How to Cope When Your Bard Becomes Un-bear-able

Geralt is about to take a nice sip of his coffee at the start of his shift at Brouhaha Books and Games when Jaskier crashes in through the front door, carrying his guitar case behind one shoulder. Thankfully, it’s rare for anyone to be in the store right at opening on weekdays, even on days when there’s a new Magic: the Gathering release — everyone is either at school or at work until the afternoon — so Geralt can listen to Jaskier’s complaints about his morning commuter busking slot without feeling guilty that he’s ignoring any actual paying customers.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says mournfully, “Something terrible has happened. I have a new nemesis.” He tries to get the better slots busking outside the Harvard Square T stop, which tends to be full of wealthy tourists, or downtown Boston, where you get most of the professional commuters, but when that falls through, he will settle for performing in Central Square where Brouhaha is located.

Geralt squints at him. “That Marx guy?” He forgets half of the things Jaskier says to him, mostly because of the sheer volume of information, but the name has come up a few times.

Jaskier throws his hands up in the air. “No! Well, yes, he’s my forever nemesis, but now I have a new nemesis.”

“Okay,” Geralt says. He has generally discovered that Jaskier will get to the point sooner or later. You just have to wait him out.

“It’s Keytar Bear,” Jaskier seethes.

“That guy who wears a bear costume and —”

“— plays the keytar. Yes, yes, yes, he has a very descriptive name. I was packing up after my set, but then he showed up, and no less than three people asked for a selfie with him. Just because he has a schtick! I don’t need a schtick because I have raw musical talent.”

Geralt says, “He was pretty good the last time I saw him.” He had been walking near South Station with his brothers for one reason or another, and they had passed by the bear as he jammed along to “Purple Rain.” His skill had been obvious, especially when he tore into a killer solo during the bridge. Even Lambert had stopped for a moment to listen. As far as Geralt can tell, Jaskier has only been working the busking game for a few months. Keytar Bear has been a Boston fixture for years.

“You’re right,” Jaskier says with a dramatic flourish. “I am going to need to beat him at his own game.’” His eyes are bright with a chaotic passion that Geralt usually only sees on D&D players who have just rolled a natural twenty. Not for the first time, Geralt considers that Jaskier is rather attractive. It doesn’t really matter in the long run, because Jaskier’s not really Geralt’s usual type, and Geralt’s probably not Jaskier’s type either. Jaskier seems like the kind of guy who needs someone fun and exciting, not someone who sits at home and reads fantasy novels on Friday nights. Besides, Geralt knows that Jaskier only shows up at Geralt’s gaming shop when Yennefer isn’t behind the counter at the New Age bookstore across the street.

“Sounds like you have a plan,” Geralt says.

Jaskier grins at him. “You have my most humble thanks. I knew you’d have a good solution to my problem.”

Geralt is pretty sure he didn’t do anything, but he’s fine with taking the credit anyway. “Sure,” he says.

---

Jaskier barges into Yennefer’s bookstore just after the lunch rush, which must mean that Geralt has the day off. He’s glowering, expression stormy, and he’s not carrying his usual guitar case. Instead, he’s lugging around a much larger, rectangular bag that he drops onto the floor. It lands with a metallic thump. Jaskier lets out a loud, pointed sigh.

Yennefer ignores him, pretending to be focused on rearranging the books lined up on the shelf in front of her. The astrology section is always a mixed bag, but she has a very odd fondness for the tacky 70s cover art and typography. You can’t get away with some of those fonts and colors on book covers anymore.

Jaskier coughs, even more pointedly. This is how he had weaseled himself into her life in the first place, convincing her to let him use the shop’s restroom after a long set, and then somehow never leaving. Yennefer does not know why he feels the need to show up at odd hours to bother her about tarot cards, but he has decided to affix himself to her store like a human-shaped barnacle.

“Oh hello. I didn’t see you come in. Can I help you find anything?” Yennefer asks in her best ‘customer service’ voice. Triss says that it makes her sound like an axe murderer.

“It’s-- it’s all this uncultured swine. How is an artist supposed to make a living these days when the masses can be swayed by a simple costume and real art is overlooked?” Jaskier wails.

“You don’t make a living off your art,” Yennefer says. As far as she can tell, Jaskier lives off the allowance that his rich dad gives him, and busking is a hobby to pass the time and to earn himself some extra booze money.

“I demonstrated my prowess on an instrument as difficult as a theremin! I even played some top 40 hits — I played Ed Sheeran. And yet, he still managed to attract a bigger crowd and more tips than me!”

Yennefer eyes the bag that Jaskier brought with him. She’s heard of a theremin before, but she doesn’t entirely know what it is. Something about electromagnetic waves? “That’s because he’s more talented and attractive than you,” she says, because someone needs to make sure that Jaskier’s head still fits through doorways.

“He wears that bear mask all the time!” Jaskier says, clearly outraged.

“Yes,” Yennefer says. “I know.”

Jaskier sputters, “I cannot believe any of you. Does no one have any taste anymore? Am I forced to spend the rest of my life surrounded by philistines?” He flops himself dramatically over the counter.

If it were anyone else, Yennefer would probably be kicking him out right about now. It says unfortunate things about how fond she is of him that she only flicks him in the ear.

“Ow!” Jaskier leaps to his feet and clutches at his ear as if he’s mortally wounded. “There’s no need to resort to violence!”

Yennefer snorts. “There’s every need to resort to violence.”

“Betrayed by my closest friends! Et tu, brute?” Jaskier says, despondent. He manages to flop even more heavily over the counter. It’s the sort of passive aggressive revenge that he excels at.

“What did Geralt do?” she asks with a roll of her eyes.

“He smacked me in the shoulder for blocking the doorway to his store. Me! His best friend in the entire world.”

“He let you off easy.” Yennefer would have probably kicked him in the shins and then shoved him out of the way. Shins are surprisingly sensitive.

“Anyway, I need a new plan to dethrone the stupid keytar-playing bear from the hearts and minds of the greater Boston area. I thought a bit of novelty would do the trick, but clearly it wasn’t enough. It was too subtle. I need to step up my game.” He taps a finger against his lip, lost in thought.

“Good luck with that,” Yennefer says. She gives him a shove but spares him the kick to the shin. “Now get out of my store. Your bad vibes are getting all over the crystals.”

---

Jaskier is already in a very cranky mood when his train pulls into Central Square. It’s been one of the hottest days of the summer, and he’s sweating like a pig underneath his clothes. He’s looking forward to spending a few hours in Geralt’s gaming store, luxuriating in the air conditioning and asking annoying questions about all the miniatures. Maybe he could even pop by the bookstore afterwards and complain to Yennefer about every single indignity he’s had to suffer through today. If he’s really lucky, he might be able to coax a smile out of one or both of them, just the tiniest admission that they don’t find him as annoying as they pretend to. He lets himself imagine it, the curl of Geralt’s lips and the flash of Yennefer’s teeth. There’s a chance they’ll even touch him a few times, a hand clasped on his shoulder or brushing against his back, despite his current body odor situation. The thought puts an extra bounce in his stride, and he hops up the steps out of the T station two-at-a-time.

His mood takes a nose-dive when he steps out onto the sidewalk though, because right in front of him is Yennefer standing on her tiptoes and giving Geralt a lingering kiss.

Jaskier’s first instinct is to be sad. Really sad, like ice-cream-and-crying-over-romcom-movie-marathons sad. His second instinct is to get angry. He storms over to the two of them and opens his mouth to say something when Yennefer turns towards him and gives him a look.

“What are you wearing?” she demands, as if she isn’t the one who actually needs to be interrogated.

Jaskier looks down at his outfit and straightens his doublet self-consciously. “This is my schtick. I have a schtick now.” He adjusts the strap of his lute case where it sits on his shoulder. He stands his ground as another rush of people exit the station behind him.

Yennefer’s eyes narrow. She looks up at Geralt. “I told you he was still doing this.”

“None of this explains any of—” Jaskier insists with a wave of his hand. Yes, he’s still annoyed that his whole Middle Ages bard getup (including, he needs to point out, an excellent hat with an even more excellent feather) had only garnered mild interest, but he has more pressing issues to discuss, like the whole kissing thing.

“We were going to tell you,” Geralt rumbles. He, at least, has the decency to look a little sheepish. It’s basically the way he looks all the time, but with slightly more eyebrow tilt.

“Tell me what?” Jaskier asks. The sadness is creeping back into his chest, but he’s trying to squash that down. Later, when he’s back in his flat, he can turn it into a weepy ballad that will get him crowned the next Adele or Taylor Swift, but for now, he needs to stay angry. “That the two of you have been conducting a torrid affair behind my back?”

Yennefer sighs, but she also reaches out to place a hand on his arm. It doesn’t seem like she’s excited to tear his heart out of his chest. “We were going to ask you if you wanted to do this with us, you moron. But all you wanted to talk about was your feud.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, because he can’t find any words. Geralt pulls him into a hug. It’s very warm and very comforting, even in the stifling heat. Jaskier feels better already.

“Really, we should probably send the bear a thank you note, because Geralt and I bonded over how annoying you were being about him,” Yennefer says, and she’s giving him that smile that means that she really wants to kick him in the nuts, but she likes him too much to do so.

She presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek, and his heart does a happy little flip-flop. He says, “Okay, I guess I can go back to having Valdo Marx as my primary nemesis.”

“Good,” Yennefer says. “It somehow made you even more insufferable.”

Jaskier is going to shoot back a snide comment about how Yennefer needs to only look in the mirror to understand what it means to be insufferable, but then Geralt kisses him on the lips, leaving Yennefer’s laughter ringing in his ears. Okay, Jaskier can let it go this one time.

Just this one time, though.

FIN.