The gasp he makes is not entirely put on, as Jaskier places his own hand across his heart. "You've heard of me?"
That... that's the best thing he's ever heard. In his life. Dragons. Dragon-adjacents. They've heard of him. Even before Jaskier bloody knew they lived down here. "That would be me."
His whole life may have led to this moment. It is not enough to be the most famous bard among men and monsters. The Draconae are the penultimate audience. And... honestly, quite similar to the much rowdier tavern audiences he was used to.
This for you, Valdo Marx. You talentless hack. You son of a bitch. The dragons shall never sing your praises. Probably because you're dead, but still.
He kneels near the Draconae, looking up into their exquisite face. "I hardly flatter anyone but myself. The soul of music means much more to me than the technical perfection of its playing. What it means to be a bard is much more than playing beautiful music. It is reaching into the depths of man. It is giving them joy in a time when there is little opportunity for it." He pauses, a little flushed -- from the heat, no doubt. Jaskier ha snot technically played for children much, on purpose, but he is no stranger to their enjoyments... especially of his rowdier songs.
The Continent hardly has rules for such things.
"But who am I to lecture to you? I'm afraid I'm so used to being around those who don't understand what power music has. It's... it's lovely to indulge in. A fellow soul, I mean."
All right, he's playing it up a little. But can one blame him? Jaskier is not only a sucker for a pretty face, he's absolutely no defense for those with a hint of musical appreciation in their bodies.
no subject
That... that's the best thing he's ever heard. In his life. Dragons. Dragon-adjacents. They've heard of him. Even before Jaskier bloody knew they lived down here. "That would be me."
His whole life may have led to this moment. It is not enough to be the most famous bard among men and monsters. The Draconae are the penultimate audience. And... honestly, quite similar to the much rowdier tavern audiences he was used to.
This for you, Valdo Marx. You talentless hack. You son of a bitch. The dragons shall never sing your praises. Probably because you're dead, but still.
He kneels near the Draconae, looking up into their exquisite face. "I hardly flatter anyone but myself. The soul of music means much more to me than the technical perfection of its playing. What it means to be a bard is much more than playing beautiful music. It is reaching into the depths of man. It is giving them joy in a time when there is little opportunity for it." He pauses, a little flushed -- from the heat, no doubt. Jaskier ha snot technically played for children much, on purpose, but he is no stranger to their enjoyments... especially of his rowdier songs.
The Continent hardly has rules for such things.
"But who am I to lecture to you? I'm afraid I'm so used to being around those who don't understand what power music has. It's... it's lovely to indulge in. A fellow soul, I mean."
All right, he's playing it up a little. But can one blame him? Jaskier is not only a sucker for a pretty face, he's absolutely no defense for those with a hint of musical appreciation in their bodies.