A chaigon! Of course you already know the local name. Well, I'll make a note of it.
[He sniffs. Excuse him; he's not out here destroying the local wildlife in lieu of spending his time on performing. But, chided or not, when they return to Roach and his own horse he reaches through his bag for a notebook and pen (thank you, Aleksandr), writing down the name as they walk, along with a hasty little sketch of the smaller one. His horse is gentle enough the sway doesn't mess up his lines -- or, honestly, the pen is that good.
A pen! Imagine. No more quills for him. Unless he enjoys the feel of them. (He does.)
That's an idea. Between his performances, he should work on his bestiary. There is only the one in the Horizon he gifted to Julie. He's lost his original copies, but he should recall plenty to recreate it here. Though it wouldn't do much good, considering the differences in the spheres. Should he craft one for this world?
Well. Fuck. Why not? He loves keeping busy. Another way to leave his imprint here.
He leaves the notebook on the table inside their room, however. It's a hobby, nothing more; Jaskier is still quite focused in spreading his name. Now that it's firmly established in Cadens, it's time to spread it further.
So he performs, the little inn rather delighted to have a performance (and even more wonderfully, the old man has heard tale of him!) He plays his songs of the Free Cities and Solvunn, deftly avoiding mention of Thorne in a place with... a smaller stage, so to speak. Once he's paused between songs, downing a pint of ale, he catches a breath by crashing into the table Geralt's at, bumping with a hip for him to make room. The applause still rings through the place.
Staying to listen to him. He always knew.] Enjoying your night? [He gives Mog a gentle scratch between his ears, and he coos.] It's strange how close this place comes to the Continent sometimes. If Mog weren't here, I wouldn't even know the difference.
[Well. Mog, and the pull of magic in him, which he uses during performance for little illusionary spots of light, or birds coming out of his lute during the finale. He has to make it memorable, after all.]
no subject
[He sniffs. Excuse him; he's not out here destroying the local wildlife in lieu of spending his time on performing. But, chided or not, when they return to Roach and his own horse he reaches through his bag for a notebook and pen (thank you, Aleksandr), writing down the name as they walk, along with a hasty little sketch of the smaller one. His horse is gentle enough the sway doesn't mess up his lines -- or, honestly, the pen is that good.
A pen! Imagine. No more quills for him. Unless he enjoys the feel of them. (He does.)
That's an idea. Between his performances, he should work on his bestiary. There is only the one in the Horizon he gifted to Julie. He's lost his original copies, but he should recall plenty to recreate it here. Though it wouldn't do much good, considering the differences in the spheres. Should he craft one for this world?
Well. Fuck. Why not? He loves keeping busy. Another way to leave his imprint here.
He leaves the notebook on the table inside their room, however. It's a hobby, nothing more; Jaskier is still quite focused in spreading his name. Now that it's firmly established in Cadens, it's time to spread it further.
So he performs, the little inn rather delighted to have a performance (and even more wonderfully, the old man has heard tale of him!) He plays his songs of the Free Cities and Solvunn, deftly avoiding mention of Thorne in a place with... a smaller stage, so to speak. Once he's paused between songs, downing a pint of ale, he catches a breath by crashing into the table Geralt's at, bumping with a hip for him to make room. The applause still rings through the place.
Staying to listen to him. He always knew.] Enjoying your night? [He gives Mog a gentle scratch between his ears, and he coos.] It's strange how close this place comes to the Continent sometimes. If Mog weren't here, I wouldn't even know the difference.
[Well. Mog, and the pull of magic in him, which he uses during performance for little illusionary spots of light, or birds coming out of his lute during the finale. He has to make it memorable, after all.]