whatupbuttercup | PSL Catchall with Conjurechaos

"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."

The sentiment was particular to the theater but it was so close he didn't have the heart to correct her. He smiles as she pats his cheek and then leans, peers at her works and wonders.

"Do you need to do much else, my lovely?" Jaskier asks, earnestly curious, because if the answer is no--then they both require a distraction and he knows just the thing. Neither of them have marveled at the self-filling tub yet and he'd even been sure to have a truly impressive array of soaps and salts brought up when he got in.

Admittedly, he also feels more than slightly grimy after dealing with Valdo.

These wonderful allowances between them only make the bridge between them stronger and stronger. Their skills do not have many parallels to draw similarities from. Yennefer tries all the same. Both crafts are complicated and require life long study and devotion, that much is obvious. Passion is key. Aretuza tried to remove it from her, but it only made her stronger. The life of a traveling musician is fueled by passion. Seeing Oxenfurt come alive and being privy to what it is like to have a room full of people burst into Jaskier's song she understands more than she had.

So many people here for the festival driven by emotion, not all of them can be beautiful. Beauty is easy to show, everyone admires it. Ugliness does not. Jaskier's is not repulsive to her at all. If this is as ugly as he gets, he is more precious and mismatched to her company.

The small cast iron cauldron has a matching lid that she places over the top. The precious contents are what she needs to cast the spell. There is far more ash and fragments than needed, still every speck could be vital to the magnitude of their success. Now that it is fixed on she rubs her hands together of it.

"That is all until we need it." And she is feeling very proud of herself to have it done so easily and simply. Anger is a terrific motivator. Spite too, that must be what Valdo runs on when it is not his own ego.

Her eyes move about the room and settle on the tub. "You know, whenever I feel that the world has been unsavory and unpleasant, a bath improves my mood significantly." Surely he was thinking the same thing? Right? "You did say you would show me."

"I did," he declares and reaches to tangle his fingers with hers. He hardly needs to lead her, it is barely half the room away, but he finds he has reclaimed some of the day's energy, some of the wonder and delight of sharing this place with outsiders. Geralt had hated Oxenfurt but even he might've been swayed by the wide inset tub and the carefully crafted faucets.

The copper faucet had been made to look like a swan, why Jaskier hadn't the faintest, but he practically skipped and set Yennefer before it before releasing her hand. He had to stretch to put the stopper into place in the center of the tub, but that was hardly a chore.

"Go ahead, try it, left is hot and right is cold," Jaskier said, delighted.

Hand in hand once more. She hasn't indulged so much since she was a girl. It happens so simply, so suddenly and so normally. Yennefer is happily lead to the very modern arrangement of pipes and knobs. They are still shiny.

"Do you think that they had specifically crafted it to accommodate more than one bather?" Her eyebrow lifts in mischief before she reaches for the tub.

"Draw a cold bath?" She sputters at the thought at goes for the left knob. It gives easily and the pipes gurgle and. "Oh it really is hot." So hot that steam is already rising as it begins to fill the tub. Yennefer laughs at her glib comment and reaches for the cold water. "I see now. That's brilliant."

To think that people would have to wait for so water to be boiled. Magic is the fastest method but this is so wonderfully accessible. "That's all? Easy as that?"

He always delights in watching people as they experience firsts. This was a minor thing and, gods' knew, Yennefer had known more impressive firsts than a bit of mechanical water pumping, but it was still a first. He watches her face as she balks at the idea of a cold bath, then her surprise as the near boiling water pours out of the swan's open mouth. (Why that design, he was truly flummoxed about, but apparently there were worse ones. The horse head faucets were supposedly very alarming.)

Her laugh brightens his smile and he leans to drag his fingertips in the excruciating heat of the pooled water as she twists the cold tap open as well. She looks at the pair and then back at him.

"That is all," Jaskier confirms. "I heard one mason chatting about building something faster, yesterday. He said something about a stall, but I can't imagine why someone would want to rush a bath."

The sound of the water filling the tub is a calming, monotonous, droning sound and Jaskier sighs delightedly. It was the sound of his not having to fill buckets. Glorious.

"Thank you, by the way," he says and has the decency to look a bit chagrined. "For coming to this. For helping with Valdo and, well, everything. I don't tell anyone that I appreciate them enough and you deserve it more than most."

Any time she has a new experience, hope kindles in her heart that not everything in the word is sorted. Years are long, people have proven to be the same tired lot. There are still marvels and discoveries. Simple and still amazing. The swan spewing the water is a curious decor choice. Perhaps no man could properly sculpt a fish. And what fish would have such a long, curved neck? The real treasure is the convenience.

"A child could do it." Which is usually not typical of new inventions. "I'd much prefer a bath to a stall. It's a luxury after all." Chances are when word gets around so many other wealthy cities and townships will want to have their own copper pipes and contraptions. Her own fingers reach to swirl the water. Now it is much more bearable. The water is still rising. The bath will be ready before they are.

The words are so simple from him. He has a gift with words, it's true. Plainly speaking reaches her the most. Yennefer smiles softly, looking to his face. "I would do it again happily. Thank you for trusting me. I can't imagine stomaching his behavior alone. You're spirited and clever, I know you could." But he chose to invite her. She was wanted.

"I could wash your hair this time if you like." The full array of soaps, salts and oils all in one place. It's truly ingenious. The masons are going to be very busy and rich.

PSL Catchall with Conjurechaos

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