maskormenacelogs | open | We venture through time blind

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open | We venture through time blind

WHO: Jaskier
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Throughout early and mid Jan (pre-2020 plot)
WHAT: An open log of boy toy bard from a far away land who decides to adapt and overcome, or maybe just go cry in a corner
WARNINGS: Maybe some rudey words...

i. heropa; new bard on the block

[ It had barely been half a minute since the poor bard had been handed his information pack and communicator, given back his lute, and shoved out into the warm winter day of Heropa to fend for himself. There's a few odd stares spared for the fellow in a fetching red ensemble and knee high boots, but for the most part the locals leave him to it, a little too used to seeing the weird and wonderful characters that come through the Porter each month.

His eyes lift skyward for a moment, observing the unfamiliar streaks of contrails amongst the striking blue, before they slip shut and he stutters out a sigh. Composing himself before a big performance, that's all this is. Just another step towards a brand new adventure, out into the great, wide world and... almost straight into the path of a car that swiftly blares it's horn in passing.

With a soft squeak he scutters off down the sidewalk, staying on the path like every normal person should because those carriages sure are fast. Throughout the afternoon he can be found drifting, curious and clueless as he peers into stores, vigorously questions street vendors, homeless folk and just about anyone he can corner, and gives baffled stares at the shop fronts adorned with gadgetry and bright lights.

He is most definitely a fish out of water. ]

ii. everywhere; song requests!

[ Location doesn't matter all that much to a travelling bard, especially one who has plenty of new towns to explore. He may not be quite over the shell shock of it all, but he perseveres as best as one can. He's travelled to far away lands before, seen mages and monsters, dragons and devils, met Witchers and witches... this? This is no different, he just needs the tether that's always kept him going; music. Throughout the first weeks of the month he can be found dotted around the different towns, in cafes, bars, parks and anywhere with a perching spot, picking softly at his lute, notepad and pen in lap. He mumbles out words at seemingly random, hums and strums chords, and slowly drags out sentences as the creative process takes shape. ]

... endure and withstand amidst a far away land,
where perception overwhelmed, I stand powerless at the helm,
wrecked betwixt reverence and wonder...

[ A moment of quiet contemplation, and then without much regard decides aloud: ] Nah, that's shit.

[ Other times, when he's not savagely scribbling out his own work, he'll be found busking around towns in front of crowds of various sizes, revelling in the attention as he plays stripped down, exceptionally acoustic versions of various songs, feet stamping and crowd clapping providing his percussion. Another song finished, he loudly proclaims to anyone that catches his eye: ]

A request! What do you wish to hear? Anything at all!

[Literally anything. It would appear this bard knows every song the crowd has thrown at him so far, lyrically and musically. ]

iii. maurtia falls; working hard or hardly working

[ Mob Tours, they'd told him. That's where he'd have to show up for his first week of work, tasked with keeping well paying tourists and locals enraptured with tales of gruesome murders and bloody feuds. He wasn't exactly sure what a mob tour was exactly, but when given a script to learn he was happy to oblige, studying like any professional actor should, and acing every damn performance he showed up to.

The 'uniform' was a little unusual by his expectations, but most would easily recognise the mob reference in getting their tour guides to wear 1920's inspired pinstripe suits. Not quite his familiar peacock standard of wear, but with the added blood red pocket square and two tone shoes, he at least felt dapper enough to ooze the usual confidence.

He also now blended in far better with some of the more choice bars around town, slipping into the high end cocktail bars at the end of work to rub shoulders with some of the rich and powerful. Jaskier was at least tolerated in some of the circles for now, innocent as he was in cheerfully chatting to anyone who'd listen. ]

You know, I think I could get used to a world such as this.

[ Decided dreamily as he cradled a strong whiskey sour, sucking at the peel of his orange slice. ] I feel truly pampered. Like a Lord amongst his devoted serfs.

iv; wildcard!

[ Make up something new! Give me a poke if there's any starters you fancy. ]

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[ He's seen this look before. The stumbling over words, the awkward laughing, the blushing. She must be a fan of his! For he has many strewn across his own world, and maybe there's some here, somehow... on his first ever day in this new universe.

Jaskier's smile spreads as he shifts his weight, hip jutting, and moving to rest an arm jauntily on the neck of his leather cased lute hanging off his shoulder. ]

Mm, those that can. [ Because there's a whole lot of illiterate folk where he's from. Sad, really, but his existence at least helps to spread tales across the villages. Doing the world a service, he likes to think. ]

And yet so few write for pleasure. What secrets hide amidst those pages of yours, I wonder. What dreams, what aspirations?

[oh gods.

an eyelid twitches.]

I beg your pardon, but... I-isn't it a bit...unbecoming to ask a lady about her secrets? Like. Like, in general, but also like...just randomly on the street, having literally just met?

[saying so aloud is so mercifully sobering; maybe she'll be able to yank her buzzing brain back down to earth by sheer force of will!]

Oh no, you're absolutely right, how very brazen of me! I've not even introduced myself.

[ The lute gets shoved around his back with an idle push to allow him the space to present a low, and overly flamboyant, sweeping bow before her. ]

I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, sensational bard, acclaimed poet and esteemed writer! I uh, don't believe I've had much chance to make a name for myself in these parts, but it's only a matter of time before I'm known throughout this land.

Oh. I...I see.

[gods help her a POET? thank goodness she has such a distaste for performed poetry thanks to this world, otherwise she might be a bit too star struck. as it stands, being overwhelmed by getting tussled around and now having to converse is enough of a strain.

her smile wanes as she considers this information, going through the routine of curtsying in turn best she can while encumbered.

bard, he says...]

W-well met, Julian. Um. When you say bard— excuse me, but. Do you speak of just...conventional songs and performance? Or the actual magic guilds of the lot?

[ The question has him frowning thoughtfully, hesitating in his answer as he straightens up. ]

There's a magical bard guild? [ First time he's hearing of it! ]

I'm no magic user, Miss. That's sort of reserved for the mages; crusty old men in robes and the like. Funny, isn't it, that sorceresses undertake a great ritual to remain young and exceptionally beautiful, and yet the mages grow grey and insipid.

[ Huh. That is funny. Almost as if... world wide misogyny?! ]

[that remark is very much the cement brick necessary to get Cecelia's head out of the clouds and come crashing straight back down to this rotten, smelly earth. the light of her nervous smile drains out of her eyes and she's left with something more tacked-on and uninspired.

while attempting to remain cordial, there's an undeniable flatness in her tone to mark her distaste:] Maybe in your world, sir. You'll find it is not the case in other places represented here.

[ Did he make a boo boo? Is her dad a mage?! Well, he's going to buckle down on it anyway with a low mumble of: ] Yes, well, I never did much appreciate the company of mages.

[ In his defence, he still has much to be educated on in this world. And other worlds. And his home world. It's tough being an ignorant and naive bard boy in a world so full of duplicity, which isn't really an excuse at all, but he'll learn in time, if he takes a single second to stop thinking about himself. ]

I don't believe I caught your name?

Right. Sorry. I-- GAH!

[busy passers-by do not care about conversations in progress -- nor do they mind their bags careening all over the place! NOR do they even apologize as they bustle by!

after a beat to bottle the bubbling fury that's making her face red again, Cecelia exhales slowly, lifting her head back up and letting her shoulders relax. a little.]

Cecelia. Cecelia Ardenbury. I boast no titles nor...nor careers in the written word, I'm afraid. Such things... [her eyes wince. quickly, and with some elvish haughtiness:] Well, in any case, if you've no taste for the magically inclined, I'll leave you to your wanderings, lest my presence rankle.

[ All these rude passers by earn a soft glare from him, jutting out his lute just enough in hopes of catching anyone who wanders too close. Hopefully at least of them gets a solid hit in the waist.

What's far more concerning is his companies sudden want to leave him. ]

Oh! No no no, you mistake me, Cecelia! I hold no ill will against magic users, goodness I'd not have many acquaintances if I did. My bestest friend in the whole wide world is actually a witcher, and his lover a sorceress. I know of many with a talent for harnessing chaos and nature, and am a companion to a great many of them, I just don't hold the same aptitude for it myself. A-are you perhaps a sorceress yourself?

[she is not terribly convinced, despite his earnest explanation, because she's still kind of stuck on that whole rituals-to-stay-young smack talk he was laying out for sorcerers a moment ago. and this whole "i'm not [x]-ist because my friends are [x]!" argument never really flies, does it?

honestly? she expected that kind of thing about elves, but not an entire field of spellcraft!]

I am, in fact. Yet I'll have you know I've never partaken in any rituals to maintain beauty. Obviously.

[ The "my friend is x" is the worst fucking reasoning in existence. For a man so talented with words, Jaskier is pretty terrible with them too. Thankfully he's not going into the elves treatment in his own world on top of all this. ]

Ah, yes, I believe that's exclusive to Aretuzan sorceresses, and not always by choice...

[dryly:] I'll be sure to keep that in mind, next time I'm introducing myself or my sorcery background, thank you.

I suppose I'll leave you to your... [uh.] Whatever it was you were doing.

[ Jaskier's brows knit upwards in light concern, taking a half step forward like he wants her to stay but knows better than to follow if she does decided to leave. It's a tough life being a man desperate for attention in a world where he's yet to make friends. ]

I appear to have upset you. [ He's just not exactly sure how just yet. ]

Allow me to make it up to you?

I--what?

[she was going to veer around him and bustle away, but his offer gives her pause.

suspicious pause, suspicious up-and-down look-over included. things are much more ominous when one takes off the sparkly oh-no-hot-person goggles.]

That's...kind...But I wouldn't want you to suffer my company for any longer than you must. Wouldn't that get in the way of your...ah, ambitions? Work on garnering fame? I'm hardly the start for that.

If you'll suffer mine!

[ Her hesitation is enough to brighten him up considerably, back on track for continued attention if he can just manage not to fuck it up again. ]

Truth be told I'm not exactly sure how to even begin here. In fact, I've still not quite gathered where "here" is. But if you'd spare me your time, I think you'd make a most wonderful muse to help begin this new tale of mine.

...

[...ah.]

You're...very new to this world. Aren't you?

[ Ding ding, she's a winner!

He just bows his head in confirmation, a light smile accompanying his own self-mockery. ]

Was it the wide eyed, terrified stare, or the panicked confusion that gave it away? I must know.

[her expression softens despite herself.]

...Well. I suppose I'd feel guilty if I heard later that you'd wandered off into traffic unawares when I could've done something to help avoid that.

[sigh.]

Fine. Very well. I'll assist you, then. If you've questions in mind or places you need to find...?

[ From context he's assuming traffic refers to the speedy carriages, and his gaze drifts off towards the road where he'd almost gotten himself run over all too recently. It's a safe bet of hers too assume it might happen again, he's still not quite gathered the difference between side walks, roads, crossings and all that other weird stuff that's all very grey and all very samey. ]

Oh! Actually, I do eventually need to find...

[ He reaches around to withdraw his crumpled file from the back of his exceptionally high waisted breeches, flicking through a couple of pages before squinting down at the text. ]

M-maawtia Falls? [ American place names are weird. ]

Maurtia Falls. Yes, I know of it. Most imPorts do. Or ought to, anyway. [the prospect of going out to that city makes her grimace briefly before she forces the neutral expression back on her face.

...well, neutral for her.

she clears her throat and bustles ahead.]

Come along, then. We must go down to the Porter to get there. I can try to answer your questions along the way.

[and teach him how to read the traffic lights. thank gods she's already mastered that embarrassing bit...]

[ He either doesn't catch that grimace or doesn't make comment on it, instead cheerfully tagging along, comforted in the presence of a guide who knows what she's doing.

And because it's been at least five minutes since he's said something potentially offensive... ]

Are you elven?

Half, actually. On my father's side. [she slows after her initial burst of anxious speed so they may converse at a reasonable pace.] Why? Is that going to be an issue?

Not at all! Simple curiosity.

[ Jaskier's glad for the slow in pace, his own speed a slow sort of trudge thanks to exhaustion. It's all been very exciting, but sleep sounds great too. ]

My lute was gifted to me by the King of Elves, in fact, such a fan that he was! Nice fellow. Do you have any elf kings where you're from? Bit weird to have a king for an entire race when you actually think about.

[she quirks an eyebrow at that, giving him a sidelong glance as she slows at the crosswalk.] What's weird about that? There's kings of men in all kinds of stories and songs, aren't there?

Metaphorically, I suppose, yes.

[ He doesn't slow, used as he is to cobbled streets and dirt roads carrying the sound of horses hooves. Perhaps the painted and lit up crosswalk should be obvious even to those unfamiliar, but tiredness is one hell of a way to stop brain thinky, not that Jaskier's brain thinky even at the best of times. ]

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