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a future snippet
Mar. 3rd, 2020 03:18 amvia https://ift.tt/2uJJ0r8
I did get some Jaskier POV back in the present-day part of Meet Death Sitting and I self-inserted my folk music session experiences to do it, ha ha! this won’t be in the next update of The Ancient Sea, but probably the one after that, so hold on. and listen, I wrote lyrics for this, and they might even scan. No guarantees. Also it took a real effort of will not to have Jaskier say “it’s over for you hoes” but know, in my heart, that’s what he says, there.
Anyway, Jaskier’s Advanced Bardic Performance Techniques Session section is harassing him for being low-energy, and he has to turn up:
(cw for earworms and your mom jokes)
“It’s just sexual frustration,” Allisande said. “He’s wasting away.”
“Mmm,” Jaskier said, “that is actually my problem. Very keenly diagnosed, thank you Allisande.”
“Pining after someone’s mother?” Dotlef asked nastily.
“Oh, no,” Jaskier said, “I broke up with your mother years ago, she was insatiable, Dotlef,” which made Dotlef put down the recorder and start to his feet, which meant Hestia had to shove her harp in between the two of them, and Jaskier gave Marija a little winking salute and she rolled her eyes.
“Sit down,” she said to Dotlef, “my gods, you started it,” but she was smiling.
“No no,” Jaskier said, “I am pining because after twenty years I finally got that Witcher to kiss me, but now he’s gone into exile in the desert or something and I will never get him to plow me the way I have been trying for these last twenty years, and I’m just trying to work out how to make it a good ballad. Once I do, though, then it’s over for the rest of you, because it’s going to be really good.”
“I didn’t know you could kiss a Witcher,” one of the students said, a bit dazed.
“Mmmm yes you can,” Jaskier said, and tipped his head back and played a little run on the lute, a riff off of the now-famous bit of Toss A Coin (it had been famous enough for long enough that it was cliche, which was simultaneously depressing and thrilling, depending on the day).
Allisande sang, in his lovely baritone, “Oh you can kiss a Witcher, if you’ve no sense of danger, you’ve no sense of danger, oh-oh-oh!”
“No!” Marija shouted. “No Toss A Coin, we have a rule!”
“And no monsterfucking,” Hestia said, “that’s rule two, no songs about monsterfucking.”
“A Witcher isn’t a monster,” Jaskier said, which was an old point of contention by now, “but I will abide by the first rule anyway, since I made the rule in the first place.” It was possible to get tired of one’s own cliche, it turned out. Anyway, Oxenfurt’s stately halls were not particularly in need of pro-Witcher propaganda anymore, after fifteen years of Jaskier’s intermittent residence. He hadn’t stopped playing the song, and now he modulated it into something else.
I came upon him finally, and close to death was he
I wept to see him in that state, his strength reduced to this;
He gave to me his silver knife, and bade me set him free
Between his ribs I plunged it fast, his bleeding mouth I kissed
“That’s, ah,” Hestia said. “That sounds like monsterfucking.”
“Oh, yes, the knife’s a metaphor,” Allisande said. Then, hesitant, he added, “Surely?”
“I wish it was a metaphor,” Jaskier said. “No, I stabbed him in the fucking chest, it was awful. But he got better.”
I did get some Jaskier POV back in the present-day part of Meet Death Sitting and I self-inserted my folk music session experiences to do it, ha ha! this won’t be in the next update of The Ancient Sea, but probably the one after that, so hold on. and listen, I wrote lyrics for this, and they might even scan. No guarantees. Also it took a real effort of will not to have Jaskier say “it’s over for you hoes” but know, in my heart, that’s what he says, there.
Anyway, Jaskier’s Advanced Bardic Performance Techniques Session section is harassing him for being low-energy, and he has to turn up:
(cw for earworms and your mom jokes)
“It’s just sexual frustration,” Allisande said. “He’s wasting away.”
“Mmm,” Jaskier said, “that is actually my problem. Very keenly diagnosed, thank you Allisande.”
“Pining after someone’s mother?” Dotlef asked nastily.
“Oh, no,” Jaskier said, “I broke up with your mother years ago, she was insatiable, Dotlef,” which made Dotlef put down the recorder and start to his feet, which meant Hestia had to shove her harp in between the two of them, and Jaskier gave Marija a little winking salute and she rolled her eyes.
“Sit down,” she said to Dotlef, “my gods, you started it,” but she was smiling.
“No no,” Jaskier said, “I am pining because after twenty years I finally got that Witcher to kiss me, but now he’s gone into exile in the desert or something and I will never get him to plow me the way I have been trying for these last twenty years, and I’m just trying to work out how to make it a good ballad. Once I do, though, then it’s over for the rest of you, because it’s going to be really good.”
“I didn’t know you could kiss a Witcher,” one of the students said, a bit dazed.
“Mmmm yes you can,” Jaskier said, and tipped his head back and played a little run on the lute, a riff off of the now-famous bit of Toss A Coin (it had been famous enough for long enough that it was cliche, which was simultaneously depressing and thrilling, depending on the day).
Allisande sang, in his lovely baritone, “Oh you can kiss a Witcher, if you’ve no sense of danger, you’ve no sense of danger, oh-oh-oh!”
“No!” Marija shouted. “No Toss A Coin, we have a rule!”
“And no monsterfucking,” Hestia said, “that’s rule two, no songs about monsterfucking.”
“A Witcher isn’t a monster,” Jaskier said, which was an old point of contention by now, “but I will abide by the first rule anyway, since I made the rule in the first place.” It was possible to get tired of one’s own cliche, it turned out. Anyway, Oxenfurt’s stately halls were not particularly in need of pro-Witcher propaganda anymore, after fifteen years of Jaskier’s intermittent residence. He hadn’t stopped playing the song, and now he modulated it into something else.
I came upon him finally, and close to death was he
I wept to see him in that state, his strength reduced to this;
He gave to me his silver knife, and bade me set him free
Between his ribs I plunged it fast, his bleeding mouth I kissed
“That’s, ah,” Hestia said. “That sounds like monsterfucking.”
“Oh, yes, the knife’s a metaphor,” Allisande said. Then, hesitant, he added, “Surely?”
“I wish it was a metaphor,” Jaskier said. “No, I stabbed him in the fucking chest, it was awful. But he got better.”
