Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2022-01-17 02:29 pm
cointosser) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-01-17 02:29 pm
[ OPEN/SOME CLOSED ] if I had to do it over, I'd do it all again
Who: Jaskier, Ciri, Geralt, Yennefer, Alucard, and some open prompts
When: Mid-to-Late January
Where: Cadens and the Horizon
What: Jaskier wakes from a vivid, nasty dream to physical evidence that it was unfortunately very real. He spirals, but like, only a little bit. It mostly involves getting drunk and buying hats to cope.
Warnings: Mentions of bodily injury/torture, maybe PTSD, heavy drinking
[Will be throwing starters (including open ones) down below! You can hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
scathefire or #scathefire6612 if you'd like to plot anything or want an additional starter. Also, let me know if you'd like me to avoid S2 spoilers, because there will be a lot.]
When: Mid-to-Late January
Where: Cadens and the Horizon
What: Jaskier wakes from a vivid, nasty dream to physical evidence that it was unfortunately very real. He spirals, but like, only a little bit. It mostly involves getting drunk and buying hats to cope.
Warnings: Mentions of bodily injury/torture, maybe PTSD, heavy drinking
[Will be throwing starters (including open ones) down below! You can hit me up at
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Jaskier would normally complain about having companions who are less than verbose, but honestly, it's perfect for right now. Given the stage, he's allowed to give as much or as little as he wishes. It's coming out, a bit at a time, as he allows himself to think over it again. To... acknowledge each event as he sorts and pushes away.
Alucard doesn't question it, either. That does not, of course, mean he believes it. But without question right now is perfectly all right.
Besides. The swallow is loving the attention, and its presence is. A little spot of hope. If his magic can find him again despite its blocks, perhaps... like Geralt said, he can. Keep going on.
It feels like an exercise in futility still.]
The hats were helping. I think. It wasn't making it worse. [He almost makes it a joke. Almost. It is a fine hat.] The wine is debatable.
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[And something he'll probably have to keep an eye on. For now though, this should do. Being inside where it is quiet. Making sure that there's food, and focusing on a bird to make processing the whole of it just a little easier.
The hat though. Alucard lets out a soft snort.] Don't buy too many hats either. There will be other accessories.
[Alucard can't think of what, but he isn't especially fashionable himself. He likes simplicity in appearance, but he has some advantages in being able to make anything look good when he's wearing it.]
The process ahead is unpleasant for making sense of these things. But you'll figure it out in your own time.
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Alucard may have a point.]
So, bejeweled rings next? [The swallow stands up to go closer to his plate. Carefully, he spoons a little pile of rice onto the table for it to pluck at. (It is, of course, discouraged gently away from the chicken.)
He does manage a bite of it, which is more than he's eaten in. Mm. Maybe a day or two. He's not sure. The wine fills an empty bell either way, but, credit to Alucard's palate, because it does taste rather good.
And normally that was enough for him. Company, and good food -- there would be wine, but something expensive, meant to be savored. Not downed as fast as possible.]
Geralt said the same thing. You know, in his own way. Sort of. [He pushes a bit of chicken around, back and forth, with a finger.] It sounds like bullshite to me. The sort of thing you say when someone's dog's been run over by a horse, and you know that pain never goes away. Especially funny, coming from a couple of immortals.
[He wishes that his dog was run over by a horse. That seems rather easy to deal with in comparison.] At least Hector could bring my dog back.
[Yes, he sort of ruined the simile. Still.] And do you ever figure out how much time it takes?
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[Just throwing it out there. Alucard continues to eat while continuing to listen. There's nothing about this that comes naturally. Every part of him is screeching from the sheer awkwardness, of not knowing how to handle the shoe being on the other foot between them. That is what the food is for, in truth. Buying little scraps of time to think of what to say next without standing there awkwardly.
So he'll indulge the bird too. Some rice from his place and--
A very soft, regretful laugh comes at the mention of Geralt's name.]
I've come to learn not to ask him for advice. Hasn't gone well in the past. [But bullshit. Alucard nods, accepting the fact.] It is. But you know a fair portion of where I am coming from when I say all of the nonsense. It's better-- oh, don't joke. He would.
[Goddamnit, leave Hector out of this.]
I'm younger than you and my issues are fresh. I have no idea at all. [Alucard's sigh is soft, as is the question that follows.] Why do you think I've made a graveyard my project?
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Jaskier could use some coats. In 800 years retail therapy will be invented, but at least he can indulge in it now without having learned the term. Hats, and coats, and perhaps some sort of nice ring. He's already taken to wearing the ring he'd bought to give Hector on a chain now mostly out of... well, a reminder.
Sorry, Alucard. He can't not think of Hector. Like this: thinking that if he'd had someone like Hector around, these things simply would not have happened to him.
Jaskier snorts, and finally he digs into the food. It's good and, for whatever reason, his appetite seems to increase the more he unburdens himself. Alucard is easy company when it's about himself, funny enough. There doesn't feel like judgement. Not that he'd be bothered by it much, but --]
No, he gives terrible advice. Or lofty quotations he heard or read somewhere. He's not wrong often, which is infuriating, but the delivery is always poor.
Oh. Right. Like, twenty? Twenty is terribly young. It's only brain makes vampires = age. At least he hadn't met any new vampires. It probably would have gone as badly as the new mages in his life.]
All right, I get your point. I need... a project. [With a sigh, he feeds the swallow a bit of onion. Or. Wait, is onion poisonous to birds? Has he read that somewhere? Or was it dogs? Suppose it doesn't matter. He's not even sure the birds he makes can die.
Birds. The Sandpiper. A project.
A small idea is brewing.] Something meaningful. Deeply, tragically meaningful. It has to be, or it isn't consuming enough for me.
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Alucard fails to hide his visible relief at Jaskier actually digging into the food in front of him. He's not subtle on the best of days, and right now is not the best of days by a long shot. If it's just someone shoving food in front of the bard or what, the dhampir doesn't know and refuses to question. He just knows it works.]
Beyond poor. My setback wasn't helped by his awful delivery, although I admit I also did not ask the right questions. [And uh, okay, his issues slammed against Geralt's in the worst way at the time. Jaskier does not need that detail at all.
The dhampir perks just a little as Jaskier seems to get the point. He won't leap over it with mad excitement, but he will nod once. It isn't approval, just soft recognition that he's going down the right path.]
Precisely. Although...tragically?
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At least he's smart enough to not mention that Hector and Alucard have identical ways of attempting to help him get through. Things. Which -- poor Hector. First Geralt, now this. Actually, he'd rather go back to after Geralt came back. Things were still manageable. The worst thing he had to deal with was his magic not doing quite what he wanted.
He pauses in his eating, glancing over. Even the swallow tips its head in question. He'd long picked up that something had come up between Alucard and Geralt -- Alucard's reluctance in helping Ciri and he look for him being the most obvious -- but, honestly, he'd never bugged either of them to find out the cause of it.
Geralt saying something that bothered someone? Not entirely a new occurrence.]
He has that effect sometimes.
[It is not meant to be a condemnation nor a defense. It's only a fact. Geralt can be terribly meaningful in his help, but he is still not human. Well. Alucard isn't either, but he acts human, enough so that he is just as set apart from Geralt as Geralt is from humans.
Essentially: it's how it is, sometimes.
A small hmhm noise comes from deep in his throat, and, gods. It might be a laugh. The beginnings of one. The conception of actual humor.] All right, I'm being dramatic. A little. It's -- [He does pause, though, enough that it shows it isn't all entirely a joke. Tragically came to mind because the Continent was just that. Xin'trea. The whole... fuck. Everything.
He wanted to make a difference. And he had. He had. He knows that.]
I don't want to only help myself. I... suppose, like your cemetery, I want to. [He gestures in the air, vaguely, and it's vague because he's also trying to find the way to word it himself.] I want to make things better. I know my music does, in some ways, but it isn't... enough. Anymore.
[And if he's being serious with himself, he can't say he particularly feels inspired to perform. (And that, more than anything, may be what he's running from. If all of this leads to him no longer able to do what he was put on the Continent to do, then what new purpose will he find?)]
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Alucard's face flashes towards the apologetic. He knows very well that the Geralt matter was not his finest moment. It was a confluence of terrible timing on all accounts, and the horrid failure to recognize that Alucard's issues and Geralt's issues sprung from a similar place, but then diverged in the worst way possible. Strong words weren't inevitable, unless you asked the wrong questions in the worst way possible.]
Like I said. I've learned a lesson. I wasn't at my best then, I apologize.
[It probably is a pointless apology. Geralt had gotten a real one in so much as they both acknowledged what happened, and Ciri had recieved something similar enough. Jaskier should have been the first person t hear something but...no matter. It was said and done with now, that's the important part.
Which is what makes it easier with the three of them, Alucard's come to realize. Little prying because everyone has secrets they'll share in time, and accepting that things are what they are sometimes on emotional matters. The lack of pressure on any of it is simpler. Less stressful. Helpful.
The dhampir politely refuses any low hanging fruit of you? Dramatic? He's not that unkind, and--
--oh.
Alucard considers the real weight of this. Whatever happened is truly awful then.] Taking care of the dead is the easiest thing in the world. [It isn't, but the point is the living are always harder.]
If your music isn't enough anymore, can at least be a stepping stone towards something larger? I'll speak from experience that lashing out like I did is not a steady foundation. A long nap was marginally more so.
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He pets the little swallow with amusement.] When they're not your dead, I suppose that's true.
[Not that he his own dead to take care of, either. If the elves died on the way to Xin'trea -- and by gods, he hoped not -- he wouldn't be aware, either way. The Witchers, too. They weren't his people. He'd barely known any of them. And now their bodies lay spheres away, with poor Vesemir to take care of.
Hm. He pokes at a piece of chicken, considering it. It is a good point. One he's considered himself, of course, but the point of the Sandpiper was no one knew what who or what they were. Here, there is no fear of being discovered. The people who know him here know him for who he is.]
How long a nap are we discussing? One year? Two? [His lips twitch, and this time the joke comes easier.] Funny. I understand your urge now, to make your crypt and simply fall asleep. Though I'd probably get bored of it far sooner than you.
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A grim smile follows.] Yes, that's true. The impersonal dead, such as it is. But they deserve that care.
[It is selfish to use people he doesn't know for his own benefit, but at least the graveyard stays up and running. Better that than stones that fall away into nothing.]
I've not decided. Last time it was a year, but also to buy myself some time for healing. [The dhampir shifts in his seat, a bit of his own scar peaking out from the fabric of his shirt. Quietly, he indicates the extent of the wound.] Maybe more. Maybe a life time, so it feels like starting fresh.
[But at least someone now understands.] You probably would. But then you'd have some time to breathe before addressing it all.
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The feeling feels ages ago, but. Only a few weeks, as well.
Somehow that's the worst of it. How time stretches and shrinks all at once. Perhaps if the memories had been spread out.
Healing. The mention has him looking down at his hand, as loathe as he is to look, to remember. To recall it in perfect detail. It was only a night, and yet he knows he will not be able to forget it. A blip in a long life already. He looks back and follows the hint of Alucard's, too.
How childish it must be, comparing fingers to an entire life. He has no misgivings that such a wound could have killed him, had he not been able to heal.]
A lifetime. You can do so with immortality. [Though he understands, he still hopes Alucard won't. Jaskier will terribly miss his company should he decide to sleep for a lifetime. Besides, what more could Jaskier have? Twenty years? Thirty? Longer than Alucard's lifetime, and yet nothing when compared to generations.
Strange. Does he expect to spend the rest of his life here? If the Singularity still managed to pull him back after all that, then -- he may not really have a choice.
The first time he's thought of it, and he realizes... no. It doesn't feel so terrible a thing.]
Alas. Wishes don't become desires, unless one happens to find a djinn. And my last encounter with one went rather terribly. [The swallow pecks at his hand, noting with a chirp that he has yet to really dig into his meal. Fine, fine. He goes back to eating so it doesn't bother him more.] Well, it's as you said. Music should be the first place I start. Or the second, rather. I think I will begin with checking on the cemetery gardens. I fear I may have neglected them the last few weeks.
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He eats a little more, almost laughing into his forkful of rice with the swallow starts to reprimand the bard for only picking at the food. That earns the creature an approving pat on the head before Alucard returns to the matter at hand.]
I should like to hear the djinn story one day. [Not now, not with the word terribly in the mix.] I'd appreciate that. And perhaps some new plantings might not go awry either.
[It is doing physical work with one's hand and brain. Something that requires concentration, and hopefully might serve as an acceptable distraction for the immediate short term.] There's a small bench near the cactus that might benefit from some landscaping.
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The first time they met Yennefer. The jury is still out on whether that was to their benefit or to their detriment in the end.]
It is one I'd love to tell. [There is an understood, silent in the future there that he doesn't need to say. Perhaps it is one Jaskier can tell while he works on the cemetery.
It's a good idea. A good start. And that's enough for him right now. Something to start on, that may occupy his mind deeply enough that his thoughts may not wander far.] I'll experiment with something grander, then. I've always wanted to work with rosebushes but they're such finicky things. They cannot reject the work of my hands now.
[It is not the weight that has been lifted from him, but more as if he's been given a hint of strength to bear it. Quietly, he lays out coin on the table in silent thanks. This was what he needed. A start.] You were right. It's a very good place for lunch. [Even his swallow appears satisfied.] If you aren't busy, what do you say we begin this work now?
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Roses sound like a worthy project. Perhaps in an ombre?
[An addition to a challenge, just to keep him even more occupied. Alucard knows that it may fail, but he is absolutely trying here and it seems this is the best path forward. With that done, he makes quick work of what remains on his own plate, then adds his own coin to Jaskier's pile.]
It gets busier with the sunset. A good place to be alone in a crowd. [His preference if he must be with other people.]
I've nothing but time, and today, it is yours.
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[Yes, an ombre. If he can create a bloody cactus from nothing, what's stopping him from creating what he wants? Yennefer did not hold him down and -- er, forcibly help him with his magic for nothing. Fuck it. Perhaps he'll make blue roses. Green ones. Ombre.
He'll have to come back again. To enjoy it all the more.
The swallow reflects the new energy in Jaskier, hopping over the table and then chirping before she flutters up to his shoulder. As if encouraging him, she grabs a curl of hair near his ear and tugs it.
Jaskier pushes out of his seat, giving his companion a muted smile in thanks. The company, he thinks, he could use. (And perhaps Alucard will make sure no more wine comes into the equation.)] Then let us begin. Once it's nightfall, I'm afraid my work will be severely limited.
[And he feels like throwing himself into it now. Alucard, you're a fucking miracle worker.]
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He's in the same place every day when Jaskier arrives at the graveyard, regardless of the time. A white wolf lurking behind the third stone to the left, and eventually a person when Jaskier picks the area he wishes to work on. He lingers for a time, then departs to attend to his own work that remains. He wanders back, talks for a time, then returns to work.
There's a near week of absence, when Geralt asks for Alucard's help on a hunt. Running about in the desert is too deep a temptation, and Alucard makes use of the messaging network to share with Jaskier where he is going and Could you keep an eye on things in my absence, please? I'll owe you another hat for the trouble.
Today is his first day back from the desert. Alucard walks into the graveyard in his human shape, the small pack he carried with him dangling off his left shoulder. His eyes glance around, taking in the week's changes.]
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You hardly need buy me a hat. Of course I will.
But I won't say no.
He shouldn't. It's a free hat.
The week's changes are, perhaps, a bit more extensive than they should be. With Ciri and Geralt both out of Cadens, he's been left alone with Rinwell -- which isn't a complaint, necessarily, but he feels fucking weird being drunk around her, and morose, which is worse. He doesn't need to burden her with anything more when Cadens's attitude towards magic in general is enough of one.
So he's worked hard. The blackberry bushes that were dying around the outer wall of the cemetery are now rose bushes, ranging from a sunset orange to a blood red. And yes, several of the blossoms have carefully crafted ombre gradients spreading across their petals of yellow to orange to reds. Their roots are thick and strong; Yennefer's hand in restoring his magic lingers even now, after his infusion of new memories. Chaos thrives in him, as if making up for its absence.
Some of the more broken tombstones have vines gently wrapping around them, bursting with bold, blue roses, tight enough to hold them together from crumbling any further. And what once was still dirt between the graves is a rich grass, still spreading, dotted with dandelions.
Jaskier is bent over, trying to sway the sprout of an oak tree to grow a bit bigger, if only to shade a few whiny roses that have been coiling away from too much sunlight. But the tree is being quite stubborn, moving its branches but not growing any taller. The crunch of boots on gravel has him looking up, with a final You're not impressing anyone with this attitude towards the sprout.]
Ah, Alucard! Back already. How fares the hunt?
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It isn't a riot of colors he returns to, but a rich variety of textures. Roses with velvety petals and sharp spiked stems, both decorative and practical. Trees that seem to have moved just one little which way or that, for shade or else better balance to an area. While the loss of the blackberry bushes is not ideal, Alucard doesn't find himself missing them much. Their replacements are quite lovely.
The grass though. It isn't practical at all, and yet it thrives, soft as goose down.
There is a faint smile on his face in response to all of the bard's efforts.]
I spent a week howling in the desert, so well enough. [That was really his motivation. Not being worried and using this as an excuse to ask Geralt what happened!]
You've had a productive week. I like the use of the stems to reinforce where my masonry was less than ideal.
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I like to think you mean so literally.
[If anyone howls at the moon, it's likely to be Alucard. He puffs up a little, watching Alucard's eyes move across his work. While Jaskier before would have done it all for the sole purpose of being about as colorful and noticeable as possible, his tastes have clearly become a little more... reserved. More of the plants are dedicated to being helpful rather than pretty, either providing grip to the paths, holding the tombstones together, or offering some thorny protection around Alucard's cactus (which he is pleased to see still stands effortlessly.)]
Oh. You noticed. Thank you. [He's felt stronger than he has in months, even though so much magic has drained him. Funny thing, that. Now he feels the chaos making its equivalent exchange for its use.] You worked with what you could. It felt as if they should have the best efforts to preserve their memorials.
[If Jaskier cannot work to save the living in Abraxas, at least he can start with aiding the dead.]
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He doesn't comment on the hat (is that a new one?!) But to the work at hand, and it is interesting to see the shift at hand. There is still color, but the shift has moved to the world of the practical. Even his cactus now has extra thorns which is admittedly over kill, but also does have a nice aesthetic of it's own.]
It takes one unsubtle person to recognize another. [His grin is small and sly, because well, pot and kettle. The dhampir walks closed towards one of the grave markers, crouching down to see how the plants interface with the rock in better detail.]
You mean in case I didn't mix the mortar correctly? [The question is light. Alucard hums in soft approval, tracing the reinforcement plants carefully with his forefinger.] This is wonderful, and innovative. Thank you.
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Jaskier gapes at him in mock outrage.] What? Alucard, I cannot believe you're calling me unsubtle.
[Even wearing an unbuttoned chemise, the ring of bone hanging from his neck atop curls of chest hair, his long hair tied back into what may constitute something like a ponytail, but is more accurately a rat tail -- even now, he is not exactly subtle.
Mostly because he has a few flowers tucked into the hat already, which shift even without a breeze.]
Has anyone told you you're hilarious? I imagine not. [The plants don't hesitate from Alucard's touch. Much like his birds -- and the swallow he'd created a week ago is still here, fluttering about -- they recognize Alucard as a dear friend.
His chest warms. He, too, kneels next to Alucard, reaching for the vines. They sprout a few more blooms, framing the name on the stone.] You needn't thank me at all. It's enough to have something to focus on.
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[Alucard knows the full of his dramatics are yet to be observed by the bard but...becoming so depressed that one lives in a graveyard is probably as good an example as any that he can think of.]
Your imagination is correct. But when you're not used to being around others, there's no reason for such commentary.
[It is impossible not to see how the plants shift with his touch. That is a very magical little thing, perhaps moreso than the magic that brought them to this graveyard in the first place. He runs his fingers besides one of the vines. A hello, and a little appreciation for the blooms that now frame the deceased's memory.]
It's still something worth saying out loud. [It isn't a charitable you need to hear it moment.] As long as it has helped. Has anything else come into sharper focus while you've been working?
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Which he doesn't do. so.
Jaskier rubs his fingers together, lifting back to his feet. Is it worth it? Well. It is to him. He does want to hear it. He doesn't need to, he thinks, but he'd. Like to. Even if it's such a small thing, it makes a difference to one person.
It's enough for now. Enough to focus on.]
It has. Besides, after that Eifstide disaster, this place was in sore need of such attentions. [And his magic was in need of use. He couldn't, after all, sacrifice the work Yennefer had pumped into him (ah, literaly) because he was feeling sorry for himself.]
Some things. The things that are truly lingering with me. The things that matter more than others. [The healing, he thinks, he might need to get past... memories. The memories that have him hesitating to even light a candle. To twitching when he's alone in the dark. Even how a sight of the Singularity in the Horizon stirs his heart darkly.]
I know I must keep doing something, no matter how small it is. Or I will eventually sink into nothing. As clear a lesson it is... I needed the time to relearn it.
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He'll go to the bath house at some point to divest himself of sand. For now, he'll wiggle his arms every so often to shake grains loose, knowing full well that it is a losing battle. Really, the sand is one of the few downsides of the desert.]
And the work will need to be maintained.
[More Jaskier's than his own. Gardens can fall into disarray faster than stone.
The cactus comes into view eventually. Alucard's feet are moving at a leisurely pace, and he has no real desire to rush ahead at the moment
You figured it out in a week. [Alucard's dry tone is a terrible attempt at humour.] Took me over a month.
[His bag is dropped beside the cactus, and Alucard settles himself down on the ground. It is good, comfy ground.] You're always welcome here, you know that.
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[For now. Alucard is much more optimistic about the point he's reached over himself. He's learned the lesson, and now comes... putting effort into living it. Even now, after his one performance, he has yet to pick the lute up again.
One thing at a time.]
Worry not, I'm nowhere so skilled. I'm still working on it.
[Jaskier walks beside him, shifting the bag at his side a bit harder. He's gathered a few things he needs in the effort: a hand shovel, some sort of clawed thing for digging up roots, and twine he uses to tie bundles of herbs for home up. In some way, he thinks he's settled into the work easier because of what he did in the vineyard. Raising them up by hand, watering and coaxing the sunlight to the levels he needed. Harvesting grapes, stamping them out. Bottling.
Jaskier gives the old cactus a pat. It doesn't move, but it doesn't prod at him with needles miraculously, either. Perhaps a thanks for putting what magic he had into keeping it alive during the Dimming. With a little bow to the cactus, he takes a seat on the bench. Unfortunately, he's not on a "sitting on the dirt" sort of level of ease with the earth yet. He stretches his legs out, knees popping.]
I know now. You were a tough nut to crack, you know. [He smiles at him. Well. A tough nut to crack who needed just a bit of wine in him to crack at all.] I'm glad for it, you know. Your company has always been some of the best.
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