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!"
Only a few specs of dust and a rogue page of a long forgotten piece of music rustle through with them. Yennefer brushes her hair over her shoulder. The portal disappears behind them. "You could say they're my specialty." It's impossible not to glow under his admiration. "The first magic I had ever seen outside of a story." That had been so very, very long ago. "Why travel any other way of you can go by portal?" There are reasons, yes, yes, but it is so fast.
Now that is how it is to be done! Though the side trip to the private study room at the University was a calm that fortified their resolve. Back to civilization now. The room is very fine indeed. She would have been pleased with it based on the furnishing lone. Oxenfurt stylistically was so very refined in a way that Redania wished it would be and without the lofty airs of Toussaint. Why was it that she didn't wander this way? Having such an enthusiastic guide with such close ties has added to the preexisting charms of the town.
"Jaskier! Tell me please that you've been saving for this and will not be hurting for money when the festival is through." The Golden Fawn in Temeria was pricey, she would never pretend it wasn't. This is a new tier of refinement especially on the eve of the Liberal Arts Festival. The room and his latest additions to his already fine wardrobe collection. This is spending befitting a viscount. Yennefer knows on good authority he would never use funds or his family name to do such a thing.
He had, in fact, spent the vast majority of his monies on this whole ordeal, but there were ins and outs to the contest that he had not expounded on too greatly. Even if he loses, and wouldn't that be a dreadful failure, there is little chance he will not be offered some sort of patronage after putting on a show. He has a scant few crowns to his name, now, but the precariousness is part of the thrill of artistic life. He cannot begrudge it for simply existing.
"Fret not," he tells her and gestures to the room. "This, at least, is a perk of competing. They hedge their bets that I am to be the victor and, in return, it is known just where I happen to be staying for the duration."
The pricey nature of the room speaks to how well the owners assume he will do. (The woman who owned the kitchen would not stop singing his own songs at him when she spied him walking through.)
He strolls across the room once they've arrived and throws open the curtains nearest the wardrobe. His outfits within are visible and, oh, how they sparkle and gleam. He shall sell all but one of them once this is over, but they will be quite the sight whilst he stands in front of the conservatory. He bends and rifles through the case that holds his lute and, in short order, has both a fine quill pen and a handkerchief in hand. Both are unmarked and otherwise could have just as easily been Jaskier's, but they were not.
The handkerchief he had kept because of sentiment. The pen? It was a very nice pen.
"And how easy it is to believe that your first magics were such staggering, special things--to literally take yourself away, to achieve the purest freedom with your first breath of sorcery--ah it is so terribly poetic. Birds would envy you if they were clever enough to envy anything."
The favorite bard is not always the winner, the same goes for many a pageant or contest from pies to fine chickens and beautiful daughters. "Ahh, so that is the game. Will you ever be able to sleep with so many devotees sighing and trying to catch sight of you?" She is only guessing that is the way of things in Oxenfurt. They love their talented scholars so well that they put the life of the town on hold for this affair. "Or trying to catch your eye."
She can just imagine it. Yennefer sits on the bed and watches him move about the room. Already approaching him about coin she can say no more other than look from one fine hanging outfit to another. Satins, silks, intricate embroidery works... The two items catch her eye. Ordinary items. They would have immediately spoken to her as love tokens.
His gift for turning a phrase still takes her aback. She smiles and looks away, lightly shaking her head. "I was terrified. At Aretuza they call it a conduit moment. The theory is that chaos lingers closer to some more than others and that is when your body and self are able to channel it. I wasn't even aware. I just...knew I wanted to be somewhere else." Her gaze tapers back to him and she moves over the bedding to hold her hands out for the items. "I suppose any miraculous act done without a thought is frightening." Like falling for someone.
"A conduit moment," he repeats as he passes her both the handkerchief and pen, releasing them to her care without even the faintest pause.
Jaskier knows a little of monsters, knows a little of alchemy, and naught at all about magics. He has seen the wonders she can weave, has been on the receiving end of her power, and still wears that sparkling broach pinned to his chest wherever he goes. He has seen more magic than most but still it mystifies and enchants him--hers most of all.
The idea that chaos lingers beneath the surface and she dips a toe into it, becomes a conduit for the expression of it, is such a strange and new idea. It sounds so much like being caught in the tangle of invention, of inspiration, and the idea of being able to tame that sensation, to be able to use it at will, has him terribly envious. He sits on the bed, beaming and curious and feeling surprisingly light and carefree.
"Freedom is always terrifying, at least in my experience," Jaskier says and looks at her. He tries to imagine her as a girl, a young thing full of magic and terrified of it. Was she like a little bird, alone and full of song and freedom, waiting to leap from her perch and fly? Was she a spitfire thing, a current of power and cleverness, winding and inevitable as a swift flowing river? Was her laugh the same? Or her tender touch?
He knows only that Sabrina, the sorceress of the high tits who was a tit to her, and that very few people ever apologized to her. He has never asked more, though he is sorely tempted. He is an open book, ready for anyone and everyone to peruse as they like--she is more guarded, a diary kept in careful hands, and asking her to share of herself is something that must be done delicately.
He has already been given much more than he deserves.
"And I cannot say how many admirers I am likely to draw--but I have company for this event and I shan't indulge without her. I might be a cad, but I'm not rude, not when it can be helped."
The pearl, the pen and the kerchief now together. "Thank you, dear. I must tell you that what I'm about to do will destroy these." Stating facts because they radiate of the man. The process of drawing energy from them is going to make them useless as they were if not ruined entirely. Jaskier should be rid of any evidence of Valdo physical or emotional. One can be done simply with this task. The other, not so. Reading minds is one magic, erasing and revising is a whole other that could go terribly, terribly wrong. Yennefer tucks the pen and pearl inside of the kerchief.
She steps off of the bed. One of Yennefer's often used magics is to hold items in small bags that have no business holding anything than a few coins. Today she has brought with her a small cast iron cauldron. The bottle of wine left out from his breakfast has a few drops inside that she pours inside the cauldron and places her bundle inside.
"I had no idea at all. My world was so very small back then. I had never gone farther than the market of my town. To be one place and then flung to another, it could have been a dream." Her eyes grow distant and she laughs a little. "...I didn't know I had transported myself. I thought someone else had done it. When you grow up on stories of children being snatched away or young girls taken as brides, your imagination runs wild." Though who would have wanted to marry her then? Silly thoughts of hers.
Jaskier's voice and the words he speaks renew her smile and in the next instant she is back with him. "I cannot agree with this cad business when you are so very polite and sweet." She is conducting a bumbling curse but she would have done that even if he hadn't invited her to stay in his room.
Yennefer is about to begin to work with the contents of the cauldron when there is a knock at the door. From behind it is the gaunt youth that had been devoted to sweeping the entire downstairs when Jaskier arrived the day before. "Begging your pardon, sir! A delivery for you! I was told to bring it around forthwith. I'll be leaving it here." The youth leaves, artistic types need their privacy. He was told many, many times that valued customers come and not want to be bothered.
"A delivery? Where you expecting something?" Though truly, given Valdo Marx's behavior as a self styled man of seduction as well as a showman they should have guessed that he would be the one to have a grand gesture.
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whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-15 03:20 pm
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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."
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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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"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.
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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.
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"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."
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"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."
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"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.
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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."
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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.
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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."
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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?"
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"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."
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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."
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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!"
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Now that is how it is to be done! Though the side trip to the private study room at the University was a calm that fortified their resolve. Back to civilization now. The room is very fine indeed. She would have been pleased with it based on the furnishing lone. Oxenfurt stylistically was so very refined in a way that Redania wished it would be and without the lofty airs of Toussaint. Why was it that she didn't wander this way? Having such an enthusiastic guide with such close ties has added to the preexisting charms of the town.
"Jaskier! Tell me please that you've been saving for this and will not be hurting for money when the festival is through." The Golden Fawn in Temeria was pricey, she would never pretend it wasn't. This is a new tier of refinement especially on the eve of the Liberal Arts Festival. The room and his latest additions to his already fine wardrobe collection. This is spending befitting a viscount. Yennefer knows on good authority he would never use funds or his family name to do such a thing.
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"Fret not," he tells her and gestures to the room. "This, at least, is a perk of competing. They hedge their bets that I am to be the victor and, in return, it is known just where I happen to be staying for the duration."
The pricey nature of the room speaks to how well the owners assume he will do. (The woman who owned the kitchen would not stop singing his own songs at him when she spied him walking through.)
He strolls across the room once they've arrived and throws open the curtains nearest the wardrobe. His outfits within are visible and, oh, how they sparkle and gleam. He shall sell all but one of them once this is over, but they will be quite the sight whilst he stands in front of the conservatory. He bends and rifles through the case that holds his lute and, in short order, has both a fine quill pen and a handkerchief in hand. Both are unmarked and otherwise could have just as easily been Jaskier's, but they were not.
The handkerchief he had kept because of sentiment. The pen? It was a very nice pen.
"And how easy it is to believe that your first magics were such staggering, special things--to literally take yourself away, to achieve the purest freedom with your first breath of sorcery--ah it is so terribly poetic. Birds would envy you if they were clever enough to envy anything."
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She can just imagine it. Yennefer sits on the bed and watches him move about the room. Already approaching him about coin she can say no more other than look from one fine hanging outfit to another. Satins, silks, intricate embroidery works... The two items catch her eye. Ordinary items. They would have immediately spoken to her as love tokens.
His gift for turning a phrase still takes her aback. She smiles and looks away, lightly shaking her head. "I was terrified. At Aretuza they call it a conduit moment. The theory is that chaos lingers closer to some more than others and that is when your body and self are able to channel it. I wasn't even aware. I just...knew I wanted to be somewhere else." Her gaze tapers back to him and she moves over the bedding to hold her hands out for the items. "I suppose any miraculous act done without a thought is frightening." Like falling for someone.
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Jaskier knows a little of monsters, knows a little of alchemy, and naught at all about magics. He has seen the wonders she can weave, has been on the receiving end of her power, and still wears that sparkling broach pinned to his chest wherever he goes. He has seen more magic than most but still it mystifies and enchants him--hers most of all.
The idea that chaos lingers beneath the surface and she dips a toe into it, becomes a conduit for the expression of it, is such a strange and new idea. It sounds so much like being caught in the tangle of invention, of inspiration, and the idea of being able to tame that sensation, to be able to use it at will, has him terribly envious. He sits on the bed, beaming and curious and feeling surprisingly light and carefree.
"Freedom is always terrifying, at least in my experience," Jaskier says and looks at her. He tries to imagine her as a girl, a young thing full of magic and terrified of it. Was she like a little bird, alone and full of song and freedom, waiting to leap from her perch and fly? Was she a spitfire thing, a current of power and cleverness, winding and inevitable as a swift flowing river? Was her laugh the same? Or her tender touch?
He knows only that Sabrina, the sorceress of the high tits who was a tit to her, and that very few people ever apologized to her. He has never asked more, though he is sorely tempted. He is an open book, ready for anyone and everyone to peruse as they like--she is more guarded, a diary kept in careful hands, and asking her to share of herself is something that must be done delicately.
He has already been given much more than he deserves.
"And I cannot say how many admirers I am likely to draw--but I have company for this event and I shan't indulge without her. I might be a cad, but I'm not rude, not when it can be helped."
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She steps off of the bed. One of Yennefer's often used magics is to hold items in small bags that have no business holding anything than a few coins. Today she has brought with her a small cast iron cauldron. The bottle of wine left out from his breakfast has a few drops inside that she pours inside the cauldron and places her bundle inside.
"I had no idea at all. My world was so very small back then. I had never gone farther than the market of my town. To be one place and then flung to another, it could have been a dream." Her eyes grow distant and she laughs a little. "...I didn't know I had transported myself. I thought someone else had done it. When you grow up on stories of children being snatched away or young girls taken as brides, your imagination runs wild." Though who would have wanted to marry her then? Silly thoughts of hers.
Jaskier's voice and the words he speaks renew her smile and in the next instant she is back with him. "I cannot agree with this cad business when you are so very polite and sweet." She is conducting a bumbling curse but she would have done that even if he hadn't invited her to stay in his room.
Yennefer is about to begin to work with the contents of the cauldron when there is a knock at the door. From behind it is the gaunt youth that had been devoted to sweeping the entire downstairs when Jaskier arrived the day before. "Begging your pardon, sir! A delivery for you! I was told to bring it around forthwith. I'll be leaving it here." The youth leaves, artistic types need their privacy. He was told many, many times that valued customers come and not want to be bothered.
"A delivery? Where you expecting something?" Though truly, given Valdo Marx's behavior as a self styled man of seduction as well as a showman they should have guessed that he would be the one to have a grand gesture.
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