He can only truly focus on one crisis at a time. At first, it is simply that he has been placed in charge of untrained hounds. A small crisis: work with them, train them, and help Libertas in this small, small way. And then after that: the work with Alucard to begin further preservation of Libertas' art, if it's possible. It is important. But then:
The waters in the Free Cities, rare as they all, grow befouled. When Jaskier goes to the market, he notes that certain ingredients, certain herbs he picked without much thought dwindle, and then, they leave the markets altogether.
It's hardly anything in the face of war. But then his flowers and herbs in their boxes at the window begin dying. No matter how often he waters them, or changes their pots, or clips the dead leaves.
And replacing them, a plant he knows well after his travels with Geralt: nightshade.
He simply lets it grow. And he goes to the markets, pausing next to a younger girl -- one of Cadens' orphans, perhaps -- her fingers rubbing together as she eyes an entire loaf of bread. Jaskier smiles, leaning next to her. I'll give him a bit of a talk. Her wide eyes move to his, guilty, caught. But he doesn't stop smiling as he stands back up. Shouldn't we all have what we want?
Jaskier can't pinpoint why he says it, or why to her, but as he watches that girl grab the loaf and run so fast the baker doesn't yet notice, he can't help but feel this lovely, warm swell in his chest.
It is later Nadine's words spill across his book, where he's been indulging in a very explicit sketch for the fun of it, several bottles of opened wine sitting on his bedside table. He sits up immediately.
"Of course I'm coming. Be there soon."
When he arrives, he's brought an opened bottle of rum with him, and he's left his doublet behind in favor of a buttoned shirt with a neckline that falls low enough to show coils of chest hair. There doesn't seem much point in dressing up in his doublets or his coats or his cloaks.
He knocks on Nadine's door, leaning against the doorframe. He lights up once she arrives as he always does when he sees her. "What is it today, dear heart? Do you need another study partner for the night?"
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The waters in the Free Cities, rare as they all, grow befouled. When Jaskier goes to the market, he notes that certain ingredients, certain herbs he picked without much thought dwindle, and then, they leave the markets altogether.
It's hardly anything in the face of war. But then his flowers and herbs in their boxes at the window begin dying. No matter how often he waters them, or changes their pots, or clips the dead leaves.
And replacing them, a plant he knows well after his travels with Geralt: nightshade.
He simply lets it grow. And he goes to the markets, pausing next to a younger girl -- one of Cadens' orphans, perhaps -- her fingers rubbing together as she eyes an entire loaf of bread. Jaskier smiles, leaning next to her. I'll give him a bit of a talk. Her wide eyes move to his, guilty, caught. But he doesn't stop smiling as he stands back up. Shouldn't we all have what we want?
Jaskier can't pinpoint why he says it, or why to her, but as he watches that girl grab the loaf and run so fast the baker doesn't yet notice, he can't help but feel this lovely, warm swell in his chest.
It is later Nadine's words spill across his book, where he's been indulging in a very explicit sketch for the fun of it, several bottles of opened wine sitting on his bedside table. He sits up immediately.
"Of course I'm coming. Be there soon."
When he arrives, he's brought an opened bottle of rum with him, and he's left his doublet behind in favor of a buttoned shirt with a neckline that falls low enough to show coils of chest hair. There doesn't seem much point in dressing up in his doublets or his coats or his cloaks.
He knocks on Nadine's door, leaning against the doorframe. He lights up once she arrives as he always does when he sees her. "What is it today, dear heart? Do you need another study partner for the night?"