#viscountbard

' did you just try to impress me? '

"I assure you, my dear, if I were trying to impress, you would know."

Emmrich looks to the young Viscount with a bit of a cheeky grin and a raised brow. When he had first learned that a member of nobility was coming to teach at the academy, he'd stiffly accepted the fact with silent protest. However, upon actually meeting one Professor Julian 'Jaskier' Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Emmrich found himself entirely charmed by the bard.

But he does try his best to maintain at least a professional air between them as the young man settles into his new role at Oxenfurt. Their subjects of teaching were entirely different studies, and yet he often finds Jaskier in his classroom after the school day's end, fascinated by whatever new lessons Emmrich is working on for his students.

Currently, he's putting together the model of a dwarf's skeleton, meticulously making sure every bone is put properly in place, and assuring that not a single one is missing.

@viscountbard sent: ' i've been trying to say this for a while now. ' @ yen hard conversation starters | accepting

With a premise like that, Yennefer could only give a few guesses as to what Jaskier was eluding to. Her brows raised just slightly, mildly taken aback by the statement in general.

Knowing the bard, though, she figured it had to be something she wasn't expecting. A bait and switch of sorts. She could just pry into his mind for the answer right then and there, in truth, but she'd let him make his own piss poor mistakes with his words if he so wished.

@viscountbard asked

🍳 @ lucanis

The kitchen is probably truly one of the few places that Lucanis feels most like himself, most comfortable with just simply being as he cooks meals, whether they are for the patrons of the tavern or just a small midnight treat for himself and his paramour.

Making midnight churros is certainly something that can quickly lift his spirits, and apparently those of his demon as well, as Spite can afford to laze about in his half-there-half-not form without frightening patrons or barkeeps alike. Spite likes that he can be free to roam in this state around Jaskier, that the bard has gotten so used to his presence that he can feel comfortable to be out and free to roam, even if it is around a kitchen and not much further. Whatever keeps the demon tethered to Lucanis keeps him from being able to wander off too far without the help of a mage.

But they make it work, and it is far easier to make it work when Lucanis and Spite have Jaskier there, accepting their odd and still not well understood existence. It makes it easier for Lucanis to feel comfortable with presenting a plate of freshly made churros to the bard with a kiss.

A kiss that he intends on making quick, short and sweet, but just the feeling of Jaskier's lips against his is enough to entice the assassin into giving a bit deeper of a kiss. Something that lingers for a moment with barely parted lips and a happy hum against Jaskier's, taking in the scent of the bard and the freshly made sweets he sets on the counter beside them to let them be forgotten for a moment.

Spite, on the other hand, has not forgotten the sweets and he leans against the other side of the kitchen counter with arms crossed over his chest and a soured expression on his face.

' i'm generous with you , considering . ' @ astarion (:

"Considering what, exactly, Dandelion?" Astarion asks as he tilts his head and watches the bard from the spot he sits beneath the shade of a tree on the side of the road. His red eyes have a predatory gleam to them, and there is a mischievous smirk resting on his pale lips.

"Considering I'm a vampire, a blood addict, or is it the fact I'm on the run from a very powerful individual?" He asks, irritation in his voice, though it isn't particularly targeted at Jaskier. Cravings tend to make him highly irritable. It just so happens the only poor soul around to be a target for his irritability is the plucky, singing human.

It had been another failed audition for another lead roll. Tryck's greatest failure being that his pockets were not as deep as the parents of the one who landed the lead. Once again, he was relegated to a bit part, which truly wasn't the most terrible, except perhaps for the coin. His apartment in the High City grows ever more expensive as his wallet and savings grow ever more thin. It's an invitation from an old friend, someone he used to work with in the lower city, that breaks him from his broodiness. An invitation to the sort of tavern he used to work there, before he set his eyes on higher theater...

He hasn't been down in his roots for a few years now, but it feels familiar and welcoming, as if he'd never left it all behind. No judgements, no resentments, old friends and colleagues welcoming the Blue Bard back, and he spends a great bit of the evening catching up with everyone.

Tryck's attention, though, is drawn when a bright and booming voice commands the attention of the entire tavern. A familiar face, a bard that Tryck has seen before but never has had the pleasure of his company, in any form, though he has admired him from afar. Jaskier Pankratz. Introducing a new summer play and offering auditions for positions in his company.

Wouldn't that be refreshing?

He contemplates. It doesn't take him long. Why not? Clearly, Jaskier isn't concerning himself with the high brow rabble from the High City. He's come to a tavern like this of all places and announced open auditions. Perhaps its time for him to take a break from the snobbery and return to the atmosphere that's always brought him the most joy.

He waits for most of the commotion around Jaskier to die down before approaching with two pints of ale, setting one down in front of him and sitting across the table with the other in his own hand.

Eskel did his best not to pull away and snarl. That part of him would get the best of him if he let it happen—the instincts, so deeply ingrained—beaten into him—he would hurt the bard. And he didn't want to hurt the bard.

He let out a staggering breath as the lock of his hair was brushed away, just enough for him to look at Jaskier, all doe-eyed and frigid. The exact opposite of what was his nature. His cruel involuntary nature.

“Careful. Handling a Wolf isn't easy,” he said...as if Jaskier didn't know about the Witchers and their feral behaviour!

❈ — She had been resting atop of a rock, with the sun warming her skin and the edges of her tail swaying with the small waves lapping at the rock's side. The mermaid hummed to a nonexistent tune, fingers idly twisting and toying with strands of blonde, until she heard footsteps approaching. Eyes popped open and glanced over to whom it could be, for not many knew of this spot, and a warm smile pulled at the corner of her lips.