doesntsing | open post

"Oh, vibrancy is the superior choice, no question."

He tries the rumaki next, being his first time with that one. It's quite delicious, he'll have to ask for the name later.

"Geralt calls me a hedonist for a reason - I think enjoyment should always be the biggest part of our lives. And that's why I like you - because your vibrant preference matches mine. But that doesn't mean I completely turn down morbid. I have sad songs, infuriating songs. Songs about death and betrayal. Those matter too - we just need to keep an eye on the amount. Not let it take our happiness from us. Which is why people develop a morbid sense of humor."

A pause to sip his wine. "For the record, if morbid is the only humor someone has, then I shall agree with you - it's depressing. But being able to joke about the morbid is a useful skill. And I believe people in certain jobs develop it as a matter of survival. If they don't learn to joke about it, then the darkness will consume them."

Another pause as he looks at her, considering his options. "I'm not Geralt, but I can't deny that two decades on his side, in his line of work, have taught me that skill too. It's rare, since I turn to irony more than to morbid humor. But it may happen. And if it makes you uncomfortable, you just have to let me know".

Because Cirilla sure does like complaining about it.

A lot of what he has to say resonates with her. They really are more alike than Midge would care to admit, though she would like to think that her ego is not as large as Jaskier’s. Still, his confidence is attractive. It’s not all bluster.

“Morbidity and morbid humor has its place, and I think all of us have some of it inside of us. As annoying as it is when a person is depressed all the time, it’s equally annoying when they’re happy all the time. I’d argue that’s actually worse.”

Hunting monsters for a living means that Geralt has probably seen some horrible things. Midge supposes it must be like that for soldiers or cops who solve murders. Morbid humor at least injects some levity into a miserable job.

“I don’t mind if you’re morbid sometimes,” Midge says, “but if you start grunting at me I’ll have to snap you out of it.”

It's hard to find someone with an ego bigger than Jaskier's. And thank goodness for that.

"I don't know if I'd call it worse, but I do agree that the other extreme is equally bad. Having a good cry is as important as having a good laugh."

And speaking of having a good laugh: the mention of grunting makes Jaskier laugh pretty hard. Seeing people being comfortable around Geralt and even teasing him because they haven't learned witcher bigotry in this world is still amazing, and Jaskier loves it everything. Not to mention Midge is just a funny lady, obviously.

"Aww, but I make such a great impression!" He frowns in the most exaggerated way he can achieve, making his voice deep and raspy. "Mmmh. Jaskier, don't touch that. Mmmh. Stop putting your sausage in the wrong pantry. Mmh."

Fortunately, Jaskier comes off as so gregarious that his ego is seen mostly as confidence rather than bravado. Midge would like him significantly less if he was haughty and looked down on people.

She snorts a laugh at his impression of Geralt. “There’s a wrong pantry for sausage?” she asks.

He's in the middle of biting a deviled egg when she asks her question, so he almost chokes when he laughs. Give him a minute while he coughs it out.

"Not a literal sausage!" he exclaims between chuckles. "You are the right kind of pantry."

Midge stares at him for a moment until it hits her. “Oh.” She’s never heard that particular euphemism before.

“Do you mean that I’m the right kind… because I’m a woman?” Midge asks.

She doesn’t know how Geralt feels about Jaskier sleeping with men. He did say that where he comes from is even less accepting than here in that regard. But then, would Geralt be Jaskier’s friend if he was judgmental about the bard sleeping with men?

Her face when she figures it out is adorable, and Jaskier wishes he could have a picture of it.

"Oh gods, no." He looks horrified by the idea of Geralt hating him for that. "He doesn't like it when my fucking gets us in trouble, that's all. For example--"

His lovers may be married people. Right. Not mentioning that.

"--it may be women who were supposed to stay 'pure' until marriage and are going against their father's wishes. Or high-society ladies who shouldn't be touching a 'dirty' travelling bard. I've had many angry fathers and brothers threatening to cut my cock off for 'sullying' the women in their lives. Men aren't the wrong pantry for being men, the wrong pantry is not being careful about my flirting. Not hiding it may mean trouble too. Dangerous trouble." His voice and face have turned more serious at the end. He reaches for Midge's hand and gives it a squeeze. "I was only able to talk to you about it because Brandon did."

She nods, looking at his hand.

“What’s to say our fucking won’t get you in trouble?” Midge asks with a little smile. “Or is it different with me because I’m already… ‘sullied’?”

Midge doesn’t like that implication, that a woman’s worth can be boiled down to whether or not she’s had sex and who she’s had sex with. She doesn’t think Jaskier buys into that bullshit, and she’s mostly playing devil’s advocate by asking him that question.

She can guess what her parents would think of him though. In a practical sense, he doesn’t have much to offer her other than sex and companionship.

He laughs again. Gosh, she's so good at doing that. If she doesn't become the most successful comedian of a lifetime, he'll be so mad at the world.

"You're an independent woman who is already breaking your gender rules and understands what I'm offering, instead of expecting me to bring more." He explains genuinely. Her smile shows she's teasing, but since they're touching a serious subject, it's not a bad idea to be clear about some things. "So you already are a more fitting pattern than probably three-fourths of the lovers I've had in the past. However, you're right, I can't be sure. You like trouble. And so do I." He winks. "Not to mention that your father would probably also want to cut my cock off."

“I do like trouble,” Midge admits. “Being a divorcee or widow does give a woman a certain kind of power. Society thinks we’re already used. There aren’t as many expectations, sexually.”

That’s why she’s seized this opportunity. When else in her life will she get to explore her sexuality for sexuality’s sake? Jaskier has no expectations of her and, for the most part, society doesn’t care who she’s fucking or why. Jaskier’s handsome, funny, clever and very good in bed. He’s the perfect person for something like this.

“He may want to cut your cock off, but he won’t,” Midge says idly. “Jews don’t cut all of it off anyway. Just the tip.”

Not to open up yesterday’s disagreement again, but Midge couldn’t resist the joke.

"And what a pile of crap that line of thinking is," he replies with obvious distate. "You aren't used. But I can't deny the power aspect, and it delights me to see you embrace it."

This is the first time a joke of hers doesn't land, and Jaskier eats some more to hide his lack of laughter. Not going to ruin the date by bringing up that argument again.

He only talks after taking another sip of his wine. "Does that mean I do have a chance of charming your mother?"

Midge drinks her martini as well. Apparently he’s serious about his dislike of the practice. She won’t bring it up again, not even to joke about it.

“Possibly,” Midge replies. “She’s much more easily charmed than Papa, and you’re quite charming.”

"Takes one to know one," he replies between bites. Thinking about the whole concept of meeting the parents makes him pause, and he has another bite before talking again. "I hope this isn't a bad question to ask, but I'm curious - a charming lady like you, how did you get along with your in-laws?"

Is this another thing he may be put Joel on the fucking stupid list?

‘Meeting the parents’ seems kind of unnecessary in this situation, unless one of them happens to catch she and Jaskier in the act. Midge prays that never happens.

“Oh, we get along well,” she replies. “My family and Joel’s family still do a lot together because of the kids.” She sighs. “I’ve… forgiven him for what he’s done, at least in so much as we can both raise our children together.” Fighting and bitterness wouldn’t be fair to the kids.

Oh, no, not the sigh. It breaks his heart. Jaskier brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles.

"I didn't mean to get you all serious, I just thought meeting the in-laws usually comes with funny stories. But I'm glad you're making it work for the kids." A long pause. He stares at his rings on his hand and the lute on the chair. "I haven't seen my blood family since I was 16. I may tell you the story some day, but for now, I only want you to be sure you know you're doing a fantastic job. I know broken, and you aren't it."

She uses the proximity of her hand to his face to gently cup his chin.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry about your family. When you want to talk, I’ll be ready to listen.”

Midge wonders if he ever misses them. Even if they fought and said horrible things to each other, they’re still his family. She can’t imagine going that long without seeing her family.

Taking his hand, she examines the rings on it. “Did you buy all of these?”

After nodding, he nuzzles her hand, but doesn't say more. That one line was already a lot.

Her taking an interest in his jewelry immediately brings a smile to his face and he raises his other hand to show off those too.

"Some of them are from home, others I bought here. This one-" He takes off a wing ring and shows her the inscription inside. "--was a gift from the elves. That's Elder for 'sandpiper'."

Midge examines the ring, brushing one of her fingers over the wing design. It’s well made. She places it back down on the table.

“Why ‘sandpiper’?” she asks.

"It was my 'underground' name," he explains while putting it back on. "While I was helping the elves flee Redania- ah, that's the kingdom where Oxenfurt is. They've always been persecuted, but when the war started, it got much worse. It got--" A sigh. "Sanguinary. And a bard makes for a very unsuspicious smuggler."

Her eyes widen when Jaskier tells her that. Hearing that Jaskier helped persecuted people escape, potentially putting his own life at risk, raises her opinion of him significantly. Maybe he’s not just a frivolous bard - though appearing to be one would be a perfect cover.

“Do you ever sing about your own heroics?” Midge asks somewhat teasingly, then leans up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"I may have to if this is the reward," he teases back. After a quick look around the bar, he leans in to quickly brush his lips against hers. Honestly, he doesn't mind PDA, but he knows that may cause a bit of a scandal, and he'd rather not get them kicked out (yet?).

At that moment, a band takes over the stage, playing the jazz music that represents this place. Jaskier offers his hand to Midge.

"May I have this dance?"

A little kiss won’t get them kicked out. Midge doesn’t mind the kiss either, though she doesn’t press to deepen it. They’re not a couple. It would feel strange to her to kiss him passionately in public.

“You may,” she tells him, putting her hand in his.

The song is mid-tempo, easy to dance to. They get into dance frame with Jaskier putting one arm around her waist. Their bodies are touching, though not pressed together tightly.

“What kind of dancing do they do where you come from?” Midge asks. “I guess not any dancing to music like this.”

It feels good to have her in his arms again. A beautiful lover in his arms, and fine music in his ears. This is what the great moments in life are about. Jaskier has learned at least the most basic and common dances found in clubs in this world, but he's sure that if he makes a mistake, she won't mind correcting him.

She's warm against him and he has to resist the urge to bury his face in her neck.

"It depends. At court, everything is more--" A second to remember the words he's learned here. "like waltz. But with more variety in the steps. If you want real fun, you join the festivals and the taverns for people stomping to the rhythm of folk."

He feels wonderful. Midge too has to resist putting her face in the crook of his neck. She suffices with very subtly rubbing his back.

“I can waltz,” she grins. “I had ballroom dancing lessons as a kid, which I hated at the time. Folk dances I haven’t done in a while.”

The two of them have great rhythm together, gliding across the floor. That’s not surprising, considering their rhythm in the bedroom.

“So, if you call me ‘my lady’, am I supposed to call you ‘my lord’?” she asks with a quizzical eyebrow raise.

Good to know he isn't the only one enjoying the touching and hungry for more. He presses her against him as the hand on her back goes lower, not crossing to her lower region but stopping right above it for the perfect teasing.

Of course she knows how to waltz - she probably had the same lessons he had. He's growing more and more grateful for having dodged meeting her father.

"How about swing? Do you know that one? I've been trying to learn. It looks vibrant-" A wink. "And so much fun."

He doesn't see the next question coming and he loses a step, almost tripping but recovering quickly. Calling women 'my lady' has always been a term of endearment (unless he was at court), and nobody ever threw it back at him after he left home. Even at court, they called him 'Master Bard'. It feels weird, as if he was a Pankratz again.

"I think I'll stick to Professor Jaskier. But I'd also love something that comes from Midge herself instead of my world."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject