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.
"No," Jaskier replies as he rises and crosses to the door. Ideas and imaginings of a young Yennefer are momentarily brushed aside as he opens the door and picks up an extremely discreet brown package, tied closed with twine.
Admirers were wont to send much more dramatic gifts and patrons didnt send them unmarked, there would be no point. Jaskier frowns a bit as he steps back in but doesn't ponder it too hard. He fiddles with it idly as he crosses back to the bed, untying the twine with distracted but nimble fingers.
"Do not worry about destroying that garbage, my dear, I've no use for either," he tells her and tosses the twine aside. "Will we have to administer what you're concoting or is it something...afar-ish?"
He gestures at the cauldron briefly, still curious about her spells and magic, and tears the brown paper from the box in his hands. Another moment or two has the lid off and, as he opens it, Jaskier freezes. He stares down at the box and, for a moment, his expression is split between grim resignation and blind fury.
In the box, padded lovingly in squares of soft cotton and down, is a very expensive phallus. It's sculpted of a rather pretty green stone, detailed to the vein and gilded along the crown with an extended handle on the end. Beneath it, wrapped around a note, is a strap of leather with an ball of rubber hooked to both ends. He doesn't need to read the note to know who has sent the package--he recognizes the cock.
"That is exactly what I was hoping you would say. I had no intention of giving them back to you anyway..." another way to signify that what has happened in the past is to be left behind. Bringing along artifacts of Valdo brings memories. All this time he had the kerchief and the pen. Yennefer finds herself hoping that he didn't write to her with it. Touching it and using it dignifies the cretin with his thoughts. Why, after today each and every reminder will only be about what a terrific fool he is.
"I must break down the items, charge the remains with chaos and carry them with me and when we sit to watch is performance." Fire, especially enchanted fire, breaks down organic and in organic material. "It shouldn't be long. You did say you had intended to sup."
Yennefer pauses and notices he is just staring into the opened box. "What is it?" Jaskier is still caught up in processing just how angry he is in this moment. She breaks away from the table and cauldron to step closer. Her eyes widen and her mouth twists. For a moment she feels empty, utterly hollow because her last thought and and the moment and everything she might have said are empty possibilities that have flown off. Touching it would be like handling a snake so she reaches for the bit of paper using only two fingers.
"It's from--" Jaskier knows who it's from. The rest of the note for a moment is a blur because the emptiness fills her up to the brim with rage. "Why are we not going to kill him?"
The note is, predictably, an invitation for him to fuck himself. It is carefully worded so that, should Jaskier wish to experience the real thing, he might take it as an offer. Jaskier doesn't and doesn't need to read the note to know its contents. He makes a wordless choked sound and takes a deep breath.
"Because," he says calmly, as calmly as he can manage. "There are fates worse than death, and this is one of them."
It's a bit dramatic but, by the gods', this is a catastrophe and rivalry between bards. If it weren't dramatic, what would the point be? Jaskier considers the cock with the sort of disdain most people level at actual severed limbs. He plucks the ball gag up and holds it out at the end of his fingers--
"Is this of use to you, my dear?" Was it Valdo's enough that it could damn him? If not, it is a worthless trinket and will be cast aside at the first opportunity.
The cock in the box is an insult, but a dangerous one and Jaskier is more clever than Valdo gives him credit for. He glowers down at it and sets it aside. His expression is dark and angry, but there's a bit of mischief in it.
"My dear, I don't suppose you know which courts have a strained relationship with Cidaris?"
All of this is perfect fodder for the spell. One item is enough, several? Well, their success is already guaranteed. That should make her feel wonderful. Right now all she feels is heat in her face and fire in her veins. The both of them together stare at the dreadful, green cock lying in the box for a few moments.
Their time in Temeria was sudden, beautiful and a memory worth cherishing. Valdo's taste in objects of pleasure is predictably gaudy. Thinking of those appetites aimed at Jaskier has a rush of want to hold him to her and restore his thoughts to more pleasant things. That would not make Marx any less odious or get the curse in motion.
"Yes," she takes the gag. It joins the rumpled note in her hands. Both will go into the cauldron. They clatter inside with more force than is needed for the act. Not waiting a moment longer, the objects are on fire. She opens the window to let the smoke out speaking in clipped, angry Elder Speech.
"Mmm? Why yes of course, darling." The smell is not very pleasant at first, more herbs and oils change the burn to something more fragrant as though she were cooking. Keeping her hands busy and speaking prevent her from heading out to find that awful, grinning, green garment clothed rat and doing him in. "King Ethain of Cidaris fancies himself to be a master politician, I have heard he behaves like a foolhardy pirate captain. King Foltest of Temeria has just as much of an ego just....kept in check because of Triss. Between Cidaris and Temeria is Rissberg. It has been steadily growing in power. It is not much of a kingdom so much as a stronghold. And it absolutely is a force to be reckoned with. Several mages stay there, you see."
Now that the items have charred down, she as a pestle to grind up the concoction. "...what are you thinking, Jaskier?"
"The Troubadour of Cidaris has granted me a lovingly sculpted copy of his cock," Jaskier tells her as he sets the box aside on the bed and rises. The sound of burning and the smell of smoke are balms in the moment and he breathes deep, despite that likely being unwise.
"I expect he might regret it if it found its way somewhere it ought not to be. The court of Cidaris might regret him just as keenly," Jaskier tells her and moves to watch as she crushes up the char and ash that Valdo's things have been reduced to.
"Pray tell, is there anyone in Rissberg who might take terrible offense at finding this pretty, personalized thing hiding in someone's bed?"
"Lovely, quite." Hideous. Perhaps it is because he insisted on having the item crafted with veins which to Yennefer's taste look so much less appealing in green. It's like what one would find on a curiously large toad.
There really isn't much left inside the bowl now that isn't ash. The fine metal detailing of the pen has a few chunks in it. That gag had a fasten. It's garbage now more so than it was before. Yennefer looks up from her work with a smile, catching on to his thinking. "You are a delight and from you springs nothing but goodness." If goodness is to be political intrigue and scandal that will have tails wagging for years to come and possibly a children's rhyme if it stays in talk.
"I will find a place for this cock to rest, yes. It would be my pleasure to secure it." Lytta Neyd and Algernon Guincamp were still very much on and off again lovers. This would work. Yes indeed.
Her hands leave her work to cup his face. "What a wonderful disaster."
Jaskier barks a laugh as she compliments him--he is so furious he is nearly shaking, sickened by the item in the box to his very core, but she still manages to bring a smile to his face. Oh, how he adores her. His grin isn't cruel as he looks up, but it's certainly not his kindest.
"I've been called worse," he replies glibly, softly, into the space between them. He knows she's talking about the scandal, but he's done thinking on Valdo for now. Insofar as he can be.
He sighs fondly.
"I did warn you that this would be like a closet full of wet cats, didn't I? If not, I fear this may count as entrapment."
Seeing her dear friend in an indignant huff and annoyance with family or herself in times long past, knowing he is so expressive does not diminish the darkness and obvious fury that plays over his face. Yennefer's thumbs smooth over his cheek. Angry enough to pull resources and punishments out fromn nothing, his cleverness it's own special sort of magic. They couldn't be fixed on a more worthy, more loathsome person than Valdo Marx.
"Jaskier," she tuts gently. He knew what she meant. The whole wreck of it is going to be a fantastic masterpiece. Perhaps with the maestro being such an abrasive personality it truly could be any number of former lovers. Though the stroke of genius could only be so many people.
"Yes, yes you had. I'm not afraid of hissing or scratching. Don't fret." His cheek gets a gentle pat. "Isn't it customary in a performance to carry on no matter what happens? Let's follow suit."
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whatupbuttercup) wrote2020-03-15 03:20 pm
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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.
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.
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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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Admirers were wont to send much more dramatic gifts and patrons didnt send them unmarked, there would be no point. Jaskier frowns a bit as he steps back in but doesn't ponder it too hard. He fiddles with it idly as he crosses back to the bed, untying the twine with distracted but nimble fingers.
"Do not worry about destroying that garbage, my dear, I've no use for either," he tells her and tosses the twine aside. "Will we have to administer what you're concoting or is it something...afar-ish?"
He gestures at the cauldron briefly, still curious about her spells and magic, and tears the brown paper from the box in his hands. Another moment or two has the lid off and, as he opens it, Jaskier freezes. He stares down at the box and, for a moment, his expression is split between grim resignation and blind fury.
In the box, padded lovingly in squares of soft cotton and down, is a very expensive phallus. It's sculpted of a rather pretty green stone, detailed to the vein and gilded along the crown with an extended handle on the end. Beneath it, wrapped around a note, is a strap of leather with an ball of rubber hooked to both ends. He doesn't need to read the note to know who has sent the package--he recognizes the cock.
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"I must break down the items, charge the remains with chaos and carry them with me and when we sit to watch is performance." Fire, especially enchanted fire, breaks down organic and in organic material. "It shouldn't be long. You did say you had intended to sup."
Yennefer pauses and notices he is just staring into the opened box. "What is it?" Jaskier is still caught up in processing just how angry he is in this moment. She breaks away from the table and cauldron to step closer. Her eyes widen and her mouth twists. For a moment she feels empty, utterly hollow because her last thought and and the moment and everything she might have said are empty possibilities that have flown off. Touching it would be like handling a snake so she reaches for the bit of paper using only two fingers.
"It's from--" Jaskier knows who it's from. The rest of the note for a moment is a blur because the emptiness fills her up to the brim with rage. "Why are we not going to kill him?"
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"Because," he says calmly, as calmly as he can manage. "There are fates worse than death, and this is one of them."
It's a bit dramatic but, by the gods', this is a catastrophe and rivalry between bards. If it weren't dramatic, what would the point be? Jaskier considers the cock with the sort of disdain most people level at actual severed limbs. He plucks the ball gag up and holds it out at the end of his fingers--
"Is this of use to you, my dear?" Was it Valdo's enough that it could damn him? If not, it is a worthless trinket and will be cast aside at the first opportunity.
The cock in the box is an insult, but a dangerous one and Jaskier is more clever than Valdo gives him credit for. He glowers down at it and sets it aside. His expression is dark and angry, but there's a bit of mischief in it.
"My dear, I don't suppose you know which courts have a strained relationship with Cidaris?"
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Their time in Temeria was sudden, beautiful and a memory worth cherishing. Valdo's taste in objects of pleasure is predictably gaudy. Thinking of those appetites aimed at Jaskier has a rush of want to hold him to her and restore his thoughts to more pleasant things. That would not make Marx any less odious or get the curse in motion.
"Yes," she takes the gag. It joins the rumpled note in her hands. Both will go into the cauldron. They clatter inside with more force than is needed for the act. Not waiting a moment longer, the objects are on fire. She opens the window to let the smoke out speaking in clipped, angry Elder Speech.
"Mmm? Why yes of course, darling." The smell is not very pleasant at first, more herbs and oils change the burn to something more fragrant as though she were cooking. Keeping her hands busy and speaking prevent her from heading out to find that awful, grinning, green garment clothed rat and doing him in. "King Ethain of Cidaris fancies himself to be a master politician, I have heard he behaves like a foolhardy pirate captain. King Foltest of Temeria has just as much of an ego just....kept in check because of Triss. Between Cidaris and Temeria is Rissberg. It has been steadily growing in power. It is not much of a kingdom so much as a stronghold. And it absolutely is a force to be reckoned with. Several mages stay there, you see."
Now that the items have charred down, she as a pestle to grind up the concoction. "...what are you thinking, Jaskier?"
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"I expect he might regret it if it found its way somewhere it ought not to be. The court of Cidaris might regret him just as keenly," Jaskier tells her and moves to watch as she crushes up the char and ash that Valdo's things have been reduced to.
"Pray tell, is there anyone in Rissberg who might take terrible offense at finding this pretty, personalized thing hiding in someone's bed?"
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There really isn't much left inside the bowl now that isn't ash. The fine metal detailing of the pen has a few chunks in it. That gag had a fasten. It's garbage now more so than it was before. Yennefer looks up from her work with a smile, catching on to his thinking. "You are a delight and from you springs nothing but goodness." If goodness is to be political intrigue and scandal that will have tails wagging for years to come and possibly a children's rhyme if it stays in talk.
"I will find a place for this cock to rest, yes. It would be my pleasure to secure it." Lytta Neyd and Algernon Guincamp were still very much on and off again lovers. This would work. Yes indeed.
Her hands leave her work to cup his face. "What a wonderful disaster."
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"I've been called worse," he replies glibly, softly, into the space between them. He knows she's talking about the scandal, but he's done thinking on Valdo for now. Insofar as he can be.
He sighs fondly.
"I did warn you that this would be like a closet full of wet cats, didn't I? If not, I fear this may count as entrapment."
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"Jaskier," she tuts gently. He knew what she meant. The whole wreck of it is going to be a fantastic masterpiece. Perhaps with the maestro being such an abrasive personality it truly could be any number of former lovers. Though the stroke of genius could only be so many people.
"Yes, yes you had. I'm not afraid of hissing or scratching. Don't fret." His cheek gets a gentle pat. "Isn't it customary in a performance to carry on no matter what happens? Let's follow suit."
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