightly as if catching a sea breeze through a cracked window in a cloistered room.

So he stepped into Jaskier's space as he watched the way the slanting sun caught the bard's face, the light blush on his cheeks that was either alcohol or shame. His fingers rose and hovered, knuckles just shy of touching the high, round slant of that pink skin-- and then fell. Geralt lifted his head and looked over the people milling about in their finery. "If she cared about you showing up looking like a preening swan then she would have told you. Where are your parents?"

Because if one had a boil then it should be lanced right away. Geralt had never been a man to put aside a cure out of fear of the remedy; now that Jaskier had brought him here (for a few 'tales of hunts'), he could deal with the more immediate consequences of his actions.
monsterbytrade: (;oh sweetie)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-05-03 04:07 pm (UTC)(link)
It felt like a lose-lose question-- would Geralt like to stay here amongst the eyes of Jaskier's entire family, most of who seemed at first blush to be miserable, grandstanding, miserly elitists? Or would he come like to meet the couple who, ostensibly, had driven Jaskier out of his family home because he had decided that he would rather devote his life to education and music than finance and producing heirs to inherit it? Geralt blew a breath through his nose and held one staring man's eyes long enough that his already voluminous moustache seemed to bristle further before he averted his eyes.

Rightly so. Just because Geralt did not wear a sword did not mean that he would tolerate less bullshit than he would on any normal day. Besides, Jaskier had slipping back into that slightly grating tone that did nothing for him at all. Geralt realized that prolonged exposure to the bard like this had set him slightly on edge. What did he care if these people like him? He didn't, of course, but he had thought... for Jaskier...

That had been before they'd gotten here. What Geralt had mistaken for anxiousness to please was, after only a double-handful of minutes spent amongst these people, clearly not where his friend's head was at all. "I'll go with you," he said. Jaskier wouldn't have given him an option if he didn't want him there in some capacity. That much he understood.
monsterbytrade: (:smize)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-05-03 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Watching Jaskier was a strange experience. The set of his shoulders, the clip of his gait-- it was all very unlike Jaskier, as if this place, these people, had made him something different. Diminished him, somehow. Even Geralt, who would never say as much out loud, could acknowledge that there was something irrepressible about Jaskier that drew people to him. His talent helped, of course, and the loud fashion statements that he enjoyed making, but it was more than that. It was how he stood, how he spoke, how he... invited everyone to look and see the world as he did, as if by doing so they might enjoy it just a little more. That was Jaskier.

This man with him now was not that person. He was quiet and small. Geralt disliked it immensely; it was all very wrong.

When Jaskier started down one side of the hall only to stop and about face-- Geralt almost grabbed him. Forced a course of action that might end this entire charade. But the hallway was wide and the troubadour was across it, his pace quicker and his shoulders suddenly thrown back. Geralt mounted the last step and went after him, opening his mouth only to close it as the heard sounds of a shuffle coming from somewhere further on. The tattoo of feet on hardwood, muffled... laughter? But Jaskier was already flinging open the door and speaking and by the time Geralt had made it into the room there were a herd of small bodies practically dragging the man to the ground. Geralt's lips drew into a line-- and then relaxed. Children. The room was filled with children, who were clearly delighted to see Jaskier. Geralt dragged in a deep breath, a knot between his shoulders loosening.

"Julian, you said you'd come and visit--"

"Teach me the harpsichord, momma says its only for priests and beggars--"

"I'm almost as tall as you now!"

Geralt folded his arms across his chest and leaned a shoulder against the the doorframe to watch.
monsterbytrade: (;simple and clean)

[personal profile] monsterbytrade 2020-05-04 12:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Geralt noticed the sharp, considering cut of the girl's gaze, her eyes very blue-- not unlike Jaskier's-- but was not prepared for the sounds or the charge that were to follow. He drew himself up slightly as those damp, small digits clutched at the air about the end of the metal-trimmed belt that dangled against his thigh. She was... persistent.

When the rest of the children turned toward him, not unlike a pack of wolves scenting prey, Geralt very nearly stepped back. He might have were it not for that particular look from across the room, the smile that slyly exposed teeth and narrowed eyes. "You set me up," he growled in Jaskier's direction before directing his yellow gaze downward to the small band of assorted-sized children.

Children and cats-- both generally were the first things in the room to warn of witchers. Geralt was so used to children screaming or crying at the sight of him, as if the boogeyman that their parents whispered to make them behave had suddenly shown up to take them away, that this very clear... adoration? Stuck halfway between his throat and his chest as if he'd swallowed a bite of dinner wrong.

"I did let the Selkie Maw eat me," he said, his flat, uncompromising voice a rough counterpoint compared to the flushed upswell of the childrens' queries. Out of the onslaught it was the easiest of the questions to answer-- though perhaps not the one that any parent would have appreciated. "They're only vulnerable from the inside."