maskormenace | ♪ video;

[ Having gained some confidence with this fancy tech over the week, Jaskier’s content enough to finally present his baby face to his adoring public, casual in his old school medieval shirt, unlaced to show part of his chest like the total hunk he believes himself to be. He begins with a soft throat clear, his voice carrying like a theatre performer, each word animated. ]

Greetings citizens of Maurtia Falls and beyond! It is I, Jaskier, your beloved bard, here to fill your undoubtedly mundane and murky lives with my brilliant light!

[ A perfect way to introduce himself is to neg everyone listening, right? ]

I seek heroes!

Yes, yes, each and every one of us has been granted such a title, but I require only the best, only the truly worthy among you to share my blessed company. In return, I promise authentic retellings of your adventures to all those that would listen. Stories to make a man weep, songs to get the crowds rejoicing, and poems so passionate that maidens will be lifting their petticoats at the mere mention of your name.

I will consider each applicant in a timely and fair manner, although a drink and some coin as cajolery wouldn’t go amiss.

[ A pause before he quickly admits: ] Bribes. I take bribes.

Thank you, and good day!

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[ To be fair, Andy has a regenerating liver. And centuries of being an alcoholic under her belt. So, can anyone ever truly measure up? ]

Yeah, I didn't really come over to fucking babysit. [ She'll probably be laughing, then — not, of course, that she really seems like the type that laughs. Still, she obligingly takes the mugs from him and fills them from the keg before passing one back, her gaze idly wandering around the place as she does. ] Feels like I've been here before. Think I stopped by to buy drugs once.

Oh, brilliant, there's drugs here too? We'll have to sniff those out later.

[ Somehow unaware about any drugs on the property and simultaneously not at all surprised.

He gratefully takes the mug of wine and slurps a taste, nose scrunching just slightly but fuck it, beggars can't be choosers when it comes to the quality of an entire barrel of booze. Instead of making comment, he retreats to the couch like a good boy, perching on the edge. The mug gets precariously balanced on the arm of it as he reaches to settle his beloved lute into his lap instead, one leg crossing over the other to nestle the lute on top so he can casually pluck away at a few melodic notes. ]

You said you'd tell me a bit about yourself...

[ Oh sweet Jaskier, you've been living in Weed Heaven this entire time and been blissfully unaware. But don't worry, that'll make for a little adventure later. In the meantime, Andy's already killed two-thirds of the cheap fermented shit in her own mug. She tops herself off before settling in on the opposite end of the couch. ]

I've been alive for the better part of seven millennia. Where the fuck do you want me to start?

[ Though truthfully, she doesn't remember a good part of it. And nothing says she won't just lie. Andy has been known to do that, now and then. ]

[ There's a small, discordant twang as his fingers slip during that reveal, his gaze slowly drifting to Andy with a look that suggests he wrestling with the likelihood of it being truth. ]

Seven Millennia?! I've not even heard of sorceresses living that long.

[ It was, after all, long before the Conjunction of Spheres, which is practically his world's version of BC. ]

I'm no sorceress.

[ She puts her boots up on the coffee table. Hopefully nobody minds because she doesn't seem like she really gives a damn. Terrible houseguest, this one. A real barbarian. And already making quick work of refill. ]

And I have no fucking idea what's keeping me alive, so you're shit out of luck if you were curious about that. I haven't died, and I don't know how. Or why.

[ For all the fancy, rich boy demeanour Jaskier presents, he couldn't give a single shit about boots on the table, or any other bad guest habits. He's quite the little gremlin himself; a privileged, chaotic fucko who's used to respecting literally nothing. ]

So you're just alive? Because you don't know how to die? Sorry, but that makes no fucking sense.

Believe me, Peaches — I would love if it made any fucking sense.

[ As if to toast her inexplicably cursed circumstances, she lifts her drink and finishes it off, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before going on: ]

Make up a fucking reason, if it helps you sleep at night. Say the secret to my immortality is jamming a clove of enchanted garlic up my ass every morning, I don't give a damn. [ Dryly: ] Isn't that what bards do anyway? Make shit up?

Mmnot so much. "Make shit up" is a rather crude way to look at my art, but I'll forgive it. It's about finding truth and enhancing it.

[ He sees her downing the rest of her wine and figures he better catch up, reaching for his own glass and managing to chug the cheap red down with only the smallest amount of grimacing. Like the gentleman he is, he then offers out his empty glass towards her. He can't get up, see, he's got a lute on his lap. ]

Although I rather like this truth as it is, there's something oddly romantic about it;

[ And then a few strummed chords as he tunefully speaks. ] Forgotten how to live, unable to die, eternally adrift and questioning why...

[ "Enhancing it." Andy gives Jaskier a sidelong look — but he can call it whatever she wants. No strong feelings either way. Not like honesty's ever been her strong point, so it's a little pot and kettle besides. ]

Yeah, sure. Real fucking romantic.

[ Skepticism, as she reaches to take his glass from him, obligingly topping them both off — maybe a little too much. Hopefully nobody notices the small splotches of cheap red wine that hit the floor as she passes his cup back. A bit mockingly, she adds to his verse: ]

Tired old bitch, last of her line, drinking with strangers to waste away time.

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