abraxaslogs | [ CATCH-ALL ] i'm allied to the winter

[He laughs. Oh, he laughs, and it feels... it feels good. Suddenly he's terribly swept with how much he already misses Ciri being near. But, of course, he keeps it to himself. They all must do their jobs. And he's been enjoying the small moments of solitude, when they stay peaceful.]

You'd be the first not to say I have a lot to say about everything.

[But particularly music, of course. And he'd only just started on the theoretics. It may behoove him to simply start her on a few scales to start with, then move on to... the loftier subjects.]

I'm happy to! And I promise, I can, ah, slow down a bit. I've taught more than one class at Oxenfurt. I'm sure you're a better student than the majority there. [He sweeps behind her, gently altering her hold so the instrument rests against her chest.] How does she feel?

At least you actually know what you're talking about when it comes to music.

[ That's not a jab, necessarily. Just her penchant for being blunt with the truth. But she says it with a smile, tipping her head back when he comes around behind her so it rests briefly on his chest as she smirks up at him. ]

You mistake being clever for being a good student. I'm sure I'd have tried your patience just as much as my teachers' back in Cintra.

[ Now, though, Jaskier's instruction on how to hold the lute is deftly followed. This, too, Ciri commits to memory -- how it should feel against her, the dimensions of it and the fit in her hands so that she can find something as similar as possible. ]

Good, I think. I do not know what I'm looking for.

Edited 2022-02-22 08:20 (UTC)

I would hope after all this time I know what I'm talking about.

[He's used to it, and for all the things that he may be less than guarded against hearing, Jaskier has absolutely no reason to doubt his musical skills (his skills with protecting his lute from random attacks, however.)

Jaskier lets her hold it, rounding about and taking a step back to see her holding it.

To be fair, it looks incongruent, with her muscled arms and the scar on her face. Ciri, of course, is beautiful -- fitting, coming from her family line -- raised by a host of warriors. Incongruent, maybe, but it's still an image he means to remember.]

Believe me, I know what makes a bad student. Even cleverness without interest is better than certain other qualities.

[Laziness, mostly. Ciri, he can trust, will never turn to sloth. Disinterest is much more likely.] You needn't look for anything now. She suits you, so we'll begin there. You'll need a case, of course, and... all right, it's not really necessary, but I feel every artist's instrument should have its own fingerprint. Figuratively. Perhaps silver knots around the neck? Or sparrows? Is that a bit too on the nose?

[ Ciri gives him an absolute gremlin grin, making the image of her holding the lute possibly even stranger. ]

There was a lady tasked with teaching me the harp when I was... oh, perhaps seven or eight? Terrible old crone. Or so I was convinced at the time. It so happened she was terrified of crickets.

[ Bet Jaskier can't figure out what Ciri devoted all of her extra time to catching and releasing in the music room. ]

We had such an unusual pest problem that summer. Terribly distracting.

[ Jaskier is very lucky Ciri likes him. Now that she's holding the instrument apparently correctly, she slides the side of her thumb down the strings to make... some sort of sound. Probably not a good one. ]

Perhaps. The silver sounds pretty.

[ And, totally innocently, she looks up with big eyes to ask: ]

What would you get, if you could get anything at all?

[If he was already in good spirits before, her story -- which he believes one hundred percent, by the way -- nearly has him laughing a stitch into his side.] Stop, stop! Oh, you're terrible.

[As if he hadn't tortured his own professors he couldn't stand. But he was a good, upstanding student, of course. Never did a bad thing in his life.] No wonder Geralt loves you so. You're both terrible.

[And it's never been said more affectionately.

The sound she makes is a sound, and it's certainly from a lute, but it's pretty all the same: rife with potential, like unsculpted clay.]

Me? Hmm. [He plucks the same note on the lute, showing how her thumb should move across it. At least her nails are already longer. It'll make it easier.] Despite appearances, I do like mine to be simple. I wish you could have seen Filavadrel's lute! It was a beautiful honey color, with gold filigree knots. Simple, but elegant.

[And yet she lay at the Oxenfurt harbor, crushed to splinters.] Perhaps silver this time for me, too. I don't feel much like gold anymore.

[ Ciri grins devilishly, pleased with the compliment. Knowing that's what it is.

When Jaskier shows her how she should strum, Ciri follows suit, humming the note absently. She might not be particularly inclined to music, but she's at least not tone deaf. It's a start. ]

You could show it to me here. If you like. You don't have to.

[ She reminds, gently. Not to prompt bad memories, but if he really wanted to show her, he can here. Ciri knows she won't be able to get anything approaching Elven craftsmanship, but depending on his reaction, she'll know whether she should look for something similar-- or very different. ]

[If you ask him, it's a wonderful start. The worst students are tone deaf. No, wait. The worst are tone deaf and deny being so.]

Ah. Right. You're right.

[He hesitates still. The change that came over his Horizon was not, technically, a conscious one, and though he has seen the effects of unconscious change to one's domain in others, it is startling (and a bit unnerving) in his own. The longer he's here, in Oxenfurt, the less... he thinks he wishes to be.

The Horizon won't hurt him. He's being ridiculous. And Moglad is here, after all. He has done a very studious job of keeping this tavern safe.]

Let me think.

[He wants it to be perfect. His memory of it. And after decades, how could it be less than perfect? Filavandrel's lute (for he's always thought of it that way) appears in his hands, all warm, honey wood and the polite sparkle of gold knotted around her belly. The strings play light, the notes coming easily. His playing is immaculate, of course, but if Ciri has heard him practice at home, the sound from this instrument is infinitely warmer than the lute from Thorne.] I carried it for over twenty years. A gift from Geralt and I's first adventure together. [His hands caress her like a lover -- like he would hold his own heart.

His throat tightens. She lay in the Continent now, only splinters. After a breath, he offers it out to her.] I lost her. Or -- rather, she was taken from me. In those memories.

[She knows which ones.]

It's beautiful.

[ Ciri agrees with a gentle smile, watching his face, the memories playing across it-- ending in the ones he keeps trying to forget at the bottom of a bottle. No, she doesn't think it will be a good idea to look for something similar. Nothing here can match Elven craftsmanship, and even if it could, Jaskier doesn't want a second lute like this. That is not the point.

But at least here, in the Horizon, he can keep the memory fresh as long as he needs. ]

Thank you for showing me.

[He pops his head back up, meeting her smile with his own. It's not quite as bright as before, but it's enough to hold her again. One final time.] Of course.

[The lute dissolves in his arms. He's learning, over time, that clinging to those memories is doing him no favors.] Anyway, there's plenty of other beauties out there. There's no need to attach myself to one. It isn't what made me Jaskier.

[He gives her a short lesson, mostly the basics of music -- finding she knows enough that the start will be easier than most. A few lessons, over the weeks, until she sends him a message again -- so formal, she is! -- to wait at home for her. Well, lucky for her, it's not as if he goes out that much, anyway.]

I hope your surprise is another honey cake. I haven't stopped dreaming of the last one.

[ Ciri hadn't actually meant to sign up for lute lessons, but-- well. Here they are. And at least she enjoys spending time with Jaskier, so it's not a bad deal getting more of it. More importantly, he seems to enjoy it too, and he's been in need of more things to enjoy lately.

So Ciri has been more or less diligent about her lessons. She doesn't put in a lot of practice outside of when she meets with Jaskier for it, but she's not entirely incompetent either. Her ear for music is perhaps a touch better than average, and playing an instrument is a forgotten skill but one she had been trained in growing up in court. (She can theoretically embroider too, but nobody should be brave enough to ask her for it.)

Eventually, though, the real reason Ciri accidentally got herself into music lessons is ready. ]

I assure you, it's even better.

[ She carries the brand-new lute in its case, and the case in a large box she has to finagle up the narrow steps to the apartment. Careful not to bang it even a little bit on the walls or the doorframe, Ciri toes open the door and wedges herself inside. She is windswept, flushed, and triumphant.

The box is held aloft and bestowed upon Jaskier with great solemnity. ]

Open it!

[ No prelude or explanation at all. Naturally. ]

[Better! High praise, coming from Ciri. (He's not saying she got her sweet tooth from him, especially when he still isn't sure what his relationship with the girl was after they met, but... he likes to think it is. Because it's fun.)

Just in case it's food -- because his mind is on it now -- he spends his time tidying up the place while he waits for her. The kitchen is routinely rather clean, if only because of late he's been eating plenty of meals alone with the others moving in and out.

It isn't a terrible way to live. There's so many reminders that they are... a strange, disjointed little family.

He perks up when he hears the door, only to laugh at Ciri struggling in with a ridiculously large box.] What on earth is that? A coffin? [Okay, it's like a child's coffin, but --

He opens it. He hardly needs much prompting. A peek in through the box's open lid and he sees a shape as intimately familiar to him as the Countess de Stael's. A shape he coveted, and touched, and loved for years.

Jaskier takes the lute case from the box, speechless. His hand runs over it, the fingers already trembling at the tips. He finds the latches, taking a careful breath before he lifts the lid, as if the instrument may leap out and attack him. He knows, immediately, what this means. What those questions Ciri asked him weeks ago were about. As he should have known.

The lute inside is a work of art, with long, silver strings and a design made of inlaid pearl and gold filigree lining it. Jaskier sucks in a breath through his teeth, fingers laying across the strings. He follows them up to the neck, long and elegant -- longer, actually, than his previous lute. As he told he wanted to try to play one day, when he had the coin.]

Oh, Ciri... [He chokes up.] She's perfection.

[ She watches him open it with her lip between her teeth, barely breathing, excited and a little nervous and fighting back a grin until she can be sure. But she was already sure, and Ciri is rewarded soon enough for her efforts by Jaskier's stunned expression. He handles the instrument as though it might vanish from his hands, with such care and tenderness that he doesn't even need to say a word of appreciation for Ciri to feel how much he likes it.

She lets her smile free, beaming from ear to ear, flushed bright. ]

I expect you to break her in good and proper with a string of exciting new performances soon enough.

[ With Geralt and Ciri both relatively well established in the city by now, it's not a matter of Jaskier needing to help keep them afloat. She just wants to see him happy performing again. Really loving it again. He's clearly feeling better week by week, and this is just another step.

Besides. He did need a good lute. ]

Consider it an investment from a patron of the arts.

[He almost sobs.

He doesn't mean to. A part of him had settled in Kaer Morhen, he realizes now. Settled and accepted that this is it. Destiny had played her hand and decided he would perform no longer. With no lute, with burned fingers that could not pluck a string. But his fingers had healed.

And now he is no longer bare-handed.

He shakes his head. No, he cannot imagine not performing now. He cannot imagine a better messenger for Destiny's message than Ciri herself.

He sets the instrument down carefully, more invested in loving the woman than testing the instrument. Only when it has been safely placed down does he pull her into an embrace, crushingly tight for Jaskier, and that sob he swallowed down does escape, embarrassingly, into her ear.]

You are the finest patron I've ever had the pleasure of having.

[ Ciri returns his embrace just as enthusiastically, and nearly as tightly. If he crushes her ribs a little, that's all right. It's well earned.

She presses her smile into his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. ]

And you are my very favorite bard.

[ CATCH-ALL ] i'm allied to the winter

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