If someone had told him that he would be spending tonight defending his own honor and then having amicable drinks with Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier would have--well, quite honestly, gone running from the venue long before Yennefer showed up. So, he supposed, it was rather fortunate that nobody had told him that the midsummer ball in Temeria was going to have the sorceress in attendance. Or that she'd have heard no shortage of the nasty rumors about him that had cropped up in recent years.
Today was strange.
Anyway, back to more pressing matters--the King of Temeria had absolutely shit taste in alcohol. Dreadful. The people, however, were the rough and rowdy sort who worked mines and rocky soil all their lives. They knew alcohol better than anyone outside Skelleg. So, when Yennefer had agreed (nay, even expressed interest in it) to drink with him and wash away the bruises of their mutual romantic sorrows--
Well, he wasn't going to inflict the terrible white wines of King Foltest on her, that was for damned certain. He left the fete, clad head to toe in his nicest gold silks, lute on hand, and sorceress at his arm, and led the most powerful woman in the world (one of, at least, he would put money on it) to a shitty pub next to a decaying mine-entrance that was positively wall to wall with rowdy, drunken peasants.
It stank of beer, of the black cherry white alcohol and anise liquers of Temeria, and everyone cheered when he walked in. He would have to play, eventually, but when they saw the woman at his arm and watched him slide by toward a table, the demands that he take the stage fell off a bit. They could certainly get ripping drunk long before he had to do a rendition of Toss A Coin and, frankly, that was ideal.
"Alright, I've no idea what you usually drink, but I've never had a better Kirschwasser than the one the owners' wife brews. It's sweet, tastes vaguely of cherries, and burns like you've swallowed a flaming sword," he explained as he waved a hand gesture and ordered a bottle of it. "It's delightful, truly."
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Today was strange.
Anyway, back to more pressing matters--the King of Temeria had absolutely shit taste in alcohol. Dreadful. The people, however, were the rough and rowdy sort who worked mines and rocky soil all their lives. They knew alcohol better than anyone outside Skelleg. So, when Yennefer had agreed (nay, even expressed interest in it) to drink with him and wash away the bruises of their mutual romantic sorrows--
Well, he wasn't going to inflict the terrible white wines of King Foltest on her, that was for damned certain. He left the fete, clad head to toe in his nicest gold silks, lute on hand, and sorceress at his arm, and led the most powerful woman in the world (one of, at least, he would put money on it) to a shitty pub next to a decaying mine-entrance that was positively wall to wall with rowdy, drunken peasants.
It stank of beer, of the black cherry white alcohol and anise liquers of Temeria, and everyone cheered when he walked in. He would have to play, eventually, but when they saw the woman at his arm and watched him slide by toward a table, the demands that he take the stage fell off a bit. They could certainly get ripping drunk long before he had to do a rendition of Toss A Coin and, frankly, that was ideal.
"Alright, I've no idea what you usually drink, but I've never had a better Kirschwasser than the one the owners' wife brews. It's sweet, tastes vaguely of cherries, and burns like you've swallowed a flaming sword," he explained as he waved a hand gesture and ordered a bottle of it. "It's delightful, truly."