Who: Hermann Gottlieb and Jaskier What: Jaskier meets a grumpy man. Where: The park. When: The day he arrived. Warnings: Low. Status: Closed | Completed GDoc
Jaskier had no idea where he was. He had no idea how he got here. All he knew was that he wanted to get back home. Back to Geralt and Ciri. …okay, who was he lying to? He wanted to get back to Geralt. Ciri was just part of the package. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care one iota about Ciri, but that was also lying. He cared about her, mainly because Geralt cared.
See a pattern here?
He was seated on a bench in the park, idly strumming his lute. Music was one of the few things that comforted him, so the fact that he had his lute here with him was a blessing. As he strummed, he sang. It started off under his breath, but as he continued, people started to drop coins at his feet. Sometimes paper. He assumed this was the currency of the realm, so he started to sing louder.
That’s my epic tale Our champion prevailed Defeated the villain Now pour him some ale.
Toss a coin to your Witcher, O Valley of Plenty, O Valley of plenty, oh. Toss a coin to your Witcher, A friend of humanity.
To Jaskier’s surprise, he had made quite a nice sum at the end of his song.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad here.
—-
Hermann wasn’t a fan of the weather at the moment, cold didn’t sit well with his injury. All the same, sometimes he just needed to get out. Short walk in the park, followed by settling in at a coffee shop to grade papers for a bit. He was not an interesting man sometimes and he knew it. He was completely alright with that fact, too.
It was nice being boring, after everything from home. He wasn’t a man made for overly interesting, anyway.
He heard someone singing and, curiosity piqued, made his way toward the voice. Might as well stop and listen for a bit, he decided.
***
While Jaskier had no idea where he was, or why he was here, he found solace in singing. Especially singing a song as familiar to him as this one. He and Geralt’s friendship had been tumultuous at best, but it had been a friendship. One-sided at first, but he knew the other man had grown to at least respect him a little.
He took a deep bow at the end of his song, ever the performer. “Thank you, it appears I’ll be here all week!” He honestly had no idea how long he’d be here, but that didn’t phase him in the slightest.
Okay, maybe it phased him slightly. He wasn’t about to let other people realize it, though. At least, not at the moment.
—
Hermann inwardly rolled his eyes at the man’s comment, only managing to keep the expression internal thanks to many many years of practice dealing with Newton.
“Allow me to take a wild guess,” he said to the other man. “New in town?”
Because the newbies tended to give off a vibe, whether they realized it or not.
***
“Am I that obvious?” he asked the man who had approached him. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing here, but I made some money while not having any idea.” Yes, Jaskier had his priorities. They might not be in the correct order, but they were there.
“Where am I?” he asked, deciding to ask some questions of this hopefully helpful man. “And why am I here?”
Okay, so. He was at least asking questions. He couldn’t just sit there and play his lute all the time.
—
“You’re in a place called Madison Valley,” Hermann replied. “And if you haven’t already, you will likely end up meeting a council representative very shortly. There’s actually a welcome packet that they hand out – basic information about the place, address of where you’ll be living, money to start you on your way for the first little while you’re here.”
Not that the council reps were necessarily very helpful, but they did serve their purpose. Reasonably well sometimes, even, depending on who you got.
***
“Madison Valley,” Jaskier repeated. “I have never heard of such a place.” Which really wasn’t too terribly surprising. He had heard of a lot of places, but he couldn’t be expected to have heard of every place, now could he?
He supposed it just meant that he had the opportunity to write songs about this unknown Madison Valley. He would be even better known than he already was.
“They’re just going to give me money?” He arched an eyebrow at Hermann, a little doubtful. “What do they want in return?”
—
“It’s not much,” Hermann said, figuring out how to explain it to someone that he was reasonably certain would have no concept of how money worked in this world. “Enough to help you buy the basics you’ll need at first and keep you going until you can find a job.”
Which, considering how things had gone for the refugees at first? Hermann was still amazed that the town had ever thought to do that for them. Not that he for a moment thought of it as anything kind – he was far, far too jaded for that – but the fact they’d let something override their suspicion even if only for a few moments to make that decision?
Kind of amazing.
***
“What sort of job am I expected to have?” he asked. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea of employment. He had just never had proper employment before. He enjoyed being a bard, he enjoyed making songs. Writing them, performing them. Perhaps he could find a job suited to what he liked to do? Something suited to his particular set of skills.
“I can make money performing. I made some money just now…” He motioned toward the coins and bills in front of him.
“Unless I’m expected to get a proper, respectable job.” In that case, he might be screwed.
—
“What job you get is up to you,” Hermann said. “If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to use your skills and interests in some way, but there are people here who have been far less lucky.”
Which made him grateful that he’d been so easily able to find something, not that he admitted to it often. Hermann was not the sort of man most people wanted to deal with. At least as a college professor, he didn’t particularly have to play nice.
Even though he probably should. Some days were better than others.
***
“Are there any sorts of jobs suited for a bard?” he asked, curious. If he could get paid to play music, that would be wonderful. If not, then. Well. He was at a complete loss as to what he would do for a job. He was new to this time, new to this town. He had absolutely no idea what sorts of jobs there were here.
“I suppose I have some time to figure it out?”
He couldn’t be expected to find a job immediately, now could he? He certainly hoped not.
—-
“I am sure there are,” Hermann replied. “Might not be exactly related to being a bard, but you might be able to end up close enough.”
Maybe keep the man away from Crawdaddy Music, though. He already had a feeling that would be wise.
“And you do have time, yes, though I recommend not waiting until the money they give you has run out. It will likely seem a large amount to you – ” Just guessing on that. “ – but it’s not enough to last you for too long without work.”
***
Jaskier considered the man’s words, then nodded slightly. “I will look for something, then. Even if it is just an inn or a pub or something.” Or both. Were there inns and pubs here? He had no idea, but he knew there had to be something similar. Perhaps he could even perform his songs there. Who knew?
“So. Get a job is what you’re saying. Sooner rather than later.”
He could do that. Maybe.
“I am Jaskier,” he offered.
—-
“Sooner rather than later would definitely be best, yes,” Hermann said with a nod. “And I’m Hermann.”
The man seemed as though he was willing to at least try right off the bat, which was more than some people right after arriving in town. He couldn’t understand why people would be so reluctant to do something of that nature – it wasn’t settling in, it was survival – but Hermann’s outlook on life was sometimes pragmatic to a fault. He’d only gotten better thanks to first Vanessa and then Daisy.
***
Yes, it was more a survival thing than settling in. Jaskier wasn’t usually one to settle, but he did know he needed to survive here. He didn’t know why he was here, he didn’t know when he was going to be sent home. How long he was going to be here. He knew he would need money in order to survive. At least, that was what Hermann had indicated.
“I suppose I’ll have to.” He sighed softly at this. “Better to have some sort of income than to be a penniless lute player. Something like that.”
He supposed, anyway.
—-
“There you go. Then you can be a lute player with at least a bit of income.”
No, it’s not terribly helpful. Of course, Hermann never claimed to be helpful. It was actually a pretty decent effort, by his logic and standards.
It was also why he tried to avoid being the one to explain the place to people whenever possible. Feel special, Jaskier, at least he tried.
***
“I will be the richest lute player in history,” he decided. Maybe he was overexaggerating a little bit, but wasn’t that the point of bards? He was known to exaggerate the details in his songs, why not exaggerate what was going to happen here in Madison Valley?
It was the only thing he knew how to do, really.
“Where are the homes?” he asked.
—-
Hermann could suddenly feel a migraine incoming, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He was just going to blame Jaskier all around.
“The apartments that people initially stay in are straight back that way, once you get out of the park,” he said, pointing in the direction he was talking about. “Not much of a walk, and they’re hard to miss.”
***
Jaskier was not to blame for Hermann’s migraine. Much like he was not to blame for Geralt’s migraines. Either that, or he was in denial. ….okay, yes, it was the latter. JUst don’t make Jaskier admit to that. Because he won’t.