.BARD.

"I do not need a nap!" -Alice

@requiemforbetterdays​​

ghostofaformerself​:

     HE ASSURES HER IT’S A FEELING of steady pressure, but rayne still eyes him carefully for a long moment because she needs to be sure. she needs to be certain he’s well and truly alright. ❝the pressure is normal, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but you’ll get used to it. if it changes, though, say something and i’ll take a look to make sure everything is okay.❞

     rayne is still watching him, the slightest tilt to her head as he continues to protest her assurances that she’ll be fine despite what she’s planning. ❝i’ve dealt with some incredibly sticky situations before; you’d be incredibly surprised what kinds of injuries i’ve sustained.❞ she settles on grabbing the gloves tucked into her belt and putting them on the table.

     fingers start to work at her shirt, carefully ( and a little awkwardly because of the angle ) trying to get it off her shoulder. it’s a little harder than she though because it keeps getting caught on the limb still protruding through the front and back of her shoulder. rayne is half tempted just to rip the whole thing and figure it out after. still, it’s really the only clothing she has so tearing it more than it already is seems like a poor choice.

     ❝the most this plan of mine will do is make me pass out, but it won’t kill me.❞ the brunette shakes her head and continues to tug at her shirt in an effort to get the angle she needs to unsnag it.

     there’s a quiet sigh from her. rayne’s been trying to avoid asking jaskier for help of only because he’s gone through enough—he near died because of her. she shouldn’t be asking anything of him, but if she keeps going she’ll surely tear her shirt beyond its usability and giving him her cloak leaves her with very little in terms of other options. dark eyes rest on him. ❝i could use some help,❞ it’s a quiet request, a lacing of barely detectable resistance to the question itself she’s attempting to bury. ❝it’s caught.❞ rayne faces her back to him, indicating where the fabric of her shirt is catching on the limb. she can’t get the right angle to slide it off the end so she can let her shirt drop away from her shoulder and slide her arm out of it.

     the request itself is minor, but rayne hates to ask anything of him when he’s in this situation because of her. because she’s allowed him to travel with her instead of dumping him off in some town where he’s more likely to be safer. at least safer than he is in her company.

      Jaskier believed her, without much difficulty, that this was not the worst thing that had ever happened to her. After the things that had happened to her in front of his eyes in the clearing of the forest and the things he had seen Geralt go through alive but scarred, he had a new appreciation for just how much damage some individuals were able to sustain without death as the most likely cause. Especially in relation to the damage he could suffer in comparison.       Still, rationality was hard to sustain in the situation they were in. No matter how hard Jaskier was trying, the harrowing image of a spear made of thick wood going through Rayne’s flesh right in front of his eyes would always scream mortal danger.       “I probably would be and please — tell me all about that whenever you like, at a point in time that is not right now,” Jaskier gave back, slowly putting his shirt down on the table next to her gloves. “What’re those for?”       Rayne was occupied with her shirt already and he noticed as much even while he asked, guessing it was likely she wouldn’t even respond. Trying to piece together what the plan was exactly wasn’t easy. The hot knife was pretty self-explanatory but the gloves and the way they would get to even be able and ready to use the knife were a bit of a mystery to him.       “Excuse, what? That sounded awfully like pass out,” Jaskier threw in, head finally turning to watch the struggle she was having with her shirt. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to do because he didn’t think her shirt would or could come off as long as there was the wooden spear going clean through it. At least not without a bit of force and some tearing. Maybe, he concluded, that was what she was trying to do.

@theglimmerhillbard

Admittedly, she looked just about as puzzled as Jaskier had felt before all the pieces fell into place. He had not taken the coin and run off with it. In fact, he presented her a drink. Apparently she had misjudged any bitterness she thought he might have had.

“It does not have to be a final destination, does it? Traveling is traveling, and finding places to preform are not always easy.” Astrid gave a warm smile and nod of appreciation at a kindness returned. She took the mug with rather gentle hands.

“We are all constantly traveling, to or from somewhere, stops along the way. This place just happened to have enough coin for me to stay a few nights. Drunk men and their coin. They do not hold it more loosely than here.” A little bit of a laugh at her own remark before she took a drink of the wine.

“I am never anywhere too long. Always onto the next adventure, next story to find to tell.” She gave a little hum. “And one day, perhaps I’ll get to sing in one of those castles.” Her reputation did not always help her in that regard. Sure, she had managed to get herself into a few celebrations in the wealthier towns, but never for a king. If only.

“The ladies are never quite so fond of me. Afraid I’ll steal their men. I honestly have no interest, despite what they’ve heard. You may or may not have heard of me. Depends how far you’ve come or where you’ve been.”

      “Well, it doesn’t have to be a final destination. But one doesn’t travel to all the places on the way. One travels through them,” Jaskier said, just because he wanted to have the last word. The wine tasted good enough but one sip was enough to realize it hadn’t been worth what he had paid for it. One look around the room was enough to know she was probably right about the people looking to spend here. They were loud, very drunk, and improvident with the use of their coins. They had to be if these drinks were what they had spent them on to get this drunk.       “And no, it’s not easy. It’s why I was rather displeased to hear someone else was singing here.” At least, he had confused her as she had confused him, if the look on her face was anything to go by. A small victory and just the smallest bit of payback. “Maybe I’ll let you watch me perform in one of those castles next. Depending on where your adventures will guide you next.”        “Curious. The ladies are usually fonder of me than the men are. What a team we’d make.” Jaskier smiled, not too serious with what he was saying. A throwaway comment for entertainments sake that he was sure would have no consequences. At the same time, he was curious about the truth that was hidden in his words.

ghostofaformerself​:

     EVEN WHILE SHE’S GETTING READY to deal with her own injury, rayne is incredibly aware of his tone and his words. she’s not going to let anything go unnoticed and risk not being aware the moment something goes awry ( in the event that it does ).

     he questions the bandage and her gaze fixes on him with that same obvious concern that won’t be leaving anytime soon. she could swear she’d been careful to only make it just tight enough. ❝too tight how? do you feel like your arm is going numb, or does it feel like a steady pressure?❞ if he’s feeling numbness she’ll have to rewrap it a little looser than it is, but hopefully it’s just him being foreign to the bandage and how it needs to be wrapped.

     making the decision on his behalf isn’t because she thinks he’s incapable, but more so based on the fact that his injury limits his range of movement and rayne doesn’t want jaskier to hurt himself more. still, he seems to insist that even she can’t manage it on her own ( and perhaps he’s right ) but she’ll figure it out even if it means causing a little more damage–stifling the bleeding is going to be an endeavour all its own.

     ❝i’ll manage it well enough,❞ rayne shakes her head at his words. ❝it’s not for carving it out.❞ no, it’s something much more unpleasant than that, something she’s done before and tries to avoid when she can. in this particular case there’s no avoiding it because she’ll need to stop the bleeding quickly. hand wraps around the handle of the knife as she lifts it and settles the steel of the blade into the flame to heat up. next she’s looking around for something she can bite down on when it comes down to the inevitable moment.

     ❝this is going to bleed quite a bit once it’s out, so i need to stop it as quickly as i can and since i don’t have the luxury of stitching it shut i’ll have to do it the quick and dirty way. that,❞ she motions to the flask. ❝is going to seem like a walk in the park compared to this.❞

      “No, not like that,” Jaskier gave back quickly. The concern in her eyes was so alien to him he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, except attempt to soothe it as fast as he possibly could. He knew Rayne well enough, he had thought, but this was something he just hadn’t had a chance to see before. “It just — hurts. Steady pressure, I suppose. Like someone is very adamantly holding their hand against it.”       Saying it out loud, the words felt incredibly stupid. His stab wound hurt. Of course it did. How could it not have? And if his already hurt like it did, how did Rayne’s have to feel?

@caelmewedd

Narrowing her eyes at Jaskier, she wondered just what sort of profound words he was expecting. She knew that her circumstances were her own doing. Not that she would ever admit that out loud, but she knew that all of this was because of her own actions. The parties, the orgies that she had thrown from time to time had helped some of the things she felt, but it would never fill the one void that she desperately wanted to fill; a child. She had come so close before that damn Witcher had interrupted things and now — Yen was content with keeping to herself, surrounding herself with those who enjoyed life and forget all of the other problems. If only avoiding Jaskier would’ve been so simple. They’d all said their peace, they all knew that staying together as a group wasn’t going to work. Hell, she was actually quite content to be on her own and avoid the problems that came with the other two. But Jaskier was on his own. It seemed like she wasn’t the only one who had done something to end up on their own.

“Profound like I’m enjoying my life now? That it’s so much better without you or that damn witcher in it? And that maybe you might find enjoyment without him, too?” Rolling her eyes again, she didn’t know what he was expecting her to say. If he was expecting her to confess that she was miserable he would be waiting a long time. She could do a lot of things and most of them with the gifts she’d been given, but confessing something like that was something she would never do. Not even for someone like Geralt. They may have had a few good times together, but Yen knew better than to tell someone like that something like that. Especially after what he did to her.

Confusion etched into her features at Jasker’s words. For a moment she thought that maybe he might have regretted some of the things he’d said. “Unfortunately, you were out cold the last party of mine. I’m sure the Witcher could tell you all about it,” she told him, a smirk pulling at her lips. It had been quite the party but she’d had plenty of them like that since then. None of them really stood out to her. “Though, I’m sure our definitions are quite different.” She couldn’t imagine someone like him at a part of hers. Not when Yen’s tended to involve a lot of naked men and women.

“I’d say it’s more than that. At least with longing you know it’s eventually going to be tangible. There is nothing tangible in loneliness.”

      Most of the time, Jaskier found, Yennefer looked like she wanted to eat him alive or wish he would just drop dead on his own without her having to do anything. Just as she did now. Sometimes, he thought, she made it appear like the only reason she wasn’t murdering him was because it would mean more effort than she thought he was worth.       Maybe he was doing her a disservice thinking she would be so nonchalant about murder and maybe most of that opinion was based on what he thought she thought about him. Evidence to support his theory, though, was amply available.       Jaskier took a deep breath, his eyes darting away from hers as if that would make it harder for her to tell that he didn’t know how to feel or react to what she was saying.       He had joyfully existed before meeting Geralt, and while his life had been more thrilling during their joint travels, he had felt, at times, like he was flying too close to the sun when he walked with the white wolf. Of course, he would find enjoyment again without him. Still, the way they all had parted still left a bitter taste in his mouth. It always hurt to misjudge how much you meant to someone.        “Unfortunately, indeed,” Jaskier said, not even a sliver of a memory left that he’d even been at that party at all. He remembered waking up next to her, and he remembered how quickly confusion had warped into terror in her presence.        “But I’m sure he could — if only half as well as you.” Yennefer both was impossibly more forthcoming in conversations than Geralt while simultaneously, probably, even less willing to tell him anything about anything in detail.        “And you would probably be surprised the things I like,” he said without saying much at all. It is true she would probably be surprised as anyone about the kinds of parties he enjoyed, because they were quite different. Banquets, dinner parties, noisy taverns sharing a shanty, a bonfire — he would have had his fun on either and all of these if the circumstances were right.       Again, Jaskier looked away from her. This time, only to consider how he was going to respond, genuinely unsure if they were having an honest conversation or if she was just responding to bait him. What for? he wondered and there was not one thing he could come up with for motive.       “I suppose there isn’t,” Jaskier finally said, looking back at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Loneliness takes substance from everything around you, doesn’t it? There’s nothing tangible in loneliness... If I use that in a song, I will pretend I came up with it.”

AAH!

      “This is yours?” Jaskier looked up at the house he was standing next to. In the dim light of the moon, it looked ominous in an exciting way. Someone wealthy lived here. Someone who had paid attention to all the details that would make a building look elevated without being too obvious about it. The stones were a little bit smoother, a little bit brighter, the roof a little higher and the doors a little broader.       The dark-haired woman next to him laughed quietly. The sound was pleasant and soft. Soft as her skin when she took his hand into hers and bumped into him lightly before she pulled him towards the door gently.       “It is as I said, is it not?” she said, voice melodic and light. The tone of her voice was so incredibly pleasant, he had been fascinated with it the second he had heard it the first time, mere hours ago. She whirled around, the light of the moon catching on her necklace. It shimmered in the light like but it had a natural shine to it, that went very well with the deep green color of her eyes.         Jaskier looked up at the dark house again before looking down at the woman with a smile. He stumbled a step forward and then made to follow her, to let her drag him along wherever she might please.        “Who else lives with you?” he asked, easy, but not without an ulterior motive. Knowing who you might encounter, disturb or potentially rub the wrong way with your presence was always a good thing.        “So many questions,” the woman responded. Her name was Estrid, she had told him. “Where’s that sense for adventure you spoke about?”        She winked at him and Jaskier’s grin got a little wider.        “Oh — don’t worry, fully intact,” he jested, following her and almost walking right into her when she stopped. Estrid had her hand on the handle of the door but she had stopped a little early and suddenly. Her head turned as if she had heard something Jaskier hadn’t.        “What’s wrong?” he whispered, suspecting a scorned lover or an angry father around a corner. A tense moment of silence later, Estrid shook her head and simply said, “Nothing. I thought I heard something.”       The inside of the house was as fantastic as the outside was. The first room they entered had a tiled floor of polished stone. They were so smooth, you might have slipped if you didn’t pay attention. Jaskier only struggled for a second, holding on tighter to Estrid’s hand.              Estrid moved in closer to him, letting go of his hand to reach up and wrap her arms around his shoulders. His hands landed on her hips easily and he looked down into her eyes.       “Now, let’s do what we came here to do,” she said, her voice sweet and thick as honey. Jaskier nodded his head and whispered softly, “With pleasure.”       They both had very different ideas of what they had come to do. While Jaskier was expecting a kiss to start things off easily, Estrid was moving her tongue over her teeth in anticipation of drinking the bard’s blood.

ghostofaformerself​:

     IT’S NOT HIS FAULT, and rayne can’t blame him for his reaction. she doesn’t. skepticism is in her nature and if their positions were reversed it’s almost guaranteed she would have her sword pointed at him already because this entire situation is completely and utterly impossible. except it’s not. she’s here, rayne is here and she’s alive and she’s right in front of him. still, it doesn’t stop the disbelief, the way the ‘no’ that leaves his lips and the half-step back feels like a knife straight in her heart.

     she sees the way his eyes become glassy, and god that makes her feel so guilty. the very fact that she’s here is causing him a pain she recognizes without question. rayne has been there, felt what he’s feeling. being pulled back in time to the very moment your entire life feels like it’s falling apart because you’re watching someone you care about die right in front of you. this time it’s not happening to her; this time she is the cause of it. rayne is the reason he’s reliving it again.

     ❝i know,❞ it’s whispered in response to his insistence that she’s dead, that he had buried her. ❝i know.❞

     rayne has to force herself to stay where she stands because she’s uncertain what she can and can’t do. she still doesn’t have a real picture of how this is going, if he really believes she’s here or if her thinks she’s some kind of monster in disguise. hell, she kind of is, isn’t she?

     ❝it’s me, julian.❞ maybe saying his name will make it feel more real. maybe it’ll help him believe she’s her and not something trying to trick and torture him. god no, she never wants to hurt him. she couldn’t. ❝i promise it’s me.❞ rayne can’t look away.

     then arms are around her and it causes her to let out a quiet gasp of surprise. this isn’t what she expected at all. she’s gone through all of the worst possible outcomes of this meeting in her head over and over again, but this? the feeling of his arms around her in a tight hug that solidifies the knowledge that she’s well and truly alive? rayne never thought this is what she would get.

     shock lasts only a brief moment before her own arms wrap around him tentatively, afraid that maybe he might disappear, but then they settle and she can’t help squeezing. she can’t help the way fingers grip his clothes to hold him in place so she can remember this in the event that it’s some sick joke in the afterlife.

      Sometimes, when you lost someone, it were little things whose absence you felt the most. The way someone said your name could very well be one of those. Rayne hadn’t called him by his real name often. She hadn’t known it all that long if he remembered correctly. Yet, the few times she had, it had sounded exactly like it did now.       The act itself carried an intimacy with it.       Yet, a promise given by someone whose identity you were questioning was undoubtedly near worthless. In this case, it didn’t matter, though. Jaskier had already decided. His heart had done the thinking and the decision was cast in a hug, well before his mind could raise too many unwelcome questions.       Jaskier didn’t feel her hesitation. It didn’t matter. All he wanted was hold her to reassure himself she was real and not a fleeting dream. Not a nightmare he had lived through before, where she seemed well and alive only until sunrise woke him from his sleep. All the wanted was to hold her, so he could silence the irrational fear she might disappear if he let go.       His breath was even and deep and he could feel it catch in his throat every time he inhaled. They were close enough, he almost thought Rayne would have to feel or hear it, too. The feeling he had was a strange mixture of nostalgia and joy, of disbelief and relief. Relief was what was slowly taking over and would soon be the only thing left. Every breath, the moment came closer.       Every breath, he thought he could let go. Every breath, he decided not to if she wouldn’t.       “How are you alive?” he asked, swallowing around a lump in his throat. His voice was quiet, his mouth close enough to her ear, he could be sure she heard him. “I didn’t — bury you alive, did I? I was very sure I didn’t. Could you hear — ?”       Jaskier held her closer, asking the questions. His finger curled into the fabric of her cloak. It was rough against his skin, familiar yet not. When he had known her, she had a cloak just like this one, and almost always wore it. She had given it to him the night she had saved his life three times within an hour.       In his mind, he tried to recall all the things he had sung and said to her while he buried her; the things he had said to her while she was already buried and he had to bid her farewell. Had she heard him insult her? Had she heard him tell her he already missed her? Had she heard him tell her how much she meant to him, just a second and a half too late?