"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."
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?
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 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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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."
"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.
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.
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.
She keeps her hold on him. The first time is always a rush to say the very least. She was very, very frightened which prompted her first use of a portal. Mastering it came to her in no time at all, the concept of willing yourself to be in another place. Thinking of what the place felt like to be there strengthens the link. Jaskier navigated them. All she had to do was clear her head.
"Oh?" her eyebrow lifts. This is clearly not an inn. "It's no matter. This will do just fine. I suggest a place of study. Perhaps that brought this place to mind?" She can only assume it is for scholastic pursuits. Though right now it is beginning to get on like a music closet.
The vibrant colors of his outfit stand out even more in the mellow shades of wood and plaster. Removed from the crowd he could be a wayward flower or man that missed his party. "We can go to the in after. Let's have a sit, shall we?" Yennefer nods to the boxes arranged low enough. Perhaps some other student had come for such things.
"I think it was the idea of quiet," Jaskier declares a bit distantly and turns around. His wonder melts away all at once and, quite suddenly, he's filled with a strangely youthful flavor of vigor. It has been so long since he stood in this room that some of his teen-aged self creeps back in as he breaks away from her and goes to look out the windows.
The sight is the same and he lets out a short, bark of a laugh as he looks down on the courtyard.
"My word, how lovely a surprise," Jaskier breathes and turns to look back at her, beaming and delighted. "Of course, yes! As you like, my dear--I haven't been in here in an age."
He moves back to the boxes she gestured to. Whomever had moved them hadn't been in here in months. The outlines of their footprints in the dust had been filled in with a new layer of dust atop. He hauls the lid off of one box and shakes it off idly, knocking the worst of the dust off into a heap. It billows a bit but there's nothing for that. The box has a second bit of linen wrapped wood atop all the papers and he offers her that as a seat whilst dropping the cleaned lid down onto another stack and sitting himself.
"Gods, I think I spent years up here when I was a lad," he says quietly and, in the comfortable silence of the room, it is easy to see why. The sounds of the outside world are muffled and the room has a stable, cool quality to it. The walls are heavily insulated, both for sound and weather, and it clearly sees little foot traffic. It is a forgotten corner in one of the busiest cities on the continent. The sound inside the room resounds but only for a moment before the small space and the items within deaden it.
He wishes, suddenly, that he had his lute. He could have practiced his new song without a soul to overhear it--save, perhaps, Yennefer.
Watching him quietly look over the place, she wonders how long has it been since he was here. Jaskier holds the University close to his heart. It was a place he grew in his art. If there is one thing he loves beyond the pleasures of the flesh, he loves music and song. How many of his compositions were crafted here? Or maybe this was where he just practice the melodies of the masters? His exuberance and religious skincare has kept him youthful. In her minds eye she imagines an even younger songbird spreading his wings.
"Your private conservatory," she offers with a gentle smile. He has cleared off a place for her to sit before she even thinks to stop him. "Thank you, my good sir."
The party in the streets is the draw. Sitting in the warm, calm room holding his hand is an experience Yennefer wasn't aware she needed. She doesn't speak for a moment. The talk outside the window and birds far off in the distance. A person could get so much done without distraction in these four walls.
"You feel better being here. I can tell." Far less tense in his posture. "I didn't mean to upset you or be so--" herself, she supposes. Instead of finishing her shoulders gently shrug. "I was drawing him to me on purpose. I needed an item of his for my spell."
He sighs as he takes his seat. The boxes beneath him creak just a bit and, for some reason, that little sound has a smile on his face.
"It's alright, truly, you were justified. I knew how you'd dislike my burst of chivalry even as I did it," Jaskier admits and looks a bit rueful. "That stupid look he gave you, the insufferably handsome one as he looks up from your hand--"
It's strange, he sounds both disgusted and simultaneously nostalgic. Even Jaskier finds himself unbearably saccharine in moments like this. He huffs a breath and shakes his head.
"That was the look that snared me," he admits like admitting to an embarrassing drunken moment. "He surely did it just to make me angry and, by the gods', it worked. It's the stupidest, least alluring bit of ham-fisted seduction, and I'm embarrassed on both our behalves for how I let it get under my skin."
He leans forward, then, and braces his elbows across his knees.
"If you need an item of his, well, we needn't track him down," Jaskier admits and winces just a bit. "I believe I still have a memento or two--my fondness will be the death of me, I swear it--and you can have the lot of them if it will help."
Burst of chivalry is what he calls it. Her lips press together but no other words come. He needs to get this out, and she needs to hear it. Perhaps there might be evidence to escalate the situation. She sees now that there was no need for her to reprimand him. He knew better than she could have ever expected.
"Consider the counterpoint, dearheart. If you did not act he would have seen it as permission. And from what I've observed, he didn't need any additional prompting. He was looking for the opportunity. It would have been a rapid escalation anyway." A truly wicked and wily thing. "I'd expect as much. You said he thrives in court?" At least enough to be penning music to be paired with ridiculous dances.
Yennefer leans in, her hands on either side of her knees, braced on the box for balance. "You do? After all this time?" Her brows furrow together. The pains of the past are on the surface. She won't prod further. "I will make use of everything you give me. He is going to be a laughing stock." A living laughing stock.
"He is exceptional with academic arrangements, big fussy showy things," Jaskier admits and grimaces. "He thrives in Cidaris because they adore that dreck in their court, and in a few others where pomp serves better than sense."
He rolls his eyes, as if the idea mystifies him, and lets out a short sigh.
"I do. Much though I loathe him, some part of me will always be sixteen and Valdo will always be the charming man who saw value in me without my family name. I know, I know, it sickens me as well."
He shakes his head and holds out a hand to tangle their fingers again.
"I have them with my lute, you can have them whenever you like," he tells her. "And you are welcome to stay with me for the festival, if you like. The room I acquired is quite spectacular and I would be happy to share it in any capacity you wish."
"Courtly propriety and decorum so rarely follow sense as it is." And given his accolades as well as success in Cidaris, he must have had his own very poor games of hiding the sausage with equal if not greater disasters than Jaskier. In Jaskier's case she knows without a doubt in some way, in some capacity each and every tumble was it's own true love story. For Valdo Marx he was looking for a thrill for no other but himself. Her bard is not the only with a broken heart.
Sixteen years old, the same darling face she imagined moments ago loving without abandon and falling into the arms of a man with no care for it whatsoever. The more she thinks on it, the less it settles her. Yennefer gives him her hand. "There is so much more to you than a young music student. And that was not the last chance to get what love is owed to you. Far from it." Her words are warm, fond and for a moment she thinks to stay more and lets the thought drift.
"Now how am I to resist quite spectacular?" There was no way she was going to let him sleep alone tonight. Whether or not they end up in compromising positions is not an issue. They are friends. Good friends. Wonderful and most devoted of friends.
Oh, that's a bittersweet sentiment and his heart catches in his throat as she expresses it. She's seen his family, met the worst of his loves, and still she says pretty things like that. How, in all the spheres, had he ever disliked her? She's a beacon of bright and shining wonder and he is, he realizes, hopelessly in love.
He isn't terribly surprised by that. He falls in love so easily and Yennefer of Vengerberg, despite her efforts to project otherwise, is so very easy to adore. Every scrap of herself that she shares with him is a treasure, a new facet cut into a brilliant and precious stone that allows him to see her with greater depth and clarity. She has carved an impressive space in his heart and he offers up no resistance.
He smiles at her, besotted and bemused, and pulls her hand forward as he leans. He could tell her any number of secret things in this quiet place--there is nothing here but the two of them.
He decides to spare her such delicate, abrupt sentiments, and mischief twinkles in his eye.
"It's one of the buildings with the mason's water and it is a glorious, ridiculous indulgence."
Handsome blue eyes have that glow and joy in them again. Good. Valdo Marx cannot and should not steal every light and sweet emotion from him. It's already a crime that he has misspent her dearest friend's youth. No wonder he is a man about every town. People who tread on your heart leave a hole, she has found. Living with it is possible, painful, but possible, the next coarse of action is to fill it. Jaskier gets back affection in small ways from the good people that are hungry for his song. Along the way he captures so many eyes and hearts. Hopping from one to the next to gain what he can of affection. He needs it, he deserves it.
Life has not given him the innate good standing with blood relatives, that's fine. Familial love is what starts a person in the world. That buoyant spirit and good nature he possesses automatically makes him easily to be close to. Add in his humor, his pleasing and good manners and any would be lucky to have him. He is far too young to feel the greatest passion of his was behind him at the age of sixteen.
She is drawn closer to him, the storm between them has subsided. The stuffy room doesn't stifle the fragrance of lilac and gooseberries. Few things actually do.
Her eyes widen at his admission. "Truly? Gods, Jaskier what are we doing here now?" She knows. This is a wonderful, unexpected place. A hidden treasure of his past and heart. He has shown her so much of himself in these precious, little ways. "Have you tried it yet? Is it really so easy?"
He laughs and stands up, rising from his seat and taking her hand with him.
"My dear, it is easier than you could imagine," he tells her and glances--at a large stack of boxes that obscures the door. There is only one way in and out of this space, apart from the small windows and a sheer climb. If he had wondered how it remained in tact so long, it is made obvious now.
"Oh, it appears you shall have to help us leave," Jaskier tells her and feels a moment of conflict about it.
At once he would very much like this place to remain his. He wishes to be terribly selfish about it and keep anyone else from intruding for the next twenty years...but, by that same token, he knows how dear this place can be. It is a pity to let it stay unused. He could move the boxes from the door and free the ghosts in this place--it would take him some time and would ruin his pretty outfit...later, he resolves.
"This time I promise I shall not envision any more closets or storage rooms."
"Why you know that means that a person could quite possibly remain in the tub all day if they so wished. The water comes up itself. The room fee likely covers one bath as it is." Her musing is interrupted by the clear problem before them.
That explains the dust and general state of the room. The boxes must have fallen and blocked the door at some space in time. Or perhaps it was ill planning from the start. They are up high enough to see tree tops from the window.
"Unless you truly would like to stay in a closet." She steps near to him. "Think of the inn. Remember details of it until you can picture it in your mind. If you can, imagine the room."
Chaos changes the air to something static. Yennefer waits until the portal has opened, expanding like a rounded archway. The image through the archway is blurred. The dust and paper are dancing with the force that the portal brings to the small space. She steps closer and pulls at him. "As before don't let go. It's treacherous otherwise."
Jaskier follows her instructions correctly this time and thinks on the lovely room he has at the inn. He pictures the fancy oaken bed with its heavy plush duvet, the thick velvet curtains, the soft rugs and the wide, inset bath with its fancy little faucet and drains. He can recall exactly how he'd set out his lute, where his stage clothes were, the bottle of wine he'd left uncorked and on the table after his late breakfast.
He goes with her as she pulls at him and, this time, the trip is far less jarring. In his right mind and aware, the rush of movement is like leaping off a ledge into a pond. There is a satisfying glorious plunge to it and Jaskier is beaming as they step through and into the dimly lit comfort of his rented room. The curtains are heavy but they stir with the whorl of magic and wind--the sunshine filters in between them and, as they shift, the muted sounds of laughter and street performances filter up from below.
This inn is at the heart of the festivities and, in truth, not terribly far from the room they'd just left. He cannot say he regrets traveling this way, though--if he ran into Marx again so soon he would absolutely throttle the man to death.
Jaskier laughs brightly as they step through, his hair windswept and askew, and squeezes her hands.
"That, my dear, is the most remarkable skill!" Jaskier praises. "I cannot fathom how much of the world you've seen because of it--wonders never cease in your presence, truly!"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-15 03:20 pm
no subject
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."
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"Oh?" her eyebrow lifts. This is clearly not an inn. "It's no matter. This will do just fine. I suggest a place of study. Perhaps that brought this place to mind?" She can only assume it is for scholastic pursuits. Though right now it is beginning to get on like a music closet.
The vibrant colors of his outfit stand out even more in the mellow shades of wood and plaster. Removed from the crowd he could be a wayward flower or man that missed his party. "We can go to the in after. Let's have a sit, shall we?" Yennefer nods to the boxes arranged low enough. Perhaps some other student had come for such things.
no subject
The sight is the same and he lets out a short, bark of a laugh as he looks down on the courtyard.
"My word, how lovely a surprise," Jaskier breathes and turns to look back at her, beaming and delighted. "Of course, yes! As you like, my dear--I haven't been in here in an age."
He moves back to the boxes she gestured to. Whomever had moved them hadn't been in here in months. The outlines of their footprints in the dust had been filled in with a new layer of dust atop. He hauls the lid off of one box and shakes it off idly, knocking the worst of the dust off into a heap. It billows a bit but there's nothing for that. The box has a second bit of linen wrapped wood atop all the papers and he offers her that as a seat whilst dropping the cleaned lid down onto another stack and sitting himself.
"Gods, I think I spent years up here when I was a lad," he says quietly and, in the comfortable silence of the room, it is easy to see why. The sounds of the outside world are muffled and the room has a stable, cool quality to it. The walls are heavily insulated, both for sound and weather, and it clearly sees little foot traffic. It is a forgotten corner in one of the busiest cities on the continent. The sound inside the room resounds but only for a moment before the small space and the items within deaden it.
He wishes, suddenly, that he had his lute. He could have practiced his new song without a soul to overhear it--save, perhaps, Yennefer.
no subject
"Your private conservatory," she offers with a gentle smile. He has cleared off a place for her to sit before she even thinks to stop him. "Thank you, my good sir."
The party in the streets is the draw. Sitting in the warm, calm room holding his hand is an experience Yennefer wasn't aware she needed. She doesn't speak for a moment. The talk outside the window and birds far off in the distance. A person could get so much done without distraction in these four walls.
"You feel better being here. I can tell." Far less tense in his posture. "I didn't mean to upset you or be so--" herself, she supposes. Instead of finishing her shoulders gently shrug. "I was drawing him to me on purpose. I needed an item of his for my spell."
no subject
"It's alright, truly, you were justified. I knew how you'd dislike my burst of chivalry even as I did it," Jaskier admits and looks a bit rueful. "That stupid look he gave you, the insufferably handsome one as he looks up from your hand--"
It's strange, he sounds both disgusted and simultaneously nostalgic. Even Jaskier finds himself unbearably saccharine in moments like this. He huffs a breath and shakes his head.
"That was the look that snared me," he admits like admitting to an embarrassing drunken moment. "He surely did it just to make me angry and, by the gods', it worked. It's the stupidest, least alluring bit of ham-fisted seduction, and I'm embarrassed on both our behalves for how I let it get under my skin."
He leans forward, then, and braces his elbows across his knees.
"If you need an item of his, well, we needn't track him down," Jaskier admits and winces just a bit. "I believe I still have a memento or two--my fondness will be the death of me, I swear it--and you can have the lot of them if it will help."
no subject
"Consider the counterpoint, dearheart. If you did not act he would have seen it as permission. And from what I've observed, he didn't need any additional prompting. He was looking for the opportunity. It would have been a rapid escalation anyway." A truly wicked and wily thing. "I'd expect as much. You said he thrives in court?" At least enough to be penning music to be paired with ridiculous dances.
Yennefer leans in, her hands on either side of her knees, braced on the box for balance. "You do? After all this time?" Her brows furrow together. The pains of the past are on the surface. She won't prod further. "I will make use of everything you give me. He is going to be a laughing stock." A living laughing stock.
no subject
He rolls his eyes, as if the idea mystifies him, and lets out a short sigh.
"I do. Much though I loathe him, some part of me will always be sixteen and Valdo will always be the charming man who saw value in me without my family name. I know, I know, it sickens me as well."
He shakes his head and holds out a hand to tangle their fingers again.
"I have them with my lute, you can have them whenever you like," he tells her. "And you are welcome to stay with me for the festival, if you like. The room I acquired is quite spectacular and I would be happy to share it in any capacity you wish."
no subject
Sixteen years old, the same darling face she imagined moments ago loving without abandon and falling into the arms of a man with no care for it whatsoever. The more she thinks on it, the less it settles her. Yennefer gives him her hand. "There is so much more to you than a young music student. And that was not the last chance to get what love is owed to you. Far from it." Her words are warm, fond and for a moment she thinks to stay more and lets the thought drift.
"Now how am I to resist quite spectacular?" There was no way she was going to let him sleep alone tonight. Whether or not they end up in compromising positions is not an issue. They are friends. Good friends. Wonderful and most devoted of friends.
no subject
Oh, that's a bittersweet sentiment and his heart catches in his throat as she expresses it. She's seen his family, met the worst of his loves, and still she says pretty things like that. How, in all the spheres, had he ever disliked her? She's a beacon of bright and shining wonder and he is, he realizes, hopelessly in love.
He isn't terribly surprised by that. He falls in love so easily and Yennefer of Vengerberg, despite her efforts to project otherwise, is so very easy to adore. Every scrap of herself that she shares with him is a treasure, a new facet cut into a brilliant and precious stone that allows him to see her with greater depth and clarity. She has carved an impressive space in his heart and he offers up no resistance.
He smiles at her, besotted and bemused, and pulls her hand forward as he leans. He could tell her any number of secret things in this quiet place--there is nothing here but the two of them.
He decides to spare her such delicate, abrupt sentiments, and mischief twinkles in his eye.
"It's one of the buildings with the mason's water and it is a glorious, ridiculous indulgence."
no subject
Life has not given him the innate good standing with blood relatives, that's fine. Familial love is what starts a person in the world. That buoyant spirit and good nature he possesses automatically makes him easily to be close to. Add in his humor, his pleasing and good manners and any would be lucky to have him. He is far too young to feel the greatest passion of his was behind him at the age of sixteen.
She is drawn closer to him, the storm between them has subsided. The stuffy room doesn't stifle the fragrance of lilac and gooseberries. Few things actually do.
Her eyes widen at his admission. "Truly? Gods, Jaskier what are we doing here now?" She knows. This is a wonderful, unexpected place. A hidden treasure of his past and heart. He has shown her so much of himself in these precious, little ways. "Have you tried it yet? Is it really so easy?"
no subject
"My dear, it is easier than you could imagine," he tells her and glances--at a large stack of boxes that obscures the door. There is only one way in and out of this space, apart from the small windows and a sheer climb. If he had wondered how it remained in tact so long, it is made obvious now.
"Oh, it appears you shall have to help us leave," Jaskier tells her and feels a moment of conflict about it.
At once he would very much like this place to remain his. He wishes to be terribly selfish about it and keep anyone else from intruding for the next twenty years...but, by that same token, he knows how dear this place can be. It is a pity to let it stay unused. He could move the boxes from the door and free the ghosts in this place--it would take him some time and would ruin his pretty outfit...later, he resolves.
"This time I promise I shall not envision any more closets or storage rooms."
no subject
That explains the dust and general state of the room. The boxes must have fallen and blocked the door at some space in time. Or perhaps it was ill planning from the start. They are up high enough to see tree tops from the window.
"Unless you truly would like to stay in a closet." She steps near to him. "Think of the inn. Remember details of it until you can picture it in your mind. If you can, imagine the room."
Chaos changes the air to something static. Yennefer waits until the portal has opened, expanding like a rounded archway. The image through the archway is blurred. The dust and paper are dancing with the force that the portal brings to the small space. She steps closer and pulls at him. "As before don't let go. It's treacherous otherwise."
no subject
He goes with her as she pulls at him and, this time, the trip is far less jarring. In his right mind and aware, the rush of movement is like leaping off a ledge into a pond. There is a satisfying glorious plunge to it and Jaskier is beaming as they step through and into the dimly lit comfort of his rented room. The curtains are heavy but they stir with the whorl of magic and wind--the sunshine filters in between them and, as they shift, the muted sounds of laughter and street performances filter up from below.
This inn is at the heart of the festivities and, in truth, not terribly far from the room they'd just left. He cannot say he regrets traveling this way, though--if he ran into Marx again so soon he would absolutely throttle the man to death.
Jaskier laughs brightly as they step through, his hair windswept and askew, and squeezes her hands.
"That, my dear, is the most remarkable skill!" Jaskier praises. "I cannot fathom how much of the world you've seen because of it--wonders never cease in your presence, truly!"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)