Chapter Text
A lean brunette sang into a microphone at a little space station called Posada, orbiting the planet Dol Blathanna. The travelling bard, Jaskier, had the good fortune to possess talent, charm, a gorgeous guitar, and a small spaceship he'd christened "The Good Ship Lollipop" to the grievous annoyance of its former owner. Though why Valdo had named the poor thing "The Love Shack" when Jaskier knew for a fact (as he had confirmed with the ship) that he hadn't gotten laid in said ship, Jaskier didn't know. Also, the old name gave an impression of being grimy, and Lollipop was a pristine lady, though she had since been "christened” in a more carnal sense since Jaskier had taken over ownership.
He crooned his last ballad, the last chord naturally fading. “Thank you! You’ve been a beautiful audience.” There was a smattering of applause from the small and scattered crowd. He gathered the few items he brought onstage with him, placed his guitar back in its case, and stepped off the platform.
He walked through the room, weaving between tables toward the man sitting in the shadows, two swords strapped to his back and a mug in his hand. “Are you a Witcher?” He set his case down on the bench and took a seat, assuming that the red-haired man with his hair up in a messy topknot, an undercut, and yellow cat eyes was indeed a Witcher.
“I’m here to drink alone,” was the quick reply, after a brief look over.
“Come now, you don’t even know me,” Jaskier grinned. “Also, I’m wanting to hire you for a job.” He paused for a moment, gauging the Witcher’s reaction. “Should be an easy time. I’m probably being paranoid.” He pretended to evaluate the rings on his fingers, trying to keep an eye for any reaction from the silent man sitting across from him, slowly drinking from his glass.
Jaskier finally gave up on his one-sided standoff. “We’ll just need to discuss the travel itinerary and pay.”
“Who said I’m looking for work?” the Witcher responded, taking another drink.
He frowned a little. “I’ve always heard that Witchers are always looking for work, when they’re outside of the Wolven Planets. I’m sorry if I was ill informed.” He reached over and grabbed the handle of his guitar case, making like he was getting ready to leave.
“Wait,” the Witcher’s deep voice seem to flow over Jaskier, and he shivered slightly, unable to suppress the reaction. The Witcher made a note of it. “What’s the job?”
Jaskier turned his head into his shoulder, away from him. “Yes,” he breathed to himself, not knowing that even at that quiet level, the Witcher could still hear him. He let go of the handle. “It’s a protection job, bodyguard type thing, that I’m hoping doesn’t turn into a curse-breaking thing.” He grinned, trying and failing to hide his discomfort.
Eric inhaled deeply, evaluating what he was smelling wafting off the bard. The nervousness he could hear in the elevated heart rate and slight increase in respiration. The fact that there was no fear in his scent was interesting to note. There was the salty sweat scent from his performance, adrenaline, the mixing of cinnamon and cloves denoting lust, and underneath that was the scent of blooming wildflowers: sweet, earthy, petrichor.
Unable to detect any inkling of a lie, Eric nodded. “Why do you think it might turn into a curse-breaking job?”
Jaskier moved his fingers back and forth, adjusting his rings in a nervous habit. “I’m hoping it won’t. But I may have stepped on the toes of a mage?” He lifted his shoulder. “Maybe.”
Eric lifted his brow. “Stepped on their toes? What — did you break them?”
Jaskier tilted his head. “Not literally. I mean figuratively. Like, caused them an inconvenience.” He furrowed his brow, hoping the Witcher was understanding him now. “Maybe a huge inconvenience?” He muttered.
Eric sighed. “What happened?”
“Not unless you’re taking the job,” Jaskier said, shaking his head. “And I require your word that you’ll be circumspect. I don’t need all this getting around.”
“Or for the mage to find out where you are?”
“Yes,” Jaskier nodded. “Or that.”
“Pay?”
“Right!” He clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Room, board, and meals, of course. You can choose the direction we go, so if there’s somewhere you want or need to go, we can do that. Um,” he paused, biting the inside of his lip. “I don’t know what the rate would be for something like this.” He shrugged. “Thoughts?”
Eric sat back, leaning away from the table. It could be an interesting contract. But it could also be boring as fuck. And getting on the wrong side of a mage was generally a bad idea, especially while he was traveling in disguise, although he could reach out to his court mages in an emergency. But he was ready to start making his way back home, and this would at least be more interesting than sitting on a transport ship. “Hmm,” he said, grabbing his gear that he’d set down on the adjoining seat and standing up. “Let’s go.”
Jaskier grabbed his case. “Really? Without settling your pay first?” He asked, standing and staring at the Witcher.
“Throw in gear repairs or replacements, the allowance to take other contracts that don’t interfere with this one, and we have a deal,” he said, holding his arm out to shake on it.
Jaskier clasped Eric’s forearm with his hand and said the old oath, “On my honor.”
The corner of Eric’s mouth turned upward in a facsimile of a smile and he nodded. “On my sword,” he responded, sealing the deal.
Jaskier grinned, turned toward the tavern’s exit, then came to an abrupt halt and turned back the Witcher. “By the way, I’m Jaskier.”
“Call me Eric,” was the response.
Jaskier gave a nod, then turned back to the exit and said, “Follow me,” and started walking toward the docks.
Eric followed, thinking to himself that this might be a terrible idea.