Oh, what an amazing reaction. Jaskier can only be amused at Lambert's indignation, biting his tongue not to laugh aloud. Not because he doesn't want to be mean, but because he thinks laughing may anger Lambert and interrupt this incredible denial rant. He finally loses it, though, when Lambert gives in and asks for details, getting some cursing out of Geralt too. There are no words to describe how much Jaskier is loving this - the fact he lets go of Eskel should be the first clue.
Laughing now, he crosses his arms on the table and leans in as well. "Let's put it this way, Lamb." Yes, he's stealing the nickname. Thanks, Geralt. "What I saw was enough to keep me, someone who isn't easy to get rid of once I see someone I want, away from your table before I even took two steps towards it."
There's so much more he can say about it - he even thinks about starting a retelling of the events with as much poetry as possible, something about there having been love in the air around Lambert and his "friend" and sparks every time they touched. But suddenly Geralt announces he wants to leave, and Jaskier's entire world stops, because no matter how much he tells himself he'll move on as he does with every fling and how much he flirts with Eskel, he's still a fool with a crush.
"NO!" He turns to Geralt quickly, hands up in a stop gesture, but he doubts it's enough. Thankfully Lambert and Eskel have his back - he could kiss them both right now! If he wasn't too busy keeping his eyes on Geralt, that is. "I mean, yeah, come on! Don't be a spoilsport, mate, finish your beer! Tell you what, even ask for another one! Some snacks too if you want, my treat! A thank you for coming!" His butt raises as Jaskier leans completely over the table to grab Geralt's wrist. "The night is young and we barely got to talk. Please? You don't want to leave a man with paint on his face waiting."
It's hard to try to read Geralt's expression when there's a shadow suddenly looming above them. Said shadow clears his voice and Jaskier looks up to see a man watching them - he's dressed quite formally, he can't help noticing, dress pants and formal jacket with a vest under it. No tie, but quite an impressive mustache.
"Jaskier, correct?" His pronunciation of the name isn't the best, but Jaskier nods anyway. "I'm Brian Miller, I'm with Folkways Records."
With a muttered fuck, Jaskier's chair falls to the floor as he scrambles away from the table to stand up and look presentable - well, as presentable as he can look considering their current little mess. His hands tremble when he takes the card offered to him, confirming the guy as the real deal. It's true. It's happening. Dammit, his heart is about to jump out of his chest and is this really the moment for his legs to become jelly? Fucking rude limbs.
"I-it's--" Bloody hell, where is his voice? He can't be nervous, this is his fucking dream! His mind seriously needs to stop screaming right now, that would probably help. He swallows before he tries again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Did you enjoy the show?"
"I did, actually. And I must confess, I'm impressed. As you probably already know, folk isn't exactly the kind of music that usually resonates with young people." The chatterbox, for once, is silent - Jaskier can only nod along. He isn't only nervous, he's horrified to fuck this up, especially after that lovely first impression that was saying hi with his butt in the air. Thankfully Brian doesn't seem to mind, in fact he appreciates not being interrupted. "Folkways Records is an old company that is looking to break into a bigger market, to bring folk music back into popular culture, and we think you're exactly what we need..."
Jaskier's eyes widen and a little gasp escapes his lips. This is real, this isn't a dream, this--
"...if you're willing to discuss with me some aspects of the marketing of your image before we rush into things."
--this a huge fucking red flag, that's what it is. His body goes from being nervous and jelly to fucking freezing, the weight of disappointment already sneaking into his chest. Don't jump to conclussions, he tells himself as he takes a deep breath, maybe he's just worried about me possibly making scenes in bars after what he saw.
"What kind of 'aspects'?" His voice sounds a bit colder than he intends it to, his brows are furrowing, he's even grinding his teeth. No matter how much he thinks he should be able to work with this, it shouldn't be a big deal, his mind is already panicking. That little clause sounded too much like discussing possible changes. And he knows he would have to make concessions when signing a contract but...
"I thought we could have this conversation in private?" Brian asks innocently, but his eyes betray him: he looks at the men at the table, then he glances to both sides, as if expecting someone to jump in Jaskier's defense. The red flags in his mind have become full fucking Kill Bill sirens; the only reply he manages is a movement of his hand urging the man to go on because he isn't going anywhere. "I see. Well then-- You must understand, Jaskier, that Folkways Records has a small but very loyal following. And while we're looking to bring a new age bracket into our public, the first few months of your career -perhaps even a whole year- will depend on those more, ah, traditional fans."
Oh boy. The t-word. Jaskier feels like a kid in church again - this isn't going to end well.
"We've seen your online presence, and we wouldn't ask you to lie about what you are--"
"Who I am," he instantly corrects, but it gets ignored.
"--we would only ask you to tone it down."
A snort. "Hide it, you mean." Brian opens his mouth to reply but instead leans back with a shocked face when Jaskier tears his business card into confetti and throws it at his mustache. "I don't work with bigots. And my fans appreciate that."
It's hard to tell whose look could kill you faster: Jaskier's or Brian's. In another context it may've been a tie, right now Brian is the one to give in only because he's obviously the one not belonging at this table.
"Big words for someone your age, boy. Let's see for how long you're capable to keep your morals intact in this industry."
The asshole leaves without saying goodbye, not that Jaskier wanted one anyway. Blue eyes follow his back with enough hate in them to carve a hole in the back of the man's head, and Jaskier hates it, hates how he's feeling right now. Shake it off, the song says, and he wants to do so so fucking badly, just like he does every day with trolls in the internet...
But he can't.
His whole body is shaking, and for a moment he forgets he's even at a bar. There's something cold clawing in his chest, a ball of rage in his throat and deafness in his ears, almost as if he was underwater. Drowning. Trembling hands reach up to the cape around his neck and shoulders and craddle it against his face.
With fabric covering the worst of it, Jaskier just goes ahead and screams.
no subject
Laughing now, he crosses his arms on the table and leans in as well. "Let's put it this way, Lamb." Yes, he's stealing the nickname. Thanks, Geralt. "What I saw was enough to keep me, someone who isn't easy to get rid of once I see someone I want, away from your table before I even took two steps towards it."
There's so much more he can say about it - he even thinks about starting a retelling of the events with as much poetry as possible, something about there having been love in the air around Lambert and his "friend" and sparks every time they touched. But suddenly Geralt announces he wants to leave, and Jaskier's entire world stops, because no matter how much he tells himself he'll move on as he does with every fling and how much he flirts with Eskel, he's still a fool with a crush.
"NO!" He turns to Geralt quickly, hands up in a stop gesture, but he doubts it's enough. Thankfully Lambert and Eskel have his back - he could kiss them both right now! If he wasn't too busy keeping his eyes on Geralt, that is. "I mean, yeah, come on! Don't be a spoilsport, mate, finish your beer! Tell you what, even ask for another one! Some snacks too if you want, my treat! A thank you for coming!" His butt raises as Jaskier leans completely over the table to grab Geralt's wrist. "The night is young and we barely got to talk. Please? You don't want to leave a man with paint on his face waiting."
It's hard to try to read Geralt's expression when there's a shadow suddenly looming above them. Said shadow clears his voice and Jaskier looks up to see a man watching them - he's dressed quite formally, he can't help noticing, dress pants and formal jacket with a vest under it. No tie, but quite an impressive mustache.
"Jaskier, correct?" His pronunciation of the name isn't the best, but Jaskier nods anyway. "I'm Brian Miller, I'm with Folkways Records."
With a muttered fuck, Jaskier's chair falls to the floor as he scrambles away from the table to stand up and look presentable - well, as presentable as he can look considering their current little mess. His hands tremble when he takes the card offered to him, confirming the guy as the real deal. It's true. It's happening. Dammit, his heart is about to jump out of his chest and is this really the moment for his legs to become jelly? Fucking rude limbs.
"I-it's--" Bloody hell, where is his voice? He can't be nervous, this is his fucking dream! His mind seriously needs to stop screaming right now, that would probably help. He swallows before he tries again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Did you enjoy the show?"
"I did, actually. And I must confess, I'm impressed. As you probably already know, folk isn't exactly the kind of music that usually resonates with young people." The chatterbox, for once, is silent - Jaskier can only nod along. He isn't only nervous, he's horrified to fuck this up, especially after that lovely first impression that was saying hi with his butt in the air. Thankfully Brian doesn't seem to mind, in fact he appreciates not being interrupted. "Folkways Records is an old company that is looking to break into a bigger market, to bring folk music back into popular culture, and we think you're exactly what we need..."
Jaskier's eyes widen and a little gasp escapes his lips. This is real, this isn't a dream, this--
"...if you're willing to discuss with me some aspects of the marketing of your image before we rush into things."
--this a huge fucking red flag, that's what it is. His body goes from being nervous and jelly to fucking freezing, the weight of disappointment already sneaking into his chest. Don't jump to conclussions, he tells himself as he takes a deep breath, maybe he's just worried about me possibly making scenes in bars after what he saw.
"What kind of 'aspects'?" His voice sounds a bit colder than he intends it to, his brows are furrowing, he's even grinding his teeth. No matter how much he thinks he should be able to work with this, it shouldn't be a big deal, his mind is already panicking. That little clause sounded too much like discussing possible changes. And he knows he would have to make concessions when signing a contract but...
"I thought we could have this conversation in private?" Brian asks innocently, but his eyes betray him: he looks at the men at the table, then he glances to both sides, as if expecting someone to jump in Jaskier's defense. The red flags in his mind have become full fucking Kill Bill sirens; the only reply he manages is a movement of his hand urging the man to go on because he isn't going anywhere. "I see. Well then-- You must understand, Jaskier, that Folkways Records has a small but very loyal following. And while we're looking to bring a new age bracket into our public, the first few months of your career -perhaps even a whole year- will depend on those more, ah, traditional fans."
Oh boy. The t-word. Jaskier feels like a kid in church again - this isn't going to end well.
"We've seen your online presence, and we wouldn't ask you to lie about what you are--"
"Who I am," he instantly corrects, but it gets ignored.
"--we would only ask you to tone it down."
A snort. "Hide it, you mean." Brian opens his mouth to reply but instead leans back with a shocked face when Jaskier tears his business card into confetti and throws it at his mustache. "I don't work with bigots. And my fans appreciate that."
It's hard to tell whose look could kill you faster: Jaskier's or Brian's. In another context it may've been a tie, right now Brian is the one to give in only because he's obviously the one not belonging at this table.
"Big words for someone your age, boy. Let's see for how long you're capable to keep your morals intact in this industry."
The asshole leaves without saying goodbye, not that Jaskier wanted one anyway. Blue eyes follow his back with enough hate in them to carve a hole in the back of the man's head, and Jaskier hates it, hates how he's feeling right now. Shake it off, the song says, and he wants to do so so fucking badly, just like he does every day with trolls in the internet...
But he can't.
His whole body is shaking, and for a moment he forgets he's even at a bar. There's something cold clawing in his chest, a ball of rage in his throat and deafness in his ears, almost as if he was underwater. Drowning. Trembling hands reach up to the cape around his neck and shoulders and craddle it against his face.
With fabric covering the worst of it, Jaskier just goes ahead and screams.