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
[ She does feel for the people who are brought here from worlds so entirely foreign to Earth. Primitive civilizations. Back when she was in Starforce she would have had a no-contact order with worlds like that. Get in, find the Skrull, get out. Don't disturb the native.
She shakes her head. Best not to dwell on that period of her life. ]
Say, you want me to buy you a drink? I could try to help catch you up on some of the more useful modern inventions.
no subject
Yes! All right, let me just...
[ There's a vague wave of dismissal at any of the few people still lingering, while he moves to collect his lute case and whatever cash had been thrown in the general area. ]
Decades, huh? Gods, for me it's centuries. When I was dragged from my world, it was 1262. Although I'm not exactly sure years even work the same here as they did in my world. [ Lute packed away and money collected, he moves back towards her, ready to go. ]
no subject
You're a long way from 1262, same world or not.
[ Once he's ready to start walking, she holds out a hand for a shake. Presuming handshakes are a thing people do in 1262. ]
Carol.
no subject
Jaskier. Is there perhaps somewhere serving alcohol at this time of day? I could do with a wine. Or five. Performing is thirsty work.
no subject
[ She starts to lead the way to Rookie's Bar & Grill, where she's become something of a regular. She's not a huge sports fan, but the food's good, the beer's cheap, and she can make a few bucks challenging locals to a darts game. ]
no subject
[ Wine isn't the only thing he drinks on the regular, after all, it's just a preference when it comes to high class drinking and partying. He trails after her, not put off by the mention of a potentially bad wine selection anyway. ]
What's a sports bar?
no subject
A sports bar is a place where they serve drinks and food, and they play games on big TVs for everyone to watch. Football, basketball, hockey, that sort of thing.
no subject
And people gather to watch these, do they? Interesting. Back home we had to rely on bards such as myself for entertainment. I'll be interested to see just how well these TVs can hold an audience.
no subject
[ Not that Carol has any stake in the games. Her favorite teams aren't in this universe.
They make their way to Rookie's easily enough, and Carol holds the door open for Jaskier before entering herself. It's loud, as predicted, and dimly lit, with most of the light coming from the large flatscreen displays showing various sports games. Carol waves at a waitress as they enter; obviously she comes here with some regularity. ]
So... Table or bar?
no subject
[ It doesn't appear to be an easy choice, but he ultimately decides the bar is far closer to a constant source of alcohol and opts for that, moving towards one of the bar stools soon after his decision. His gaze drifts up towards the nearest TV in curiosity, unable to fathom what's going on with the small figures dotted around the field. ]
What's a superbowl?
no subject
The superbowl is the final game of the football season. The two teams who have the best records throughout the year get to face each other in the biggest game of the year. It's pretty much the most-watched thing on TV every year. Companies pay millions of dollars to get their ads shown during the commercial breaks, and there's always some rock star performing at half time.