Julian "Jaskier" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
borntobebard) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2020-01-08 07:03 pm
borntobebard) wrote in maskormenacelogs2020-01-08 07:03 pm
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. ]
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. ]
no subject
did he say lute.]
No! NononononoNONONO!
[she reels around, books flying everywhere as she lunges and grabs for his case to keep it shut, eyes big with terror. her hair has begun to frizz as static builds up in her -- a trait that might carry over in tiny shocks to the poor man.]
That! That will not! Be necessary! At all! Thank you but no thank you!
no subject
[ Who'd have thought an innocent act of singing to a fair maiden would result in her launching herself at him in any other way but wanting? This wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for and when he feels the grab for his precious instrument (not that one), he's quick to resist, trying desperately to tug it from her grip. ]
Get off! Stoppit! That's my lute! Becarefulwith-- ow!
[ To his credit, even those shocks aren't enough to stop him wrestling, determined as he is to keep hold of his precious baby. He does seem more intent on just rescuing it now, rather than releasing it from it's casing. ]
no subject
heart racing, fingers going numb, eyes welling up, Cecelia fumbles to snatch her journal and some of the other books before giving up on them and starting to run away.]
no subject
Confusion still heavy, he watches her go before realising she's abandoned half of her inventory. While he's not really built for running (except for his life) he at least makes an attempt, scooping up the last few books before pursuing, his lute weighing him down enough that he won't give chase for long. ]
Wait! You forgot these!
no subject
then again, imPorts are weird and plentiful, so this could just be another day ending in -y for some.
Cecelia staggers to a stop, laboring for breath, despair and fury all caught up in her chest. hearing Jaskier's equally-exhausted foot stomps behind her has her bristle and whirl around, tears running down her face.]
Why-- Why would you DO THAT?! Do you hate me? You wanted everyone to--to look at me and laugh? Why?! I was trying to be NICE!
no subject
[ He's made her cry now?! This is truly one of his greatest social failures of all time. Probably not his worst though, he sure does fail a lot. It doesn't help when Jaskier has very little understanding of social anxiety, attention whore that he is. ]
You mistake my intentions, Cecelia, I would never want you to be mocked or belittled! You've come to my aid out of the decency of your own heart, I was merely trying to display my gratitude through song.
[ A slow step in closer, side eyeing a large dumpster as he does so because what the fuck even is it? Jaskier's taking it careful now, like he's approaching a wounded animal, unsure of what might make her run at this point. ]
no subject
she quickly turns around while she wipes the smudges off her hand.]
Well, I'll...I'll have you know I. I don't appreciate that! Drawing so much attention like that, being. Being ogled like that, it! It's awful! Great for you, being all talented and handsome or whatever! But not for weirdos like me, okay?
no subject
[ Said with such certainty and lack of irony that it sounds far more like a statement of fact than a cheesy come on. Okay, so maybe it's a little cheesy, but this is a lad who finds genuine beauty in everything he sees, and displays genuine affection to almost all that he meets. ]
no subject
[she tenses up, shoulders drawn to her ears. once she's swallowed back a more passionate rebuttal, she exhales, energy starting to train out of her.]
Don't...make fun of me. You don't know anything about me, so. So saying things like that is...
[utterly moot. she wipes at her face again, knowing full well that her makeup is ruined and there's not much to be done about it now. with a sigh, she turns around, eyes downcast, and walks over to take the books from him.]
I'll get you to the Porter. It can get you to Maurtia Falls. Just-- [her eyes wince, feeling a sick pit in her stomach, and she starts back toward the street.] Just don't...make a big production out of it. It'll just make a laughingstock out of me.
no subject
F-for what it's worth, I truly am sorry for any hurt that I've caused.
[ This time his voice is low, barely above a whisper as he trails after her. Perhaps he's been listening after all. ]
no subject
but this is reality!!! she's learned that such stuff only leads to trouble; it's partly why those words she writes in her journals won't see the light of day -- sometimes even finding themselves burned to cinders for their trouble.
the knife of guilt really twists at his words, and she sighs again, her own voice almost a mumble.]
I know. It's my own fault, not yours. I mess up a lot of things like that all the time, so.
no subject
[ He quickens his pace just enough to draw alongside her, holding forth a silk handkerchief. Jaskier's still trying to wrap his head around this need for quiet and privacy. For him, everything is laid bare at all times. He pours his heart and soul into each song and poem he writes, and keeps no secrets from himself or his audience. Even his private musings and scribbled journal entries will be made into books in his future for all to read. Such is the life of a bard. ]
no subject
she double-takes and hesitates before shifting her hold on her books to take the handkerchief, murmuring a thank-you while dabbing at her eyes and cheeks.]
You...you ought to be careful, though. Pick your stages, I mean. In Maurtia Falls especially; there's a lot of people who hate folks like us.
[a beat.]
People from other worlds, I mean. You might get targeted by unkind sorts.
no subject
Oh, I'm used to an ungrateful audience, believe me. I've had all manner of things thrown at me, punched by witchers, chased by monsters, accosted by magic users, beaten by... [ Elves. ] the unappreciative.
[ Not that he goes looking for that sort of trouble, he just always seems to find himself in it. So maybe her advice isn't so bad. ]
But I'm thankful of your concern. You sound like one with some experience in the matter.
no subject
yeah, neither of these two are very familiar with that sort of self-awareness, it seems.]
I don't get myself in the thick of things if I can avoid it, so I mostly read about the more harrowing cases. [didn't stop her from getting nearly abducted or attacked or whatever.
she frowns at the spotty makeup on the handkerchief. maybe...maybe she'll go home and wash this before returning it...yeah...
she slows down as she catches sight of the building where the downtown porter is housed, checking the street up and down before making a hasty crossing to it.
she stops at the door, nodding up at it.]
All of the buildings that take you city to city look like this one. Try and keep it in mind, should you get turned around.
no subject
Maybe one day he'll sit back and self reflect, but likely not any time soon. ]
A building? That can take me to a city?
[ That seems... weird. ]
no subject
[she shrugs, opening the door and heading inside. from the distance they're at, she stops to just gesture to the equipment further inside.]
That look familiar? It's like what you arrived upon. These ones interconnect a handful of cities, including the one you're meaning to go to. You just tell the attendant and they'll do all the setup and such, and you just stand there, and... [vague hand gesture.]
no subject
[ Not that he's been through many of them, but he's aware they exist back home and is definitely aware that they exist here, considering it dragged his sorry ass into the world.
He lingers near the doorway with her, his gaze drifting with some hesitancy towards the fancy looking equipment that will eventually get him to his new home. ]
I thank you again, Cecelia, you've made my arrival truly something worth writing about. [ It's like the mildest of digs, but accompanied with a smile. They've had many ups and downs, but at least it's not been boring. ]
I promise to find you again. Perhaps I'll write to you.
no subject
almost.
his hair should be flowier.]
When you figure out how to use the phone to send messages, please do. [a slight nod.
then:] And...I'll have to return your handkerchief. Once I've cleaned it. So.
no subject
[ Except she won't. Small items like handkerchiefs are the perfect way to ensure a second meet up, he doesn't really care if they're returned after that, so long as he gets that repeat socialising. Anything to keep people hanging around out him. ]
Well then...
[ He glances back and forth quickly to make sure the staff aren't looking too closely, and then sweeps into a swift bow, snapping upright again seconds later to avoid too much attention. It's so hard trying to be subtle when you're entire existence is usually about getting as many eyes on yourself as possible. ]
I take my leave, farewell and good day. [ A cheerful wink and then he's off towards the gadgetry, trying very hard not to look terrified of all the unfamiliar faces and tech. He's a brave boy! ]