abraxaslogs | [ OPEN/SOME CLOSED ] if I had to do it over, I'd do it all again

[Jaskier's really going through it. No one can tell, of course, because he's very good at pretending everything is all right, even when frequently sticking to the back corners of taverns to drink, even when he's failed to bring a razor to his face for a few too many days, when he's taken to staring at his fingers propped up on the table in front of him between a half-consumed pint of mead with watery blue eyes.

He has a new hat, though. So that's a plus.

Jaskier is still rather easy to approach in a low-lit tavern, with an unlit candle melted into his table half-slumped in his seat. Between large gulps of wine or ale or mead (they all sort of blend together after enough time), one might even catch him stumbling onto the stage with a shitty lute that he hates to belt out a still near-perfect rendition of a rather bitter song that still hits. Though perhaps the feelings that prompted its writing do not linger as much as they had once, it's the perfect meeting of energy and bitterness that... you know, it feels particularly good right now.]

[Hector maybe takes a few days to notice Jaskier's downward spiral. He keeps himself busy, and he's pulled enough all-nighters that he doesn't judge another man for a day or two of missed shaves.

Maybe he's a terrible boyfriend, but he's still pretty new at all this. About caring about people.

Anyways, watching Jaskier perform is something he's started carving out room in his schedule for, and on this particular evening, he's put down his research on Thornean mind-magic and come here to clear his mind.

He waits until the song is done before he seeks out the bard.]

That's a new one. Is there someone I need to be worried about?

[See, he likes to think he's done a rather good job of -- er, not hiding it, exactly, but making himself scarce. Unfortunately, doing so is only making more of a mark that something is clearly. Different.

Perhaps playing Burn is not... the most subtle thing he could've done. But gods, the energy of it. He needs that.

What he does not need is Hector -- fucking, how could he forget Hector? -- startling him, because he is not used to it. For so long, no one sought him out. Not as Jaskier.

He holds a hand over his heart, smoothing down his ruffled chemise.] Ah, Hector! It's -- no, no, of course not. [Oh, fuck. That sounds suspicious. And it's so far from the real problem.] It's... nothing. Just a spot of heartbreak in the past I was. Mulling over. [Without a pause, and perhaps with a hint of wine to his breath, he takes Hector by the shoulders. Oh. Lovely and real. Still very well muscled under those clothes.] It feels like ages since I've seen you.

[His words are quiet. Like a year and then some, and yet -- no time has really passed, has it?]

[Jaskier has this nervous habit, where he says more words to say less things. It is not smooth.

Hector frowns. From his perspective, no time has passed, so he's got no context with which to read Jaskier's sudden dwelling on some past dalliance gone wrong.]

...is there any reason it's been on your mind?

[He's really going about all this the wrong way, but, you know. It's certainly a Jaskier way of handling it. Being terribly obvious, and uncomfortable, perhaps a hint scared.

He missed Hector. In a way he cannot define, because -- he had not remembered him there. The Singularity -- for who else could be the culprit? -- had taken that from him. Taken the memories that may have steadied him so he could experience trudging through the hip-deep shit that Continent had become.

Has become.]

I don't suppose there's a way out of this question by continuing to pretend everything is all right, is there?

No, I'm afraid that strategy is going to fail you.

[Hector's inexperienced with people, but he's not dumb. It doesn't help that Jaskier hides his guilt worse than a dog covered in feathers from a shredded pillow.]

If you don't want to talk about it, just say so. I'm not going to force it from you.

[But he hopes he doesn't have to. They've become close. They don't have to tell each other everything, but if it's something important, Hector would hope Jaskier would share it.]

And if some old flame needs to disappear, that could be arranged.

[Ah. Drat.

One can't blame him for trying.

Jaskier takes his hands from Hector's shoulder, crafting a polite space between them. A funny thing, it is, this dissonance. Wanting to talk about it, wanting to not. Thinking to himself, if you were there, this wouldn't have happened to me. How could one forget their lover offering to raise the dead for them? Forgemasters, he imagines, don't get tied to chairs and played about with like dolls owned by... pyromaniacs.

He shivers.]

I appreciate it.

[He leaves it there, for now. Yes, he sort of does want to tell him. But he also feels terrible enough he burdened Hector with the whole Geralt thing. He must appear rather fraught with drama, mustn't he?

Jaskier chokes suddenly. Oh. Oh. That's -- that's what he thought? He. Oh. Oh, for the gods' sake --

Does it really sound like that sort of song?

(It could be about anyone.)]

While I find it extremely sexy that you would offer to take out anyone who has broken my heart -- and believe me, were we on the Continent, I would take you up on it -- it is not necessary in this instance. [His heart, if possible is all the fonder for the offer of -- er, murder, maybe? Hector is so... so very much himself.]

I do, I think, want to talk about it. With you. It's only... difficult. [How does he even explain? He's tried, a few times, but he isn't really sure it comes across. What happened. What it's done to him.

His set is done. He can't imagine forcing out another song now. Not today.] What say we go for a walk? I'll try to. Explain. Perhaps in three hundred words or less.

[Hector doesn't get why Jaskier is sputtering, it's obvious what kind of song it is. But he relaxes slightly when Jaskier dismisses the offer of murder. So it's either not of a level meriting capital punishment, or the offender isn't here. Good.

He puts a hand on Jaskier's elbow so he can keep him close even as the duck through the crowd drawn in by the bard's performance.]

Brevity hasn't been one of the considerable talents you've displayed thus far. Take as many words as you need for it.

[He snorts.] You know, I could take that as an insult. Even if you're very right.

[He knows how he is. It's what makes him so good at his job. All of his jobs. Music and mayhem. Yet, this story sits like a stone stuck in his throat. Even with Ciri, who had lived through part of it, he'd barely gotten it out. (He still needs to find some apology for her that is worth it. He's still sorry she was the one to walk in on him after he first awoke.)

Ugh. He can do this! It's. It's only somehow harder here. Again. To tell it again.

He'll take that touch, at least. He doesn't make a habit of escaping from his performances or his crowds, but here it's for the best. He thought he could do it, and he wanted to, and now the emotions the song dregs up, the time of his life in which he performed it --

Out in the cool night air of Cadens, he can breathe again. He hefts his lute higher onto his shoulder, the strap digging in, and allows its familiar weight.]

Let me attempt being succinct, then. [He swallows as they begin to walk, his hands on the strap of the lute case to finger it with a hint of nervous energy.] I woke up a few days ago, having dreamed I was on my sphere. Living my life. Surviving it, I should say. And when I awoke, it was confirmed by my companions to be real memories.

[There. Succinct. That really tells it all, doesn't it?] It was over a year of memories, however. In a night. And then I found myself back here, burdened with them, and -- I feel like someone now I did not entirely used to be.

[Hector puzzles over what Jaskier tells him of his experience. Hector has heard tell of men who lay in comas, to awaken with memories of what was said to them while they slumbered. He has experienced dreams that seemed to drag on impossibly long, only to find only an hour's nap had passed.

But a full year's worth of life, experienced in a night? No wonder Jaskier is so upset. It must be overwhelming, the shock of so much information being forced into the brain all at once.]

That's.... Fuck. [What is one supposed to say to make this sort of mind-fuckery better? Should they be drunk for this?]

[It's funny, in a way, how such a simple, honest reaction is almost... relieving? Was this what he needed? Someone to hear him, to go, that is really fucked up, and to accept it?

It's easier this way. He knows it is fucked up. It has fucked him up beyond belief. And he does not worry that Hector won't believe him, or that it could be something he simply imagined.

And on the other hand, he can trust Hector not to have the same burdens, like Ciri or Geralt. When conversations dragged on so heavily with the things that went unsaid but they were both aware of.]

Yeah. [Jaskier is almost amused. Yeah. It fucking sucks.] I know. So if anyone is to question my new frequent patronage of the local taverns, you may see why.

[Hector nods. He can't judge Jaskier for his coping mechanisms.

He beckons the bard closer, though.]

Come here for a moment. It's been a year since you kissed me.

[And then they can go get fabulously drunk or slander old lovers or burn down a building, whatever Jaskier needs.]

[He blinks.

It's that easy? He simply accepts it? Time is a rather nebulous thing, after all --

Oh, fuck it. Who is he to complain? He winds his arms around Hector, all but smashing their lips together. He has a year to make up for, after all, and he intends to. In this, at least.

He tastes the same. Kisses the same. Those memories are the ones that rise, not the ones from the Continent.]

Hopefully I haven't gotten any worse at it.

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[ it's a few days before sam decides he can't wait any longer. geralt had told him a little about what happened, more so in the sense if sam had heard anything about it happening before. a dream, but not quite a dream. he could tell there was more going on there, if only by how distant geralt was when asked, but sam figures it's one of those things they'll get to (hopefully) with time, so he doesn't push.

what sam struggles with, he finds, is where it concerns jaskier. a worry that sparks when geralt asks, and that continues to simmer the longer he goes without hearing from him. yes, he understands that in the grand scheme of things, a few days isn't enough to call in the cavalry, maybe, and sam knows that jaskier is safe and alive and okay, by geralt terms, but sam could pick up on the pause. could see there is something a little more to 'okay'.

it doesn't take a master detective to figure out which tavern jaskier's been frequenting, and when sam arrives he finds jaskier in (what the bartender tells him, as he gets a drink) his usual corner. still, there is something off about it. about the slant to jaskier's shoulders and the way he's staring, distantly, at his fingertips. so much that he doesn't notice sam's approach, and probably doesn't until sam is sliding into the spot on the bench directly next to him - close, close enough that his thigh's pressed up against jaskier's and their shoulders just nearly knock. the proximity is something the two of them know well, if only for how that had been a cornerstone of their friendship. jaskier, who had always sought out physical affection, and sam, who had always been happy to provide.

sam sets another mug of cider in front of jaskier - an offering - as he leans in, his tone light and friendly, despite the obvious mood. ]

Hat's new. I like it.

[It is the bump of shoulders that wakes him up; all at once it's so quietly familiar, pulling him out of. Thoughts. Memories. Jaskier blinks, and his body uncurls from how tightly wound it'd been, though not fully relaxed. That was one calls a spiral. So much so that he didn't even notice someone approaching.

It was that easy. It's exactly that sort of thing that gets a man taken by surprise.

Here, with the bulk of Sam pressing against him, a wall on his other side, it feels strangely. Safe. Compared to his other company, Jaskier manages a smile this time to greet him.]

Fetching, I've been told. On me, of course. I'm not sure you've the face for hats. [Immediately pulling for humor, as he does. He already knows Sam's going to know. He always seems to.] Please don't tell me Geralt sent you after me. No, no. [He's already pulling the mug of cider over, interrupting himself with a held up hand and a solid gulp of it.] He wouldn't. That would take a bit too much care on his part. No, I'm betting he's told you something, and you caught on, and then he said something about how I was fine or I'll get through it.

[His voice noticeably gets deeper at the words, as if impersonating their speaker. It's not even a guess. He already knows.]

[ sam feels better, seeing the fact he at least relaxes. at least reacts. it's a good sign, amidst all the rest of it, and it's something sam decides to lean into. that relaxing, that smile, those brief moments of jaskier that he expects to find, almost in spite of the heavy cloud he could feel even as he walked in the room. ]

Oh, definitely. Never needed to be a hat guy. That market's all yours.

[ because sam sees no problem in meeting him in the humor - and it is because he knows. because he sees. because he can tell that something is off in the simple way that jaskier holds himself (one of the downsides of being such an expressive person). and that is when jaskier starts talking, starts mentioning geralt, starts dropping his voice to impersonate and while it's actually quite a good impersonation, sam doesn't say much at all. just watches him, just listens, just lifts a single brow in the sort of way that asks, without speaking, is this how we're going to do this? ]

He asked me if I've ever heard of anyone having a dream made up of things they don't remember happening, and if I could ask around to see if anyone had. So- no. no 'fine's or 'get through it' s. Just me, wondering where the hell you've been, and then hearing about your new hits. [ he resists the urge to look down at his drink, to give jaskier a moment to hide. instead, sam leans forward to try and get his eyes, aware that it might be taken that he's boxing jaskier in - the number of ways they're touching, how jaskier's other side is just the wall. but sam doesn't move away from him. just looks. just waits ]

He did mention you might have gone through something similar, but I'm pretty sure I could have figured that part out on my own, thanks.

[Jaskier's face pinches together, and he purses his lips with a sigh. He looks away, which, unfortunately, and awkwardly, has him staring at the wooden wall beside him. Which, at the very least, isn't too terribly stained.

He does not appreciate being wrong. (Because then Geralt couldn't even give him that much, could he?)

What once was comforting is now quickly becoming the opposite. He clears his throat, attempts to move over. There is nowhere to go.

What is it with people he knows cornering him? Does he simply give off the impression of some sort of bird, perhaps a fox? A fox simply begging to be caged?]

Yes, well, you and everyone, apparently, within a ten-mile radius. [It's the first edge to rise to his voice, brows turning into a frown. He occupies himself deeply with drinking, as if there is nothing more he should be doing. Nothing more to be looking at. Yes, practically everyone he's met once that he is running into again knows something is wrong with him. And as much as he does not want to be questioned or asked after, he cannot simply be. He is not that man anymore. He never can be again.

And in time, he imagines, there are plenty who will not want who he is now.

Yes, well. They'll have to line up behind Geralt, won't they? What's a few more heartbreaks on top of everything else?]

Ah.. Since Geralt failed to mention me, as per usual: I'm not fine, Sam. I'm not. I simply have no energy to pretend otherwise. But I don't want nor need to be cornered and interrogated about it, either. There's... [His fingers curl around the mug, and he spins it slowly for something for his fingers to do.] Nothing I say will change anything.

[ sam is watching - perhaps too closely - which is why and how he notices how it is that jaskier turns away. notices how he tries to pull away, but has nowhere to go. sam considers, if only briefly, if he should push in a bit harder. if he should hold his line here, just as he wants to hold his insistence, but there is something in jaskier that feels a lot more distant, a lot more guarded. sam is suddenly reminded of how little he really knows, how little of time they’ve actually known each other, and as if in spite of the sharp and painful way that thought hurts, sam slides away from jaskier on the bench. not super far, perhaps only half a foot or so, but enough.

he noticed how jaskier was acting, and whether or not sam wants the space, he offers it anyway. swallows back the heavy, awkward feeling in his chest.

sam keeps his expression neutral, though - the faint hint of concern and thoughtful worry heavy in the wrinkles around his eyes. the edge in jaskier’s voice is palpable, but sam doesn’t wince under it. doesn’t so much as shudder. he takes the sharp edges and the barbs and the distance and listens to it all, patient, allowing jaskier to finish before he nods.

But I don't want nor need to be cornered and interrogated about it, either.

he does not show the way that stings. the way that weight in his chest tightens at you and everyone else ]

Okay. [ he says evenly, not unkindly. it’s still friendly and still polite and sam does not appear at all phased by whatever it jaskier is trying to do. if anything, he looks just as comfortable as he had when he sat down. and then he shrugs, pulling his own mug up for a drink. ] That works.

[ there’s another pause here, where jaskier could interrupt or interject if he wants to. if not, sam will look back to him with a small smile. ]

It’s a good song, you know. I mean- all your songs are good, so that’s not a surprise.

[It must be that Sam never looks away that he feels so -- tight. Tightly wound, like a garrote, sharp around his neck. Against the wall.

Then Sam moves. He exhales, the cider warm and sweet. His shoulders become less taut. And finally, he can look back at Sam. His warm eyes. The smile that didn't even waver. It isn't even the first time he thinks, if he'd been there, I might have been okay.

Goddammit. It's so annoying that he's so charming. He's not even trying.]

My apologies, Sam.

[It's his only interjection. He drinks deeply, letting it settle. Not entirely relaxed, but not as eager to bolt at the first sight of escape.] I know. It's very good. [He smiles more with his mouth than his eyes.] Thank you. [It's only a compliment. He knows that. It's only... of course it's a good song. He wrote it. He wrote it in a terrible place.] I didn't realize you were listening.

[It's always a surprise, honestly, when a friend does show up to listen.]

[ sam does clock the almost immediate way that jaskier immediately seems to relax. and it's not that he's taking any part of this clinically, but the clues are starting to add up. the defensiveness in his tone, the feeling of being cornered, the way jaskier's eyes had been on his hands more than anything else. something hard and cold is starting to solidify in sam's chest, but he doesn't let any of it reach his face.

he does shake his head at the apology, quick to wave it off. he doesn't need to apologize, doesn't need to explain, and doesn't need to talk about it if he doesn't want to - which jaskier has made it very clear he does not (at least right now). so sam adjusts his expectations for the conversation, relaxes his shoulders, tries to lighten whatever it is that started to feel a little sharp between them. ]

I'm usually am more than I'm not. [ listening, he means. it's not said with any intention behind it. rather, sam sounds a bit like he's sharing a secret - something most people don't even really notice. he shrugs, once, his hands curling around his own mug. ] You sound surprised.

[He raises his brows in acknowledgement of that, tipping the mug back until it's drained. Gods. They really need to invent the refilling ones he has in the Horizon. They're so much easier to deal with. And cheaper.

He drops a few coins on the table for the next tender to grab, who goes by their table and simply drops a full pitcher in front of them. It's clear that Jaskier's got the tavern folk trained at this point.

Why not? He has coin. He worked bloody hard for it.]

You and Geralt both. Always hearing much more than everyone would be comfortable with. [Previously, it didn't bother him. Previously, he had never put effort into hiding something. And it was funny, sort of. In a shitty way. He has an entire alternate ego he crafted over a year, and his hand is what he wants to hide.

It's the first time talking doesn't feel like a balm that will help him. It's more like a chore.

He draws his thumb around the lip of his mug. He shouldn't say it. He shouldn't. It's terribly self-indulgent in the worst way. Pitying. But he says it because he's Sam, and since he met Sam he has always been this easy, easy company.] It's been a long time since anyone's cared to check up on me. [He refills the mug, purses his lips, already hates he said it. He doesn't need people to check up on him, either. He was doing well. He was helping. And the more he helped, the closer it felt he was getting to being all right again. To being something more than a brokenhearted bard. Something more than a man who could have done better.

In the end, though, wasn't that the sum of all their failures? The harrowing fact that, indeed, they could have all done better?]

I could go on and on about how I don't need it, as we all could. But who can deny the joy it brings when a friend shares what's important to you?

[ sam watches the interaction with more focus than us really necessary - the empty mug, the coins, the waiter, the pitcher. it is not lost on him, the ease of it. the casual nature. how often has jaskier done that very thing? should he have come by sooner? is it something he even needs to be worried about?

his eyes follow the waiter back into the throws of the tavern, if only to let jaskier have a few more moments without sam’s attention directly on him. ]

If it makes you feel any better, I only hear what’s actually said. [ partially a joke about geralt’s super hearing, but also partially an acknowledgement of what jaskier has said. and done. and how sam wouldn’t have anything else to go on.

but in the moments that follow, jaskier hesitates. or perhaps he doesn’t hesitate, but he does lose himself in his thoughts. in this lowered mood. in the heaviness that tugs at him even as sam has tried to come by and take some for himself. that feeling is what keeps sam’s half-joking comments to himself. what has him waiting for a bit more before he speaks.

and he’s glad he did. because jaskier lets slip that little comment and sam…he doesn’t get it, necessarily, but he’s closer to understanding. ] I’m sorry I took so long. [ and it’s genuine, his tone. not overly apologetic or guilty or off. just - simply - sorry. sorry he wasn’t here. sorry it got to this point. sorry that whatever it was jaskier went through had him thinking that no one cared. jaskier doesn’t say it, and maybe it’s not even completely true, but sam has a feeling there’s something under it all that is closer.

sam finally turns back to jaskier, then. first with a glance, and then with a turn of his body. he decides that now is when jaskier does get his full attention, whether or not he wants it. ] So tell me. What brings you joy, right now? What can I do?

[Sam only earns a wry snort for the comment. It's not really about what Geralt hears; perhaps Jaskier is different in that he has always been so used to Geralt hearing everything. Jaskier had never had anything to hide. The only thing he'd been annoyed by was Geralt commenting on his songs before they were finished, but it was a rare occurrence he commented on anything in the first place.

No. What really bothered him was how much Geralt sees. Not with only his eyes. He breaks things down without being told a single clue, if he must. Jaskier must be realistic with himself. Geralt already knows something happened to him.

He won't ask. But he knows.

Jaskier waves his hand, waves the sentiment off.] Don't worry. I never wait for anyone. [That's never what... any of it was about. Waiting. It was about moving forward, deciding there were things better for him. We're better off without him.

Far from true, even now.]

What... brings me joy? [He turns to Sam, raising a brow, his hands stilling.] Are you being serious right now? [He is. That's a serious question.] Unless you wish to give me a mild head injury with those sizable biceps of yours, there's not much you can do, I'm afraid.

[You know, so he could forget the last year. Forget that the Continent is on the brink of shit, forget that... well. He's a sorry sack when things don't go his way.]

[ the wry smile has sam's eyes almost immediately, and then earns jaskier a short tilt of his head. curious. another reminder that he is listening, no matter if it's a snort of a wave of his hand or a don't worry, I never wait for anyone. sam wonders how much of that is true, and then in turn wonders how much of it is what jaskier wishes were true.

he knows there had been something about a dream. knows that geralt came back one day looking years older (like it was even possible) and that while he looks at jaskier now he has the same weight. the same age. the same...god. whatever it was that happened wasn't good and sam feels a bit like he's failing to keep up. he keeps listening, though, and even with that incredulous look and the half-said comment and the actual something that hangs between his eyes...

sam lets out a breath, downing the rest of his drink (there wasn't all that much left - an idle thing he'd been picking at since they sat down) and turning the rest of the way that he was facing jaskier on this bench they shared, on leg on either side, his shoulders still relaxed, but his brow furrowed. ] I'm not going to knock you out, Jaskier. If even if you wanted me to. [ sam offers something of a wry smile, like it could be a joke, like he's trying to provide any sort of levity to this, when he doesn't really even know what this is. ]

And you said you didn't want to talk about it, so I won't ask. Which leaves me with either distracting you, or keeping you company. [ there's a very slight shift in his tone, here, if jaskier notices. something that evolves from simply a friend to a friend and trying to be helpful. because he is trying, and for all that jaskier might lash out (which he hasn't yet, not really) or push away (only a little bit), sam can be stubborn, if he can decide if that will actually help. ]

Or- [ he continues, that joking tone easing its way back in again. ] You could also tell me to fuck off. And I would. But I really hope you don't.

[ after a moment, sam holds out his hands, palms up with the backs of them on his own thighs. it's an invitation, for jaskier to take, but with very little pressuring involved. if sam were being honest, he hoped jaskier would take his hands, hoped a lot of things might happen in the following, but he remembers the way jaskier had looked caged in. the way he hadn't wanted sam that close.

it feels a bit like stumbling around in the dark, but sam's not afraid, so he waits to see what jaskier will do. watches him, patiently, and prepares to be rejected, if that's going to be the way of this night. ]

Well?

Edited 2022-01-28 16:53 (UTC)

I know you aren't. I absolutely would not say that to anyone who would take me up on the offer.

[The joke comes easily; at least this part of him is the same as before. Before. Before a single night somehow apparently ruined him to the point that Sam gives him these large puppy eyes, as if he's at the brink of doing something terrible and dramatic. No. He simply wants to drink. He simply would rather not remember.

Jaskier is already shaking his head. Wow. Who knew he had so many options?]

No, I don't wish to tell you to fuck off, thank you. I'm not so rude. I don't mind your company, even when you're being a little pushy. [That isn't even laced in sarcasm. He means it. Even if he's miserable and afraid and wants to be alone, he truly doesn't. He never has. Jaskier is simply not like that.

And that is who he is. So he is still the same, in the ways that matter, and though he doesn't offer one hand -- the ones with the burns -- he does place his left hand over Sam's, whether he understands the depth of the gesture or not.] I could never deny anyone so handsome. I'm a simple man at heart.