Jaskier - Julian Alfred Pancratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-15 03:20 pm
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-15 03:20 pm
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"Oh?" And it's followed by a thoughtful, fluttering hum as if she has to consider a grave decision. Their nest is temporary, this bliss secure in her memory for all time. That should be more than enough should it not? The room is growing brighter with daylight. The candles burned down, wax spread over the brass and the more costly oil lamps empty. For now the remains of their bath keeps everything fragrant.
His eyelashes are long enough that she can only see his eyelids move. "I am hungry, not near so much as you." Her voice is soft with a humor. "Shall we see what they have downstairs?"
If they start to play again she might not leave Temeria for days. The want, the thrill is deep. Would so much indulgence sate his appetite completely after? Her finger gently cease their motion and she sits up to press kisses to his eyelids.
His eyelashes are long enough that she can only see his eyelids move. "I am hungry, not near so much as you." Her voice is soft with a humor. "Shall we see what they have downstairs?"
If they start to play again she might not leave Temeria for days. The want, the thrill is deep. Would so much indulgence sate his appetite completely after? Her finger gently cease their motion and she sits up to press kisses to his eyelids.
He let's out a huff of fond laughter as she kisses his eyelids and sits up, pulling free from his idle embrace at last. He watches her, awake and happy, and inclines his head.
"Yes, let's," Jaskier agrees brightly and drags himself up to sit. Getting dressed shall be a trick, but he makes a concerted effort to think of terribly boring, unappealing things as he rises and gathers up his clothing.
Well, most of it. He cannot seem to find his smalls but, then again, he had been terribly drunk when he lost them. He puts up a token search and, by the end of it, has fallen enough that he can shimmy into his trousers and actually make himself presentable. As presentable as he ever is, at least.
"I am actually quite famished--did we eat while we drank? I can't recall."
"Yes, let's," Jaskier agrees brightly and drags himself up to sit. Getting dressed shall be a trick, but he makes a concerted effort to think of terribly boring, unappealing things as he rises and gathers up his clothing.
Well, most of it. He cannot seem to find his smalls but, then again, he had been terribly drunk when he lost them. He puts up a token search and, by the end of it, has fallen enough that he can shimmy into his trousers and actually make himself presentable. As presentable as he ever is, at least.
"I am actually quite famished--did we eat while we drank? I can't recall."
Rising up out of the bed is the remedy though she ought to be ashamed of herself at how she steals glances at him. The first thing she does is find a means to put a kind of order to her curls, perched at the vanity. From the mirror she watches him pass several times, clothes in his grip.
Yennefer has the audacity to hum to herself. No, it's not the terrible crab dance song. Though his scuttling is very animated. The longest part of her readiness is her face. Simple touches and she is no longer barefaced. The dress she wore the night before remains draped over the chaise. Beneath it are the illusive silk blue he was looking for. A new dress, black with carefully placed pearls of white and black dotting the neckline. Beneath is a new equally small bit of cloth and no effort to bind her breasts.
Well, if he didn't ask. She won't tell.
"You ordered a tray at the tavern." Still thirsty and impatient, she finds the apple juice. It's no longer chilled but still good. The apples were pressed the night before after all. She pours a glass. "I can't rightly tell you what it was. A roast I think?"
Yennefer has the audacity to hum to herself. No, it's not the terrible crab dance song. Though his scuttling is very animated. The longest part of her readiness is her face. Simple touches and she is no longer barefaced. The dress she wore the night before remains draped over the chaise. Beneath it are the illusive silk blue he was looking for. A new dress, black with carefully placed pearls of white and black dotting the neckline. Beneath is a new equally small bit of cloth and no effort to bind her breasts.
Well, if he didn't ask. She won't tell.
"You ordered a tray at the tavern." Still thirsty and impatient, she finds the apple juice. It's no longer chilled but still good. The apples were pressed the night before after all. She pours a glass. "I can't rightly tell you what it was. A roast I think?"
He pulls his chemise on, tucks it in as he had himself, and makes some attempt to render himself presentable. His hair is a lost cause but, fortunately, being seen with dreadful bed-head is not even close to a problem for his reputation. His doublet covers the rumples in his chemise well enough and he even buttons it up properly as she pours herself a drink.
"I haven't the faintest--I remember cherries and singing and, oh hell, did I get a poor reaction? I must have been off key all night and not noticed," Jaskier grimaces and lets out a short sigh as he moves to retrieve his lute. In only a few moments, he is fully dressed and looking only slightly less put together than the night prior.
"Shall we?" He asks and holds out an arm for her.
"I haven't the faintest--I remember cherries and singing and, oh hell, did I get a poor reaction? I must have been off key all night and not noticed," Jaskier grimaces and lets out a short sigh as he moves to retrieve his lute. In only a few moments, he is fully dressed and looking only slightly less put together than the night prior.
"Shall we?" He asks and holds out an arm for her.
Oh he is lovely. It's unfair. The hair is wholly her fault. The state of his clothes, well, she could have been more careful too she supposes. Though any would cast their gaze upon him and see he cuts a silhouette. Yennefer keeps eyeing him over the rim of her glass.
"No?" Details don't stay as well as emotions. Though it does cause a momentary flutter of dread. He is still present and was willing to bed her a moment earlier. "You did very well, though I'm afraid we may have made a scene and hurt the feelings of a popular barmaid that had been making eyes at you." May as though she wasn't entirely aware of the situation.
Yennefer takes his arm, "The best part about the tavern was the cherry schnapps anyway. There is still the bottle of that. That would be the only reason to return."
The Golden Fawn in daylight hours is clean. The midsummer festival patrons are only just staggering out from their lodging. Jaskier is already winning the contest of who looks not only bedded but presentable enough to pass through the doors of a temple. It's a miraculous feat. There are still tables available. The smell of eggs, potatoes and bacon make her stomach growl.
"No?" Details don't stay as well as emotions. Though it does cause a momentary flutter of dread. He is still present and was willing to bed her a moment earlier. "You did very well, though I'm afraid we may have made a scene and hurt the feelings of a popular barmaid that had been making eyes at you." May as though she wasn't entirely aware of the situation.
Yennefer takes his arm, "The best part about the tavern was the cherry schnapps anyway. There is still the bottle of that. That would be the only reason to return."
The Golden Fawn in daylight hours is clean. The midsummer festival patrons are only just staggering out from their lodging. Jaskier is already winning the contest of who looks not only bedded but presentable enough to pass through the doors of a temple. It's a miraculous feat. There are still tables available. The smell of eggs, potatoes and bacon make her stomach growl.
If he has forgotten anything of note, it doesn't show on his face. He gives her an utterly besotted look as she strolls to his side, as she takes his arm. He settles his own hand atop hers at his elbow and they head down. He draws her seat out once they've joined the crowd and loops his lute around his own chair before stepping back.
"A plate of everything for the lady, I presume?" Jaskier asks and cocks a brow, his own smile implying that he intends to have the same.
He wonders if they have tea--this place is very nice, it is possible they will have an assortment.
"A plate of everything for the lady, I presume?" Jaskier asks and cocks a brow, his own smile implying that he intends to have the same.
He wonders if they have tea--this place is very nice, it is possible they will have an assortment.
The afternoon and into the night had been eventful. Yennefer could not forget that she had learned that her companion was a viscount and a tenderhearted man that could fuck like a beast and lay back prettily to be treated the same. The thought makes her tilt her head to his shoulder briefly before coming to sit.
"Oh yes. And fruit if that is not already included. Tea. Mmm." No, that was not a dip into his thoughts. What fine establishment to offer bath service and salts but not serve tea? The barman was just cleaning away plates and notices Yennefer and then Jaskier. He quickly cleans his hands and toddles over to them.
What will the lovely lady and gent be having this day? Yennefer makes her wishes known. A full platter, and bless the Golden Fawn it comes with fruit. She asks for tea. Attention on Jaskier pauses and his brow furrows. Doesn't he know him from somewhere? Perhaps he hasn't seen the lute.
"Oh yes. And fruit if that is not already included. Tea. Mmm." No, that was not a dip into his thoughts. What fine establishment to offer bath service and salts but not serve tea? The barman was just cleaning away plates and notices Yennefer and then Jaskier. He quickly cleans his hands and toddles over to them.
What will the lovely lady and gent be having this day? Yennefer makes her wishes known. A full platter, and bless the Golden Fawn it comes with fruit. She asks for tea. Attention on Jaskier pauses and his brow furrows. Doesn't he know him from somewhere? Perhaps he hasn't seen the lute.
Jaskier is alight--until he turns to face the barman. Oh, but while he does not recognize the bard, the bard recognizes him. His smile goes a bit panicked and he shoots a darting glance of apology at Yennefer.
"Know me? Oh, I don't--" Jaskier starts, glad he hasn't sat, and carefully reaches to pluck up his lute by the strap. The moment his fingers snare it, the barman's eyes are drawn over and, all at once he can see the recognition bloom across the man's face. Recognition shifts to shock and then, quite predictably, to fury.
"You--!" The man seethes and makes a swiping grab for Jaskier's doublet. The bard dances back, bends to place a quick kiss on Yennefer's head, and slings his lute over his shoulders. The barman, in the meanwhile, has turned redfaced with his rage.
"Well, that is my cue, my dear," Jaskier apologizes and the man moves around Yennefer, babbling through gritted teeth about his wife and Jaskier's diving from the window and, yes Jaskier thought this establishment was familiar--he grimaces and manages to evade him rather deftly as he bolts for the door.
"Know me? Oh, I don't--" Jaskier starts, glad he hasn't sat, and carefully reaches to pluck up his lute by the strap. The moment his fingers snare it, the barman's eyes are drawn over and, all at once he can see the recognition bloom across the man's face. Recognition shifts to shock and then, quite predictably, to fury.
"You--!" The man seethes and makes a swiping grab for Jaskier's doublet. The bard dances back, bends to place a quick kiss on Yennefer's head, and slings his lute over his shoulders. The barman, in the meanwhile, has turned redfaced with his rage.
"Well, that is my cue, my dear," Jaskier apologizes and the man moves around Yennefer, babbling through gritted teeth about his wife and Jaskier's diving from the window and, yes Jaskier thought this establishment was familiar--he grimaces and manages to evade him rather deftly as he bolts for the door.
The annual Festival of the Liberal Arts is a bit of a showy event in Oxenfurt. The streets are festooned with fabric pennants and streamers, there are bundles of flowers and ribbons tied around every awning and freestanding lamp, and the University is an absolute madhouse. Students run to and fro, old alumni gather and snipe in every conceivable pub, inn, and tavern Oxenfurt has to offer, and the conservatory is all but filled to the brim with musically inclined nobility and dilettantes from across the continent.
There are other competitions going on, Jaskier knows, but he can wander the galleries and statuary at any time, and he's no interest in the theatrical performances this year. No, this year, his whole attention is on the musical patronage. He hasn't competed in many, many years and already he's considered a contender. It's delightful but also excruciatingly stressful and he finds himself periodically gripped with the manic need to laugh.
He arrives two days early, as one does for events like this, and sees his fine clothing pressed, visits a luthier to have Filavandrel's lute tuned and the bridge adjusted, and registers himself with the conservatory and the university just as the rest of his peers start showing up. He barely sleeps the first night, despite having accommodations in a truly fine establishment. When he meets Yennefer the next day, he is almost vibrating in time with the energy around the city.
He had originally planned to compete for show only, his attendance was exclusively for the joy of watching her take Valdo down a few pegs...but the idea of actually winning has crept into the back of his mind. Try as he might, he cannot let the fantasy of University Patronage go. He is popular, certainly, but academic and social validation is a powerful lure and he is weak and wanting.
"My dearest Yennefer, welcome to Oxenfurt!" Jaskier crows brightly as he spies her. The bard is dressed in salmon and gold silk with crimson detailing. The color would have been off-putting had there not been such a riot of streamers and floral decorations already up across the city.
There are other competitions going on, Jaskier knows, but he can wander the galleries and statuary at any time, and he's no interest in the theatrical performances this year. No, this year, his whole attention is on the musical patronage. He hasn't competed in many, many years and already he's considered a contender. It's delightful but also excruciatingly stressful and he finds himself periodically gripped with the manic need to laugh.
He arrives two days early, as one does for events like this, and sees his fine clothing pressed, visits a luthier to have Filavandrel's lute tuned and the bridge adjusted, and registers himself with the conservatory and the university just as the rest of his peers start showing up. He barely sleeps the first night, despite having accommodations in a truly fine establishment. When he meets Yennefer the next day, he is almost vibrating in time with the energy around the city.
He had originally planned to compete for show only, his attendance was exclusively for the joy of watching her take Valdo down a few pegs...but the idea of actually winning has crept into the back of his mind. Try as he might, he cannot let the fantasy of University Patronage go. He is popular, certainly, but academic and social validation is a powerful lure and he is weak and wanting.
"My dearest Yennefer, welcome to Oxenfurt!" Jaskier crows brightly as he spies her. The bard is dressed in salmon and gold silk with crimson detailing. The color would have been off-putting had there not been such a riot of streamers and floral decorations already up across the city.
The University was one of the most illustrious jewels of their age. Scholars of all ages came to the sprawling campus to meet with other minds. It was not merely for the creative arts but who would ever attend a scientific art festival? The laboratories and medical seminars were at a standstill and gave over the whole of the University to the art students. The event more or less came to be a holiday and a means for Oxenfurt to showcase the talented students current and past and get coin out of it. She had been aware that Oxenfurt had great pride in its libral arts so much that it did have a kind of fest for it, never before had Yennefer had a desire or reason to attend. Along came a bard and everything changes. Is that how Geralt of Rivia felt?
She had written to Jaskier the month prior to ask about lodging, any details she should know about the competition, and what she should expect. The latter was a valid inquery though she knows that the darling would want to have surprises and the experience to be wholly new and unique. It's the showman in him. And she truly had been counting the days. The sights and revenge had equal standing of interest in her. The festival was going to have countless bards and musicians from across the known world. All of them vying for the coveted patronage. To see and be seen was going to be of great importance which is why this was the ideal place of bringing Valdo to his knees. The more witnesses the better. How many of them were aware of what an emotional whirlwind the affair had been to Jaskier?
Stepping out of her portal and taking a look around, it was more of a whole flower field devoted to looking like a town. Ladies had taken to fastening flowers on their dresses or fitting them in their hair woven with ribbon. The gents had boutonnieres and ribbon sashes. The fashion of Oxenfurt had always been leaning to bright colors and busy patterns. Paired with the floral, everything was so bright, so cheery. A rainbow fell over everything and everyone.
Yennefer would not have seen him in the crowd of color. Looking in the direction of her name the smile is still so much brighter. She rushes to him. Her usual state of dress may need some accessories. Though today she had opted for a more white than black dress. Once close she clasps his hands. They shall embrace she knows it, but holds him at arm's length a moment. "Let me look at you."
Istredd once had shown her thoughts in his mind of things he wanted her to see. Those creatures flowing in the water, so slow, so graceful. They were strange and peaceful. Without awareness of magic she might have been frightened to see an animal with no face. The colors were so strange, so garish to the blue, blue water and still so very beautiful. She buried that memory as she does with things that displease her. Removed from the mage that wronged her so, it now brings her happiness. Her stands another brilliant creature with arms, legs and a face wears them. Her fingers clutch at his tighter stepping in close. She smiles wide. "Your tailor must have been very, very busy."
She had written to Jaskier the month prior to ask about lodging, any details she should know about the competition, and what she should expect. The latter was a valid inquery though she knows that the darling would want to have surprises and the experience to be wholly new and unique. It's the showman in him. And she truly had been counting the days. The sights and revenge had equal standing of interest in her. The festival was going to have countless bards and musicians from across the known world. All of them vying for the coveted patronage. To see and be seen was going to be of great importance which is why this was the ideal place of bringing Valdo to his knees. The more witnesses the better. How many of them were aware of what an emotional whirlwind the affair had been to Jaskier?
Stepping out of her portal and taking a look around, it was more of a whole flower field devoted to looking like a town. Ladies had taken to fastening flowers on their dresses or fitting them in their hair woven with ribbon. The gents had boutonnieres and ribbon sashes. The fashion of Oxenfurt had always been leaning to bright colors and busy patterns. Paired with the floral, everything was so bright, so cheery. A rainbow fell over everything and everyone.
Yennefer would not have seen him in the crowd of color. Looking in the direction of her name the smile is still so much brighter. She rushes to him. Her usual state of dress may need some accessories. Though today she had opted for a more white than black dress. Once close she clasps his hands. They shall embrace she knows it, but holds him at arm's length a moment. "Let me look at you."
Istredd once had shown her thoughts in his mind of things he wanted her to see. Those creatures flowing in the water, so slow, so graceful. They were strange and peaceful. Without awareness of magic she might have been frightened to see an animal with no face. The colors were so strange, so garish to the blue, blue water and still so very beautiful. She buried that memory as she does with things that displease her. Removed from the mage that wronged her so, it now brings her happiness. Her stands another brilliant creature with arms, legs and a face wears them. Her fingers clutch at his tighter stepping in close. She smiles wide. "Your tailor must have been very, very busy."
Jaskier preens as she looks him over, delight and interest on her face. She steps in and he reaches, tucks her arm into his and keeps their fingers wound across the top. He leads her in a gentle walk and smiles in the bright, midday sun. He is all nervous energy but seeing her has abated some of the negative.
"My dear, you have not even seen my stage clothes," Jaskier tells her and sighs happily. Those clothes, he knows, are pressed and waiting, ready and spotless. They are a note of anxiety he needn't focus on.
"But enough of me, how have you been? It feels like an age," Jaskier says and, truthfully, it does. They've exchanged letters and made plans, but he hasn't seen her since that awful incident on the road out of Redania. It had only been a month or so previous and yet that seems so very, very long nowadays.
He'd taken liberties when he secured his space at the inn, when he'd booked accommodations and acquired seats to venues. He'd assumed her preferences and had assumed one of them was him--his room was large enough for them both and each of the seats and shows he had tickets for were near the front, near the center, and carried both their names. It was a very public showing of friendship, dearness, and he hadn't asked if it would make her uncomfortable.
Oh how he hopes it does not.
"Ah! And surprise of surprises, the Masons at the University have been showing off. Half of the city has mechanical plumbing now! It's going to spoil me terribly and you as well, I imagine. It's quite a treat."
"My dear, you have not even seen my stage clothes," Jaskier tells her and sighs happily. Those clothes, he knows, are pressed and waiting, ready and spotless. They are a note of anxiety he needn't focus on.
"But enough of me, how have you been? It feels like an age," Jaskier says and, truthfully, it does. They've exchanged letters and made plans, but he hasn't seen her since that awful incident on the road out of Redania. It had only been a month or so previous and yet that seems so very, very long nowadays.
He'd taken liberties when he secured his space at the inn, when he'd booked accommodations and acquired seats to venues. He'd assumed her preferences and had assumed one of them was him--his room was large enough for them both and each of the seats and shows he had tickets for were near the front, near the center, and carried both their names. It was a very public showing of friendship, dearness, and he hadn't asked if it would make her uncomfortable.
Oh how he hopes it does not.
"Ah! And surprise of surprises, the Masons at the University have been showing off. Half of the city has mechanical plumbing now! It's going to spoil me terribly and you as well, I imagine. It's quite a treat."
Falling into step is easy. Their fingers lace together. The tread of his fine shoes, Gods all around he has new shoes too. This must have been very, very costly. Jaskier was, after all, a popular musician. There were many times now that she had heard his song from another's lips. Toss a Coin is more popular. Her song comes up usually in the lull. None of them can bring any emotion from her so much as the man that penned it. It's...almost distressing how hollow she felt in Kaedwen when a youth belt it out. He was talented, she could say so much. Everyone knew the boy was not the one that wrote it.
"Stage clothes? Jaskier, you are performing! I thought you had said you were going to attend and preen?" He was going to preen anyway so perhaps that was beside the point. "...does this mean you have a new composition?" One that could have been done so much sooner had he not been beaten and attacked.
She still had lingering guilt for not thinking better on their visit to his relatives. Horrible, dreadful people. And it had driven her to be more careful and considerate of her time spent with Jaskier. Five weeks was not terribly long. "I had gone to Vengerberg to settle a few affairs at my homestead. The building still stands. My garden is still in bloom. I've sought to organize my cabinet" She also had been slowly getting rid of the various artifacts and remedies for infertility that would not do her any good. Trying to keep objective was easier sometimes than others. She thought of bright little Isolde, sweet Marta and plucky Tristan. There were items she would hold onto, not for her self anymore but to use for women that came to her. They always do. "Horribly busy work," she injects and idly waves way her own thoughts.
"Oh? How does that even work? Hot water with a touch?" It's meant to be sarcasm but she has no idea.
"Stage clothes? Jaskier, you are performing! I thought you had said you were going to attend and preen?" He was going to preen anyway so perhaps that was beside the point. "...does this mean you have a new composition?" One that could have been done so much sooner had he not been beaten and attacked.
She still had lingering guilt for not thinking better on their visit to his relatives. Horrible, dreadful people. And it had driven her to be more careful and considerate of her time spent with Jaskier. Five weeks was not terribly long. "I had gone to Vengerberg to settle a few affairs at my homestead. The building still stands. My garden is still in bloom. I've sought to organize my cabinet" She also had been slowly getting rid of the various artifacts and remedies for infertility that would not do her any good. Trying to keep objective was easier sometimes than others. She thought of bright little Isolde, sweet Marta and plucky Tristan. There were items she would hold onto, not for her self anymore but to use for women that came to her. They always do. "Horribly busy work," she injects and idly waves way her own thoughts.
"Oh? How does that even work? Hot water with a touch?" It's meant to be sarcasm but she has no idea.
"I do have a new composition, yes," he tells her and flushes just a bit as they walk. The pink in his face is not so different than the color of his doublet. He doesn't ask after her home, though he would care to see it, he will not invite himself along somewhere so personal. He nods as she explains and then delights when she asks about the Masons' project.
It is something to speak on that he knows a reasonable deal about, but has no stake in.
"Apparently they've spent the better part of a year digging trenches and laying copper pipes beneath the streets. It's all very impressive. It works best near the University, I imagine that's where all the mechanical bits are built, but everything I've seen so far just requires a twisted knob and cold or hot water pours out, as you like."
Honestly, just the bit with the moving water was enough to impress him. No more hauling buckets and baling bathwater? Gods' above, it was like every prayer of his had finally been answered. The fact that the water came in hot or old, that could make a grown man weep.
"I believe there's a plaque about it in one of the buildings at the school, if you'd like to see. That, or we can try to find the nearest Mason and ply them with alcohol until they explain it all to us. Several of them are rather attractive."
It is something to speak on that he knows a reasonable deal about, but has no stake in.
"Apparently they've spent the better part of a year digging trenches and laying copper pipes beneath the streets. It's all very impressive. It works best near the University, I imagine that's where all the mechanical bits are built, but everything I've seen so far just requires a twisted knob and cold or hot water pours out, as you like."
Honestly, just the bit with the moving water was enough to impress him. No more hauling buckets and baling bathwater? Gods' above, it was like every prayer of his had finally been answered. The fact that the water came in hot or old, that could make a grown man weep.
"I believe there's a plaque about it in one of the buildings at the school, if you'd like to see. That, or we can try to find the nearest Mason and ply them with alcohol until they explain it all to us. Several of them are rather attractive."
Surprise lightens her features even more. A new work already? He has been busy. For a moment she wants to stop him right now and hear it. Though there are ears around. And she imagines if the festival is for the arts it is best done at the right places and times. "Will you tell me more or must I pry it from you?" Details are harmless right? A bit of this and that. Yennefer and Jaskier do not talk shop a terrible much. They can carry on for hours about how they feel about their peers... well, they have already. The mechanics, ins and outs is a bit less of a conversation. It's fair to say that her knowledge of music works matches his of chaos. But she would be so willing to listen. Funny how the barriers between them are so few now. It has been a whirlwind of a few months. She had hated him. The had been rivals. Everything is changing.
Truly though, she is wondering what it takes to have such a change in the city. "Stop, I was joking. Is this true? Really?" She could do the same with magic. Her rectoress would deem it a waste. "I should like to see such a thing before leaving." Finding a Mason and gleaning secrets of the trade cause her to shake her head with laughter. "Would that be before or after we've had our way with them?"
Yennefer settles and gives his hands a clutch. "My, speaking of which have you had any adventures that cause you to run from a fine establishment before breakfast?" She has not forgotten that. Jaskier missed out on such a spread. His swift exit did make it possible for her to steal his blue silken smalls without incident. What color does he wear if he's sporting salmon and gold?
Truly though, she is wondering what it takes to have such a change in the city. "Stop, I was joking. Is this true? Really?" She could do the same with magic. Her rectoress would deem it a waste. "I should like to see such a thing before leaving." Finding a Mason and gleaning secrets of the trade cause her to shake her head with laughter. "Would that be before or after we've had our way with them?"
Yennefer settles and gives his hands a clutch. "My, speaking of which have you had any adventures that cause you to run from a fine establishment before breakfast?" She has not forgotten that. Jaskier missed out on such a spread. His swift exit did make it possible for her to steal his blue silken smalls without incident. What color does he wear if he's sporting salmon and gold?
He presses a hand to his chest and looks aghast, but there is a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face, coy and delighted, as he considers her. He cannot decide, in the moment, whether to joke back at her about his abrupt exit, else tell her about the adventures he has had in the last few weeks. He would gladly recite the efforts that went into his new song, for he is so delighted to speak on such things regardless of their surroundings, but all of Jaskier's wits and witticism leave him in a rush as they turn the corner toward the theaters and the establishment he has booked a room in.
The whole boulevard is a riot of color and people in clothing not entirely unlike his own. There are two dozen or more bards playing any number of instruments--hurdy gurdy, violin, mandolin, brass and string, woodwind and percussives--and the energy is bright and merry and just this side of manic. It matches his mood quite exactly, or it had, until he spied Valdo walking toward them.
He freezes mid-step, mouth agape to answer Yennefer, and curses as he ducks his head. His hand darts up from his chest to hide his face but, alas, he is both very loud and colorful, and very, very unlucky. The Troubadour of Cidaris spots him at a distance, the very moment the crowd parts, and his greeting is announced from afar. The man has a disgustingly impressive baritone and the lungs of a lesser wyvern.
"By all the gold in Cintra, is that you Jaskier!?" Valdo calls and Jaskier tries to pass off his duck and hide as straightening his hair. His smile is more an open grimace as Valdo sashays up--and he does sashay.
Valdo is a man of a height with Jaskier, though his heels give him a good inch or two additional. He has short, attractively curled hair, excruciatingly manicured facial hair, and dresses like a pompous jackass with extremely expensive taste. He has a love of both green velvet and pearls. Half of him is gilded in some fashion or another. He's wearing a half cape with gold spangles and has a satchel with an instrument case slung over his other shoulder.
His green eyes are just as piercing as the last time Jaskier saw him, something like half a decade ago.
"Ah, Valdo Marx, were you attending this? I had no idea," Jaskier greets and, where he'd taken pains with his family to seem neutral and polite, he does not extend the same courtesy to Valdo. His expression is tired even if his voice is lilting and light.
"Hah! Is that why you've claimed the seats I saved for you, then? Hopes I wouldn't show?" Valdo is amused but in a way that is both distant and a bit vicious, like he's torn between loathing Jaskier and wanting him to beg his way back into Valdo's good graces. It's a strange line and Jaskier has never appreciated it. "And you've brought accompaniment! How delightful."
He bows, a dramatic full body affair, and holds out a hand to accept Yennefer's.
"The Valdo Marx, Troubadour of Cidaris and Academy Composer for the last ten years running," he introduces himself with as much subtlety as his outfit hints at.
The whole boulevard is a riot of color and people in clothing not entirely unlike his own. There are two dozen or more bards playing any number of instruments--hurdy gurdy, violin, mandolin, brass and string, woodwind and percussives--and the energy is bright and merry and just this side of manic. It matches his mood quite exactly, or it had, until he spied Valdo walking toward them.
He freezes mid-step, mouth agape to answer Yennefer, and curses as he ducks his head. His hand darts up from his chest to hide his face but, alas, he is both very loud and colorful, and very, very unlucky. The Troubadour of Cidaris spots him at a distance, the very moment the crowd parts, and his greeting is announced from afar. The man has a disgustingly impressive baritone and the lungs of a lesser wyvern.
"By all the gold in Cintra, is that you Jaskier!?" Valdo calls and Jaskier tries to pass off his duck and hide as straightening his hair. His smile is more an open grimace as Valdo sashays up--and he does sashay.
Valdo is a man of a height with Jaskier, though his heels give him a good inch or two additional. He has short, attractively curled hair, excruciatingly manicured facial hair, and dresses like a pompous jackass with extremely expensive taste. He has a love of both green velvet and pearls. Half of him is gilded in some fashion or another. He's wearing a half cape with gold spangles and has a satchel with an instrument case slung over his other shoulder.
His green eyes are just as piercing as the last time Jaskier saw him, something like half a decade ago.
"Ah, Valdo Marx, were you attending this? I had no idea," Jaskier greets and, where he'd taken pains with his family to seem neutral and polite, he does not extend the same courtesy to Valdo. His expression is tired even if his voice is lilting and light.
"Hah! Is that why you've claimed the seats I saved for you, then? Hopes I wouldn't show?" Valdo is amused but in a way that is both distant and a bit vicious, like he's torn between loathing Jaskier and wanting him to beg his way back into Valdo's good graces. It's a strange line and Jaskier has never appreciated it. "And you've brought accompaniment! How delightful."
He bows, a dramatic full body affair, and holds out a hand to accept Yennefer's.
"The Valdo Marx, Troubadour of Cidaris and Academy Composer for the last ten years running," he introduces himself with as much subtlety as his outfit hints at.
The broadness of the street did not lend itself to make the color and sound to be anything less. A troop of mummers will look so frightfully dull after this affair is over. Yennefer keeps her attention on Jaskier, of all the eye catching and melodious sounds, she wants to hear what comes from his clever, smiling mouth. The merriment and charm fall away and she is quick to begin to seek out the reason. "Darling--?"
What a voice. And somehow above the wind, drum and brass he projects. That is a gift for bards. Yennefer is still momentarily taken aback. The man has a smile, like a fish with too sharp and large of teeth to do much else. Before he speaks a word, she knows that it is going to be an ill meeting. Jaskier is not running and so he is not the one who had done wrong. Which means--?
"I thought it was going to be difficult to find him," she murmurs mostly to herself. If her friend still holds her hand, there are three long pulsing squeezes before she gently lets go. Her own smile blossoms, inviting and beautiful with it's own thorns.
Green does not innately bring to mind distaste. The outfit would be passable at a standard gala or affair. It's so very, very curious how he allows himself facial hair to such a limited degree. Her violet eyes scrutinize him, the way he speaks, the confidence surging as though he were in a performance of some sort. Puppetry spells work best if there is a conduit to draw from. She will need an object or item of his.
"Yennefer of Vengerberg." Which is more than enough to speak for herself. "I do believe I've heard of you once before, yes." She places her hand in his, wrist limp and fingers gracing his palm. "You penned the crab dance, is that right?"
Chaos surges out of her body in an invisible pulse. Lilac and gooseberry perfume is rare enough as it is. For a moment it intensifies and she tilts her head to one side. "Jaskier mentioned you. I think."
Mentioned. One cannot suffer something so much as a trifle at being mentioned now. He at least has enough social grace to offer a boisterous laugh with that voice of his and wags his finger at Yennefer as though she were a naughty child as he still clutches her fingers. "You precious lamb, you have so very much to learn. Jaskier what ever do you do with such a sheltered lady?" The plan was not to kill him or set him on fire, right now she does her very best to remind herself of this.
"Whatever he wants," is her reply with a purposeful carelessness that makes those green eyes dart to his old lover and back to Yennefer. Her smile stays and she readies herself. As predicted his lips brush the top of her hand. Closely manicured facial hair does not feel pleasant. She can tell he uses a beeswax palm for his lips.
What a voice. And somehow above the wind, drum and brass he projects. That is a gift for bards. Yennefer is still momentarily taken aback. The man has a smile, like a fish with too sharp and large of teeth to do much else. Before he speaks a word, she knows that it is going to be an ill meeting. Jaskier is not running and so he is not the one who had done wrong. Which means--?
"I thought it was going to be difficult to find him," she murmurs mostly to herself. If her friend still holds her hand, there are three long pulsing squeezes before she gently lets go. Her own smile blossoms, inviting and beautiful with it's own thorns.
Green does not innately bring to mind distaste. The outfit would be passable at a standard gala or affair. It's so very, very curious how he allows himself facial hair to such a limited degree. Her violet eyes scrutinize him, the way he speaks, the confidence surging as though he were in a performance of some sort. Puppetry spells work best if there is a conduit to draw from. She will need an object or item of his.
"Yennefer of Vengerberg." Which is more than enough to speak for herself. "I do believe I've heard of you once before, yes." She places her hand in his, wrist limp and fingers gracing his palm. "You penned the crab dance, is that right?"
Chaos surges out of her body in an invisible pulse. Lilac and gooseberry perfume is rare enough as it is. For a moment it intensifies and she tilts her head to one side. "Jaskier mentioned you. I think."
Mentioned. One cannot suffer something so much as a trifle at being mentioned now. He at least has enough social grace to offer a boisterous laugh with that voice of his and wags his finger at Yennefer as though she were a naughty child as he still clutches her fingers. "You precious lamb, you have so very much to learn. Jaskier what ever do you do with such a sheltered lady?" The plan was not to kill him or set him on fire, right now she does her very best to remind herself of this.
"Whatever he wants," is her reply with a purposeful carelessness that makes those green eyes dart to his old lover and back to Yennefer. Her smile stays and she readies herself. As predicted his lips brush the top of her hand. Closely manicured facial hair does not feel pleasant. She can tell he uses a beeswax palm for his lips.
Jaskier watches with something akin to silent horror as Yennefer withdraws her hand from his and then settles it in Valdo's hand. He's not sure what he's expecting, but Valdo reads the sudden wideness of his eyes and slight gape of his mouth as something else entirely. Offense perhaps? Yennefer offers him a smile that is not friendly and Jaskier nearly chokes as she says the words 'crab dance' to the Troubadour's face.
Then he wags that finger and calls her lamb and Jaskier wants nothing more than to punch Valdo in his ridiculous, handsome face.
"Valdo, honestly," Jaskier starts, a note of exasperation in his tone, but the Troubadour interrupts him as he draws his lips back from Yennefer's hand.
"I do hope the second seat is for this gorgeous creature," Valdo says, his green eyes locked up on Yennefer as he rises. It is a look that Jaskier finds repulsive now, but Valdo wields it well. That alone had gotten him into the sixteen year old Jaskier's bed without hardly any help.
"It is, in fact," Jaskier replies peevishly and Valdo clucks his tongue as he releases Yennefer's hand and looks back at him. Jaskier has no claim on Yennefer, not beyond a close friendship, but he would rather face her ire than let Marx stomp around her like a clumsy rutting tomcat. Jaskier isn't quite thinking straight as he extends his arm and wraps it around the sorceress's waist. He draws her to his side rather abruptly and Valdo lets out a rolling, utterly grating laugh.
"Oh, no need to be so sour, poppet," Valdo chides and has the gall to reach out and knock Jaskier's chin up with a finger. Jaskier glowers and swats his hand which earns him another fond, frustratingly smug look. Damn it all, they've made a spectacle and he's already wrong-footed.
"Your lovely lady friend is more than welcome to any seat bearing my name," Valdo drawls and the innuendo is not subtle, nor is his glance back at Yennefer. Valdo's eyes linger and he takes a deep, almost nostalgic breath as he savors her perfume.
Then he wags that finger and calls her lamb and Jaskier wants nothing more than to punch Valdo in his ridiculous, handsome face.
"Valdo, honestly," Jaskier starts, a note of exasperation in his tone, but the Troubadour interrupts him as he draws his lips back from Yennefer's hand.
"I do hope the second seat is for this gorgeous creature," Valdo says, his green eyes locked up on Yennefer as he rises. It is a look that Jaskier finds repulsive now, but Valdo wields it well. That alone had gotten him into the sixteen year old Jaskier's bed without hardly any help.
"It is, in fact," Jaskier replies peevishly and Valdo clucks his tongue as he releases Yennefer's hand and looks back at him. Jaskier has no claim on Yennefer, not beyond a close friendship, but he would rather face her ire than let Marx stomp around her like a clumsy rutting tomcat. Jaskier isn't quite thinking straight as he extends his arm and wraps it around the sorceress's waist. He draws her to his side rather abruptly and Valdo lets out a rolling, utterly grating laugh.
"Oh, no need to be so sour, poppet," Valdo chides and has the gall to reach out and knock Jaskier's chin up with a finger. Jaskier glowers and swats his hand which earns him another fond, frustratingly smug look. Damn it all, they've made a spectacle and he's already wrong-footed.
"Your lovely lady friend is more than welcome to any seat bearing my name," Valdo drawls and the innuendo is not subtle, nor is his glance back at Yennefer. Valdo's eyes linger and he takes a deep, almost nostalgic breath as he savors her perfume.
Her powers of seduction are potent with and without chaos, with it she has reduced plenty of fools to do her bidding mindlessly. Without chaos the results are out of her hands. She would much rather be in control of the situation. She doesn't need to render the man brainless. Just enthralled enough to allow her to be close to him. Yennefer only reached out with just a touch of chaos and unfortunately Valdo has met her the rest of the way. It's too easy. Too foolish. It's like he wants to be hurt.
While it is entertaining and she is a willing party to this farce it never fails to anger her how quickly appearances make the difference. Valdo knows her name and knows her to be company of Jaskier. He only makes use of the one that does him the most service which is to get a rise from the other man. Lamb. Creature. Lady. She manages to pluck a pearl from his fine outfit, it drops like an over ripe fruit and it settles into her palm. Her hand was already in a fist. There.
Concentrating more on magic than the exchange, Jaskier's touch brings her back to the moment. Her spine feels like an iron rod. His touch is far more welcomed than Valdo, yes. She is no toy or pawn to any man. He should not be playing into the Troubadour's pissing contest. There was no time at all to tell him of her plan. Didn't he trust her? What was this behavior? Before she can reproach gently, the final end to the moment a literal batting at his touch.
They aren't going to kill him.
"Charming," is what she says both feet firmly planted on the ground. The moment Valdo is turned away her smile is gone and her eyes stay on his back.
Both hands are balled into fist. "Utterly charming." Raised with swine from infancy she knew a pig when she saw one. "Until next time, my good sir," spoken though he cannot hear her anymore. Another colleague of some kind has tugged him back up the boulevard. The rest of the street did not get any more quiet, though it was clear they were being watched. This is, after all, a very public and social event.
Yennefer drags her glare from the disappearing musician in green to Jaskier. It's hardness stays only for a moment before scaling back. "I had the situation under control, that was not necessary. He was baiting you. Surely you knew that."
While it is entertaining and she is a willing party to this farce it never fails to anger her how quickly appearances make the difference. Valdo knows her name and knows her to be company of Jaskier. He only makes use of the one that does him the most service which is to get a rise from the other man. Lamb. Creature. Lady. She manages to pluck a pearl from his fine outfit, it drops like an over ripe fruit and it settles into her palm. Her hand was already in a fist. There.
Concentrating more on magic than the exchange, Jaskier's touch brings her back to the moment. Her spine feels like an iron rod. His touch is far more welcomed than Valdo, yes. She is no toy or pawn to any man. He should not be playing into the Troubadour's pissing contest. There was no time at all to tell him of her plan. Didn't he trust her? What was this behavior? Before she can reproach gently, the final end to the moment a literal batting at his touch.
They aren't going to kill him.
"Charming," is what she says both feet firmly planted on the ground. The moment Valdo is turned away her smile is gone and her eyes stay on his back.
Both hands are balled into fist. "Utterly charming." Raised with swine from infancy she knew a pig when she saw one. "Until next time, my good sir," spoken though he cannot hear her anymore. Another colleague of some kind has tugged him back up the boulevard. The rest of the street did not get any more quiet, though it was clear they were being watched. This is, after all, a very public and social event.
Yennefer drags her glare from the disappearing musician in green to Jaskier. It's hardness stays only for a moment before scaling back. "I had the situation under control, that was not necessary. He was baiting you. Surely you knew that."
Valdo flounces off, filled to the very brim with swaggering delight about how foolish he had managed to make Jaskier appear. Jaskier watched him, glowering openly all the while, and then found himself with an angry Yennefer staring him down. It has been some time since he saw any version of this look upon her face and it takes him a moment to catch back up.
"Of course I knew that," Jaskier snaps, waspishly, his tone still lingering from his sparring with Valdo. All of him is drawn tight, ready to fight or flee and he has to shake the sensation aside.
He releases her at once and holds up his hands in surrender. One deep breath becomes a few quick ones and he scrubs his hands through his hair. His outfit is far too cheerful a color, he finds.
"I'm sorry," he says, earnestly and softly and with some urgency. "I'm sorry," he repeats and holds out a hand to see if she will offer hers again. "I...lose a bit of myself when I am around that cad, I cannot help it."
It was the same as any of his loves. Valdo Marx made him furious beyond reason. Geralt of Rivia made him utterly lonely. The Countess de Stael made him soppy and sighing. Yennefer--
"Forgive me, please," he begs into the space between them. Their drama is being watched but this, if anything, is a far less entertaining fare than the previous spat. He considers explaining, there and then, as any of his other loves would have demanded...but he expects Yennefer would not appreciate their being overheard so keenly.
"Of course I knew that," Jaskier snaps, waspishly, his tone still lingering from his sparring with Valdo. All of him is drawn tight, ready to fight or flee and he has to shake the sensation aside.
He releases her at once and holds up his hands in surrender. One deep breath becomes a few quick ones and he scrubs his hands through his hair. His outfit is far too cheerful a color, he finds.
"I'm sorry," he says, earnestly and softly and with some urgency. "I'm sorry," he repeats and holds out a hand to see if she will offer hers again. "I...lose a bit of myself when I am around that cad, I cannot help it."
It was the same as any of his loves. Valdo Marx made him furious beyond reason. Geralt of Rivia made him utterly lonely. The Countess de Stael made him soppy and sighing. Yennefer--
"Forgive me, please," he begs into the space between them. Their drama is being watched but this, if anything, is a far less entertaining fare than the previous spat. He considers explaining, there and then, as any of his other loves would have demanded...but he expects Yennefer would not appreciate their being overheard so keenly.
He can hiss and snap all he likes. She doesn't flinch. It's still impressive coming out from him. The bubbling energy from before has been turned on its head. Figures that a man so unsavory would do such a thing. That only strengthens her resolve to make an utter fool of him. Jaskier is jolly by nature. He must have naturally flown to such heights all on his own before his heart was broken. That was all Valdo Marx's fault. She thinks of the words they shared over peach vodka. What he is as a man today is partially attributed to that cad. The lessons learned had taught him to be better. The wounds are still very real.
Without a second thought she takes his hand again, it's a slow, purposeful gesture. Her tone and eyes have softened. The proud, puffed up nature of him as deflated. The energy has been spent on that outburst. They are still on the street, still for so many eyes to see. For now they must look like lovers reconciling. "Remember I am no mere woman. I don't need a protector. He needs protection from me."
The continued apologies cut quickly through any menace or additional scolding. The blue of his eyes searching her own eyes. "I do. I forgive you. Going forward have faith in me." She had come to be here for Jaskier. Avenging his broken heart and years of well documented trauma and enjoying a laugh as they point and snicker. Valdo cannot and will not spoil everything. "Come, let us get back to where we were going. I will tell you more." Which will also be a means to put him at ease. Perhaps that was a bit of a strong transition.
Without a second thought she takes his hand again, it's a slow, purposeful gesture. Her tone and eyes have softened. The proud, puffed up nature of him as deflated. The energy has been spent on that outburst. They are still on the street, still for so many eyes to see. For now they must look like lovers reconciling. "Remember I am no mere woman. I don't need a protector. He needs protection from me."
The continued apologies cut quickly through any menace or additional scolding. The blue of his eyes searching her own eyes. "I do. I forgive you. Going forward have faith in me." She had come to be here for Jaskier. Avenging his broken heart and years of well documented trauma and enjoying a laugh as they point and snicker. Valdo cannot and will not spoil everything. "Come, let us get back to where we were going. I will tell you more." Which will also be a means to put him at ease. Perhaps that was a bit of a strong transition.
Oh, it was impossible to forget that she was more than a mere woman. He is reminded every time he lays eyes on her and he sighs quietly as she retakes his hand. He nods as she begs his confidence and stays himself before he apologizes again. Valdo has made him jittery, has tossed him back into old habits, and he will not cheapen his apologies with Yennefer. She hears few, by her own admission, and he wants her to believe his should he ever give them.
He shifts so they are standing side by side again and he can nearly feel the eyes of the bards and students nearby as they drift away from them. Reconciled lovers are hardly salacious.
"I had been leading us to lunch, but if you would prefer greater privacy, there are other venues," he offers quietly. They could wander the galleries or sculptuaries, visit the University's library, or simply retire to the inn and Jaskier's room. He will not do her the disservice of assuming her preferences after stepping so boldly across the line so he waits before taking a step.
He shifts so they are standing side by side again and he can nearly feel the eyes of the bards and students nearby as they drift away from them. Reconciled lovers are hardly salacious.
"I had been leading us to lunch, but if you would prefer greater privacy, there are other venues," he offers quietly. They could wander the galleries or sculptuaries, visit the University's library, or simply retire to the inn and Jaskier's room. He will not do her the disservice of assuming her preferences after stepping so boldly across the line so he waits before taking a step.
She gives his hand a squeeze as she had before. Though it does not feel sufficient enough to settle him. The poor dear. Perhaps her own reaction to Valdo's charms had colored her response. "I'm not angry with you," or else she would not be willing to go forward or be so very concerned with how much his moods have changed.
They will speak more alone. Yes.
"More privacy is ideal. Did you have lodging?" There was a modest dormitory at the University waiting. It was not the plush accommodations she spends. She did not take his warning of the fest of being popular to heart when it came to time sensitive arrangements. The most important detail was revenge. Usually there was always someone near that would want her company. And it had been a month. Jaskier was free to go and do whatever he pleased. That still was a subject she was not prepared to bring up. The timing of the moment is even worse.
To cheer the mood and to get to where they need to go, she pulls at his hand to a side street from the boulevard. "Imagine a place where you feel safe and quiet. Somewhere here in the city. Do you see it right now? In your mind?" The air shifts as if there was a wind and a swirling disk of air appears. "Don't let go of my hand. Keep thinking of that place."
They will speak more alone. Yes.
"More privacy is ideal. Did you have lodging?" There was a modest dormitory at the University waiting. It was not the plush accommodations she spends. She did not take his warning of the fest of being popular to heart when it came to time sensitive arrangements. The most important detail was revenge. Usually there was always someone near that would want her company. And it had been a month. Jaskier was free to go and do whatever he pleased. That still was a subject she was not prepared to bring up. The timing of the moment is even worse.
To cheer the mood and to get to where they need to go, she pulls at his hand to a side street from the boulevard. "Imagine a place where you feel safe and quiet. Somewhere here in the city. Do you see it right now? In your mind?" The air shifts as if there was a wind and a swirling disk of air appears. "Don't let go of my hand. Keep thinking of that place."
"I do," he tells her, more glad of her reassurances than he can properly say, but then she has her fingers tangled in his and she leads him down a narrow alley. There is a small porch on one side of them, a rain gutter on the other, and she asks him to picture somewhere safe and quiet in the city? Somewhere he feels safe and quiet?
It doesn't occur to him that this could be anything but an exercise to calm him down, so Jaskier closes his eyes and does as she bids.
There is a practice room above the old concert hall at the university--it is a narrow space, or was when he was a student, that stored all manner of stands and old boxes of sheet music. It had two small windows that overlooked the school of philosophy and the courtyard. In all his years, nobody had ever snuck up to that room and he had been able to relax and recoup unbothered.
He's sure its still there, though he has no doubt it is covered in dust or filled with even more nonsense. The thought of it is still rather warm and comforting, nevertheless.
It doesn't occur to him that this could be anything but an exercise to calm him down, so Jaskier closes his eyes and does as she bids.
There is a practice room above the old concert hall at the university--it is a narrow space, or was when he was a student, that stored all manner of stands and old boxes of sheet music. It had two small windows that overlooked the school of philosophy and the courtyard. In all his years, nobody had ever snuck up to that room and he had been able to relax and recoup unbothered.
He's sure its still there, though he has no doubt it is covered in dust or filled with even more nonsense. The thought of it is still rather warm and comforting, nevertheless.
The rain gutter has hardly a trickle. The spring has been dry the past few days. Good weather for the festivities. It hits the cobble stone in irregular, noisy splats. The throng of musicians and patrons of the arts carry on at the distance.
Yennefer takes Jaskier's other hand to be cautious. People are so very unsettled by portals. They're very reliable. Any magic has it's danger or risk. She has never, ever had an issue with her portals. Whether or not his eyes are closed, they will transport just the same. "Come." She pulls them through the swirling ring that is flung up in the space half way in the alley. The air is cold. The portal is a bit like being flung through rushing water. They are bone dry. The end of the passage comes up fast. She braces herself to keep standing or they will tumble to the ground.
This is unexpected. It's a dusty room. Not an inn or a salon. The light from the window causes the flecks to dance and almost sparkle as the air keeps moving until the portal closes behind them. Papers rustle. "Is uh...is this what you had in mind, darling?" The practice room has several instruments in various states of repair propped up against large leather trunk cases. All in all, it looks relatively untouched.
Yennefer takes Jaskier's other hand to be cautious. People are so very unsettled by portals. They're very reliable. Any magic has it's danger or risk. She has never, ever had an issue with her portals. Whether or not his eyes are closed, they will transport just the same. "Come." She pulls them through the swirling ring that is flung up in the space half way in the alley. The air is cold. The portal is a bit like being flung through rushing water. They are bone dry. The end of the passage comes up fast. She braces herself to keep standing or they will tumble to the ground.
This is unexpected. It's a dusty room. Not an inn or a salon. The light from the window causes the flecks to dance and almost sparkle as the air keeps moving until the portal closes behind them. Papers rustle. "Is uh...is this what you had in mind, darling?" The practice room has several instruments in various states of repair propped up against large leather trunk cases. All in all, it looks relatively untouched.
He opens his eyes as he steps to her which is, in the end, ridicuously disorienting. They step off the street, out of a world of noise and music and all manner of input for each and every one of the senses into a moment from the long past. Or it feels as though it is. Jaskier swoons a bit as the sensation of rushing--rushing in general really--comes to a dead halt and they continue through to find themselves standing on the other side. He feels like he has missed a step on a staircase, experiences that lurch of gravity, but then it is right before him.
Jaskier blinks hard, fingers tense on hers, and it takes him a moment to realize where they are.
The practice room is silent, the sort of muffled silence that they only ever bother to build into music halls. The windows are just slightly ajar and the air smells still and musty, like very dry old paper left alone for a decade. He stares, in abject shock, but this room has ever been a balm on his soul.
The floor is clear enough to pace a few steps in either direction. The boxes are high enough to serve as seats. Two people talk and laugh indistinctly in the courtyard below. The dust swirls and floats through the streaming midday light and Jaskier is stunned.
"I haven't--" he starts and has no words. It looks almost identical to his recollection. "Was I meant to...think of the inn?"
He cannot bring himself to stop staring around the room, it is too surreal. His shoulders do relax as he looks, though, and the strain of Valdo gradually abates from his expression.
Jaskier blinks hard, fingers tense on hers, and it takes him a moment to realize where they are.
The practice room is silent, the sort of muffled silence that they only ever bother to build into music halls. The windows are just slightly ajar and the air smells still and musty, like very dry old paper left alone for a decade. He stares, in abject shock, but this room has ever been a balm on his soul.
The floor is clear enough to pace a few steps in either direction. The boxes are high enough to serve as seats. Two people talk and laugh indistinctly in the courtyard below. The dust swirls and floats through the streaming midday light and Jaskier is stunned.
"I haven't--" he starts and has no words. It looks almost identical to his recollection. "Was I meant to...think of the inn?"
He cannot bring himself to stop staring around the room, it is too surreal. His shoulders do relax as he looks, though, and the strain of Valdo gradually abates from his expression.
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