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.
no subject
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.