[It's not that Jaskier is looking in particular for anyone -- honestly, he simply wants to walk, to be among people, to feel breezes and sunshine (or, er, candlelight) and shit and perhaps feel like everything is as it should be, even though it isn't. At least not in him.
And he leaves home because the more it roils and tumbles through him, the more selfish it feels. And gods, does Jaskier just HATE feeling selfish, a thing which he most definitely is not.
So the festival lends itself to being a very opportune distraction. With glowing lights and pieces of jewelry (he has a glowing ring on every finger now, and a winding bracelet that lights his scar) and the normal, fun things he should be reveling in. Crowds! He could even perform here!
And yet his lute sits at home, alone.
And he is ducking into a circus! Except, when he looks around, it isn't a circle at all. Nary is there a single exotic bird to be admired as it does tricks or lights on fire. There are machines that, honestly, look like nothing to him. There's this biting commentary on in the background, and while the sour tone may have amused him once, it's particularly grating now.
Jaskier perks up when he hears a familiar sigh. It's the sight, really, even moreso than his voice. And the shock he feels at seeing this one in a crowd, oh! A painting should be made of it, as rare an event as it is.]
Apropos of nothing, my dear friend, I have a question for you. [Oh, it could definitely be about these machinations. They could even have a riveting conversation on science! Is that what Jaskier does? Absolutely not.] Where on this blessed, sweet earth did you get the idea that pierogi look like that? They had legs. Legs.
[A philosophical question that has plagued him for days.]
Water like a stone
And he leaves home because the more it roils and tumbles through him, the more selfish it feels. And gods, does Jaskier just HATE feeling selfish, a thing which he most definitely is not.
So the festival lends itself to being a very opportune distraction. With glowing lights and pieces of jewelry (he has a glowing ring on every finger now, and a winding bracelet that lights his scar) and the normal, fun things he should be reveling in. Crowds! He could even perform here!
And yet his lute sits at home, alone.
And he is ducking into a circus! Except, when he looks around, it isn't a circle at all. Nary is there a single exotic bird to be admired as it does tricks or lights on fire. There are machines that, honestly, look like nothing to him. There's this biting commentary on in the background, and while the sour tone may have amused him once, it's particularly grating now.
Jaskier perks up when he hears a familiar sigh. It's the sight, really, even moreso than his voice. And the shock he feels at seeing this one in a crowd, oh! A painting should be made of it, as rare an event as it is.]
Apropos of nothing, my dear friend, I have a question for you. [Oh, it could definitely be about these machinations. They could even have a riveting conversation on science! Is that what Jaskier does? Absolutely not.] Where on this blessed, sweet earth did you get the idea that pierogi look like that? They had legs. Legs.
[A philosophical question that has plagued him for days.]