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

[cointosser]

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 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.]

Comments

[petcromancer]

[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?]

[cointosser]

[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.

[petcromancer]

[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.]

[cointosser]

[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.

[petcromancer]

[Maybe Hector is too trusting, but he believes Jaskier at his word. The man may embellish, but he's yet to lie to Hector in any way that matters.

He fits himself to Jaskier's body as the bard embraces him. The kiss sizzles, and Hector can feel what must be months of pent up frustrations. His lips come away a little swollen and his breath a little unsteady.]

Oh, it was awful. You're in need of practice. [He lies unabashedly and none too convincingly.]

Did you, uh, do much kissing in your sudden year? [Hector aims for 'casual curiosity', which is not what he feels in the least.]

[cointosser]

Ugh, don't say that! I might believe you. [Maybe. Jaskier's thinking of himself has changed in a good deal many ways, but he's not so sure he can fully believe he's gotten worse at kissing. Or other certain gestures.

His brows raise. Of all the questions, that's -- that's what he asks?

He wants to laugh.

Jaskier cups his cheek, stealing another kiss. He gently brushes his thumb across the forgemaster's cheek.] No, not really. In fact, I was quite busy running an underground smuggling ring in a stinking port city. [It sort of sounds like a lie, but it isn't. It's exactly what he's been doing. And his song was about... well, a broken heart, but not in the way Hector first believed.]

It sounds rather sensational when I say it out loud.

[petcromancer]

Please, you know your own skill.

[In the streets with his lute, and in the sheets as well. Jaskier's self-assurance is one of things Hector finds the most intriguing about him.]

Smuggling? My, trading in respectability for a life of crime. I like it.

[He bets Jaskier made a very dashing rogue. In a port city, so maybe a sexy pirate?]

Was busking no longer paying your bills, or was it adventure you were after?