[Now, this isn't as fascinating a thing as he knows his bird magic is -- avian chaos? Mmm, yes, that sounds much more fun -- but he wishes to have his friend see it all the same. Er. See it, hear it.
These things that they would never have had themselves in the Continent. And sometimes it's enough to see Geralt somewhere other than home (whether or not the Witcher has begun playing home a bit closer to the chest these days. But for how long, he wonders?)
Moglad is the first to greet Geralt, having somehow developed a Witcher-sense as his pom wiggles in the air, glowing a bright red. Good evening, Master Geralt! the moogle exclaims, zooming all about the place despite the training that should've instilled calm in him. Jaskier has found that Moglad not only is rather besotted with the Witcher, but he loves trying to impress him -- a goal that Jaskier is unwilling to tell him will never be reached.]
Oh. Hah. Is that your idea of a pun? [Jaskier makes a face, adjusting the strap across his shoulder that is holding the ostentatious instrument hanging from it. An electric guitar, as Dean called it... and it has been several weeks of Jaskier experimenting, and sneaking a bit around that tavern to watch more -- what are they? Videos? Memories? -- of musicians. He's made his own adjustments, of course, shifting the strings where they better suit him, testing the tones the instrument is capable of. And, of course, granting it his own style of color: a royal purple with a sheen like that of the inside of an oyster shell.
Jaskier's entire being lights up as he slightly lifts the instrument, hopping on top of a "speaker" with his legs dangling down. Moglad excitedly moves through the air, offering Geralt a goblet of wine.] She's beautiful, isn't she? And lucky you, Sir Witcher -- you're to be the first to bear witness to my newest excellence! I call her... an electric guitar!
[He strums, hard, and the sound reverberates out of the speakers, shaking the floorboards. Because he's not a complete ass, of course, he controls the volume to make the whole thing very impressive, but not to blow his dear Witcher's ears out.]
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These things that they would never have had themselves in the Continent. And sometimes it's enough to see Geralt somewhere other than home (whether or not the Witcher has begun playing home a bit closer to the chest these days. But for how long, he wonders?)
Moglad is the first to greet Geralt, having somehow developed a Witcher-sense as his pom wiggles in the air, glowing a bright red. Good evening, Master Geralt! the moogle exclaims, zooming all about the place despite the training that should've instilled calm in him. Jaskier has found that Moglad not only is rather besotted with the Witcher, but he loves trying to impress him -- a goal that Jaskier is unwilling to tell him will never be reached.]
Oh. Hah. Is that your idea of a pun? [Jaskier makes a face, adjusting the strap across his shoulder that is holding the ostentatious instrument hanging from it. An electric guitar, as Dean called it... and it has been several weeks of Jaskier experimenting, and sneaking a bit around that tavern to watch more -- what are they? Videos? Memories? -- of musicians. He's made his own adjustments, of course, shifting the strings where they better suit him, testing the tones the instrument is capable of. And, of course, granting it his own style of color: a royal purple with a sheen like that of the inside of an oyster shell.
Jaskier's entire being lights up as he slightly lifts the instrument, hopping on top of a "speaker" with his legs dangling down. Moglad excitedly moves through the air, offering Geralt a goblet of wine.] She's beautiful, isn't she? And lucky you, Sir Witcher -- you're to be the first to bear witness to my newest excellence! I call her... an electric guitar!
[He strums, hard, and the sound reverberates out of the speakers, shaking the floorboards. Because he's not a complete ass, of course, he controls the volume to make the whole thing very impressive, but not to blow his dear Witcher's ears out.]