bakerstreet | Where there’s breath, I’ve heard, there’s hope.

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Where there’s breath, I’ve heard, there’s hope.

true love's kiss

“As she bends for a Kleenex in the dark, I am thinking of other girls: the girl I loved who fell in love with a lion—she lost her head over it—we just necked a lot; of the girl who fell in love with the tightrope, got addicted to getting high wired and nothing else was enough; all the beautiful, damaged women who have come through my life and I wonder what would have happened if I’d met them sooner, what they were like before they were so badly wounded. All this time I thought I’d been kissing, but maybe I’m always doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, kissing dead girls in hopes that the heart will start again. Where there’s breath, I’ve heard, there’s hope.”

– Daphne Gottlieb, Kissing Dead Girls

You bit the poisoned apple. The needle of the spinning wheel pierced your finger. The terms are complete, the cursed fulfilled. Or perhaps your downfall is more modern (technology, bio-weaponry, misuse of powers) or metaphoric. Regardless, you've slipped in a sleep as deep as death. No one or nothing can wake you.

Nothing except a kiss from your true love.

— comment with your character + prefs + desired role. are you cursed or cusebreaker?
— reply to others.
— remember, your 'true love' might not be who you expect; the conventional may not work, the outlandish the perfect fit instead.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(either role but prefer cursebreaker)

[ Either role. ]

[If you would prefer Jaskier do the waking up, by gods, he will absolutely kiss anything. One. Anyone. If he is out cold and requires kissing, well, let's face facts, he is probably the one who got cursed and passed out and any number of shenanigans can have happened before or will happen after.

Open to any gender/character/fandom. Familiar with most Fantasy, high or otherwise ~~blaze it~~. Am down with hardcore true love trope or just needlessly specific kiss the cursed fellow version.]

There was this passionate girl from Verona who wanted to ran away with her sweetheart Romeo and not end up married to a man her family much preferred for her. So she sought help from a witch in the forest.

"This potion will put you to sleep so deep that everyone thinks you dead. But do not fear girl, a true love's kiss will wake you up." The witch laughed out loud and added in the mixture a string of hair that the girl had found on her pillow and knew to belong to her beloved man.

She ran home and drank the foul tasting potion. No sooner than the last drop had fallen down her throat, she sank onto her bed, lifeless.

Many tears were shed for the beautiful Juliet but all that was too late now. She was laid out to rest in the family tomb.

Edited 2020-03-11 09:46 (UTC)

(I hope this works?)

Jaskier has never been one to turn down a request from any particular court so, naturally, when Prince Escalus had sent to hire him for his cousin's betrothal, Jaskier had set out at once. Verona had been a bit of a walk, of course, but it was a pleasant enough city and the Lord and Lady Capuleti were absolutely gracious hosts, keen really, and had spared no expense. The young Lady Juliet and Count Paris made a fine couple, very upstanding and regal looking--and despite a bit of a kerfuffle between some of the young men, the evening had gone swimmingly.

The guests had loved his songs, the other bards had been green with envy, he'd even managed to spirit away one of the Capuleti's handmaids (a lovely older woman with a sonorous laugh and enormous...er spirit) and have a bit of a tumble.

Really, it was a seamless, delightful romp, this engagement--up until the, you know, murder.

Not the first murder to ever sully a royal engagement, of course, but this one threatened to spark up a whole host of violent scuffles. Escalus had his say in the order of things and the whole wedding was moved up a day--which is, well, alright by him, frankly because things had gone from festive to excruciatingly tense overnight.

Then, somehow, it all managed to get even worse.

As if murder wasn't bad enough, they all woke to find the Capuleti girl had killed herself. Poison. It was both a terrible tragedy and had come right out of nowhere. The young girl had seemed a bit somber, yes, but Jaskier had guessed that was just the family way. Apparently he was wrong and then, quite literally overnight, again, Jaskier found himself as the bardic accompaniment to a funeral rather than a wedding.

He hadn't brought an outfit for this.

He did his best, regardless, and played some really wistful ballads as everyone filtered through the family crypt to pay respects. He had only had, what, perhaps two conversations with the young girl? She'd been very sweet, overall, if a little hesitant about marriage. It was a terrible shame and, honestly, as he played and watched everyone weep and wind past her--he'd be the first to admit, it got to him.

He was a tender heart and this had all turned so awfully tragic.

He was the last one out of the crypt after her mother. The Lady Capuleti, weeping and inconsolable, was led out by her father and Jaskier had awkwardly let his hands fall still on his lute strings. He wanted to pay respects but, unfortunately, hadn't a single flower or coin to lay beside her body. This was a terrible faux pas on his part. So, rather spontaneously, he'd decided to grant the only boon he could think of. He brushed her dark hair off her forehead, murmured a short lament to the air, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

(ooc: It's great, and long, and I won't be able to write nearly as much.
I thought it amusing that Jaskier found himself a distraction right away. )

The one person more grief-stricken than Juliet's dear parents was of course Romeo, but few paid attention to him during these dark hours. He blamed himself for Juliet's death, for had he not stalled but instead of whisked her away from Verona by any means, surely she would still be alive and well.

Guilt kept him away from the funeral. Not that he'd even been let anywhere near it, him being Montague and all, but he would have wanted to lurk close by. But he was far from his usual self and had locked himself into his room. No doubt he would have been annoyed to know that the foreign bard with his fancy tunes would stay by Juliet's side after everyone else had left. Nay, annoyed was much too mild a word for it. Jaskier would have been in danger of his life, had Romeo known what was going on.

Juliet had expected for Romeo to come. That was the plan. Her letter, explaining everything, was to be delivered to him as soon as possible but the cruel game of fate had it so that the letter never reached him. People of future generations would make up tales of what happened to it, but no one would ever know for sure.

The crypt was cool and voices echoed from its wall. Juliet's body was not as cold as one would expect from a dead person. Feeling peaceful and unaware of her surroundings, she continued her deep sleep-

-until a fleeting breath of warm air caressed her forehead and made her sigh.

She was far from waking up yet.

Edited 2020-03-12 01:21 (UTC)

[Oh, please, don't worry about it! I am a rambling, long-winded jerk. I don't ever expect anyone to match the length of my tags. It's totally fine! Also yes. He may or may not have slept with her nurse. Shhh.]

Jaskier had experienced enough strangeness that his first thought, upon hearing the lovely, very fresh corpse of Juliette Capuleti inhale a breath and sigh, was not: 'oh, perhaps she lives yet?'

Jaskier, upon hearing her sigh, lets out a choking sound of panic and scrambles back, promptly trampling a goodly amount of the flowers on the floor, dislodging the lovely carpet, and crashing into the wall. The candlestick holder thereby was knocked over and, quite promptly, they were thrown into near darkness as all but one candle went out.

This was...unfortunate.

Jaskier froze and stared for some long time before asking himself: What would Geralt do?

Unfortunately, as he lacked any sort of weapon or (frankly) murderous skill, he decided he might have to check. Maybe. To see if...he imagined that.

Jaskier steeled himself, then, with his fingers wrapped around the neck of his lute and the lute held high, and crept back to her side. He had a mirror (because of course he did, he wasn't an animal) and held that out above the shadowed, perfectly still shape over lips.

"Ooooh, please, please don't lurch up and gore me--"

Some said that magpies liked shiny objects. If that was so, then the assumption held by Jaskier that only humans could carry mirrors with them was quite false. Admittedly, that bit of information was not particularly relevant to Juliet who was under threat of being smacked with a lute.

Then again, would that have been much worse than not being awakened at all? She needed a true love's kiss for that to happen. Why was Romeo not here? That was the big question. For pity's sake, he'd taken her to bed already. It was his duty to rescue her and not sulk in his room. He should have felt it in his body that Juliet was alive.

As it wasn't so, poor Juliet was at the mercy of a wandering bard.

Thank goodness he had the sense of holding the mirror above her lips. Though barely noticeable, the reflection got ever so slightly blurry.

It wasn't a dramatic result but, by the gods' her breath managed to fog his little mirror. Jaskier let out a ragged, excruciatingly relieved sigh and almost dropped to his knees as he sagged against the slab she'd been laid out upon. His lute dropped--well, lowered, but very rapidly--and then he thought better of it and slung the instrument over his shoulder.

"She's not dead--" Jaskier announced in a low whisper and, as he stared at her, paled just so-- "Fucking hell...she's not dead."

He cast a panicked look back at the entrance to the crypt and then looked at the girl on the slab again. There had been one murder at this dreadful betrothal gone awry--had someone tried to kill her? Sure, they'd found her with a vial of poison, but why would a lovely young girl have downed a flask of poison a day before her wedding? Oh--oh dear.

Jaskier leans over her, then, gently bracketing her face between his hands, and searches the deathly still lines of her face. He could jostle her but, frankly, if that hadn't woken her when they set her out, it wasn't about to work now. Still--he had precious few other ideas. He smooths his thumbs over her cheeks and, in a slightly desperate stage whisper:

"Oh, wake up, please wake up--" he begs quietly, to no avail--fuck, he was going to have to haul her out of here over his shoulder. Yes, that would go so swimmingly. What did you do today, Jaskier? Oh, not much, just kidnapped the unconscious daughter of my current hosts and spirited her away...somewhere because someone might be trying to off her before her wedding day???

~~Romeo, where art thou????~~

Romeo was nowhere to be seen but someone else was just a few steps away. The almost-widow, Count Paris had come to mourn her betrothed in peace, or so he had thought. He didn't take kindly in discovering a lowly lute-playing nobody holding Juliet's face between his hands.

"Get away from her! Now!"

Like a wild boar he barged forward. Luckily for Jaskier, the slab Juliet was lying on was between him and the enraged Paris, who therefore couldn't strike the bard immediately. His hand sought for the sword at his hip-- in vain. It wasn't there. All the guests had promised not to bring weapons to the funeral.

"She is mine!" he roared, his hands curled into fists which he then banged on the cold stone slab. Depending on which direction Jaskier moved around it, Paris would try to move into another, in order to catch the intruder and beat the daylight out of him.

"What are you doing here?!"

(ooc: I have an idea of how to get rid of Paris but since you seem to have a wild imagination I'm giving you free hands to sort out the situation in any way you want. My only hope is that Jaskier doesn't just ran away and leave Juliet there.)

Edited 2020-03-13 01:26 (UTC)

[OOC: He would never! He is also pretty sure he's the only person who can't be the killer/murderer.]

"What! I--it's not what it looks like!" Jaskier whisper shouts and then, has a moment, where he's not sure what it would look like? What does it look like? Oh, it probably looks like he's making out with a dead girl. Oh--oh dear--and he does have a certain...reputation for being hedonistic--not that he often makes out with young girls or dead...people.

Fuck.

"I was just paying my respects, nothing untoward!"

And yet he is still very much keeping the slab between Count Paris and himself.

"Paying your respects? Who do you think you are, Prince Charming?"

Paris realized immediately that he couldn't give this man a chance to make a dash for the doorway which would no doubt happen if the started chasing Jaskier around the slab. No, he had to pretend to calm down so that he could get closer first. Very slowly he moved to stand near Juliet's head and caressed her cheek.

"Why...?" he lamented, and with his eyes still directed at Jaskier until the last possible moment, he too leaned to kiss the girl's forehead. That didn't result in any reaction from her, not that Paris was expecting it.

And then he charged forward again, only to find his feet getting caught in the knocked-down candlestick holder, courtesy of Jaskier. The crypt was too dark for him to have seen that. Cursing through his teeth Paris hit his head against a pillar, stumbled backwards and fell down.

He didn't die. The carpet softened the blow. He was just concussed for the time being.

Jaskier watched the Count as he bent and--when he could make a break for it--apparently that was when he was meant to make a break for it. Paris lunged, tripped, and managed to promptly knock himself out. He groaned on the ground and Jaskier, startled by the abruptness of his fall, let out a very strained, faint laugh.

"Right, time to leave--" Jaskier announced to the tomb and (thankfully) nobody replied. The only real problem, now, was how to get the girl out of here.

Jaskier, unfortunately, was not particularly skilled at planning. His best ideas were spontaneous, simple reactions to problems around him--and, well, so far Destiny had held in his favor? Right?

"Alright--please don't....be alarmed? Or rather, be alarmed, if you can--no?"

The bard babbled as he moved to the side of the slab and gently shifted the Capuleti girl's limbs. She was light as a feather, thankfully, and he managed to hoist her (ironically: bridal style) from her grave and against his chest. The gown she was in was lovely, gossamer, and was very likely to trip him. He fumbled a bit, shifted her in an ungainly way that he was glad nobody was awake to see, and managed to pool the train of her dress in her lap as he shuffled toward the exit of the crypt.

The cemetery beyond was quiet enough that he paused only a moment before leaning out to check if it was clear. If it was, he was going to have to...make a mad dash, he supposed? He had enough coin to rent a room--oh the optics of this were so very terrible--and then, oh he had no idea. Baby steps.

"Let's get you to safety, shall we?" He asked the body--teenager in his arms and let out a thready, panicked sigh.

Sun was setting and the cemetery started to look like a scene for a spooky ~~movie~~ theatre play. No people were around, at least not real people. There was a black cat. It sat on top of an old mossy tombstone, keen eyes directed at the entrance of the crypt. The appearance of Count Paris had sparked its interest earlier but to the cat's utter surprise, the next thing for her (since it was a female cat) to witness was not a happy couple sneaking away. Instead, out came another man completely, one that the cat had not paid attention to before.

And not only that, he was carrying the girl who should have been awake already.

"Ssss," hissed the cat and jumped down from her lookout place. In human language it meant 'this is not how things should go'.

Honestly, she shouldn't have agreed to brew a concoction that relied on love. They were the hardest types to make, and she had been losing her magic touch about a hundred or so years ago. 'Stick to mixtures healing a sore throat or a gout at the most', that's what she been told by fellow witches but no, she was too proud for that. Not to mention careless, for she had substituted dragon scales for fish scales and well...

Now the pretty girl might never wake up.

How to save the day? Hmm. She didn't know if he was Juliet's friend or a foe but if he was the former, he probably needed help. When she thought it safe enough, she came into Jaskier's view and stopped in front of him, along the path to the main gate. For a few times she did this: moved forward and turned to look at Jaskier, as if to show him where to go.

(ooc: You can decide where the cat wants Jaskier to go - or I will in my next tag.)

Edited 2020-03-14 18:43 (UTC)

Alright--there was nobody waiting for him upon exiting the crypt, which was just as well, because Jaskier had no idea how he would even begin explaining what he was doing. He considered the cemetary in the dying light--sunset. Sunset.--and was all but startled when a black cat dove into his path and stopped, nearly tripping him in the process.

He had met cats before this one. He knew how cats worked.

"Must you? Please? I can't pet you right now," Jaskier argued but the cat, baleful in expression, would just run down the path and stop again.

It was leading him? Oh--that...was a terrifying prospect. He stared at the cat with mixed horror and understanding and, for just a moment, considered their options. He could try to wander the streets of Verona while carrying the presumed corpse of one of its most notable residents...or he could follow either a magical or monstrous cat...somewhere.

Huh. The...odds of him being murdered gruesomely were actually less if he went with the cat, weren't they?

"Alright, little fluff, please lead on," Jaskier ceded and would have gestured to the road ahead but, well, his arms were rather full.

The cat veered away from the main gates, down through a series of increasingly old and neglected tombstones, until it arrived at a side gate near the wall of the city. The side gate, blessedly, was unlocked and Jaskier was able to sort of shoulder his way through it and out into the alley beyond. The cat skipped ahead, trotting and watching to make certain he followed, and Jaskier did so obediently--he could only hope that it wouldn't just lead him to a doorstep with a dead bird on it.

It did that exact thing, unfortunately, but the doorstep was no plain thing.

"An apothecary?" Jaskier asked, quietly, shocked, and then looked down at the cat. "Good kitty, very good kitty."

He leaned and, after much maneuvering, managed to knock firmly on the back door of the apothecary with his head.

The lad is smart, thought the witch-turned-cat as Jaskier followed along to a sordid part of Verona. Using one's head to knock on the door lessened that high opinion but hey, they had reached the destination and that was all that mattered in the end. The dead bird was a wonderful bonus of course. Her animal instincts took over and she scooted around the corner to munch on it, caring not of Juliet's predicament anymore. It just proved the point that her glory days were gone.

Almost simultaneously the door was cracked open, revealing the face of a weary old man. "Si, signore?" Oh, but he wasn't daft, despite of his year. One look at the lifeless girl made him understand he had an urgent situation at hand.

"Quickly. To the back room." He gestured Jaskier to step inside before bolting the door and wobbling behind the young pair. His apothecary shop only had a chair but at the end of the corridor was a tiny room with a couch and a whole lot of books.

"What has happened?"

Jaskier, now that the cat had abandoned him to devour the remnants of a bluejay, hesitated a moment but followed the Apothecary into his shop. He maneuvered down the hall and into the tiny, cramped study and fumbled a bit before laying the girl out on the low couch. Her legs were long enough they had to drape over the end. It was not quite as dignified a scene as the slab in the crypt but, if he'd had to guess, it was probably more comfortable.

"She's been poisoned, I think--" Jaskier said a bit haltingly and leaned in to gently pull open one of her eyes. There was no reaction from her pupil and Jaskier had no idea if that was bad or not. "She's breathing, she's alive, but someone killed her cousin not a day ago and then she was found with a vial of poison empty at her feet--"

He stepped back and looked at the old man--he was a little frazzled, Jaskier had probably woken him from a dead sleep, but he seemed honestly concerned. If he suddenly pulled a blade on them, Jaskier was going to be terribly disappointed.

"I saw her stir in the crypt, took a mirror to her lips--she was set to marry a Count, relative of the Prince. I've no idea who would be trying to kill her."

At first the apothecary , whose name was Orfeo, narrowed his eyes at Jaskier's explanation. Poison. Prince. Bride. Crypt. How and why was a man with a lute hanging at his back involved? She was clearly of noble house, he - not so much. Possibly the young man was lying. Orfeo had seen many a rascal steal a lady's heart and compromising her reputation, and then coming to seek his help when things went awry. This time, though, he could sense something else was going on.

"I assume you do not have the vial with you." It was more a statement than a question. Life would be too easy if that had been the case and he could examine even a drop of the liquid she'd taken. "Make yourself useful and hold a candle for me, won't you?"

After checking the pulse at Juliet's wrist and the color of her nails, he went through her eyes, ears and mouth, going so far as to pull out her tongue. He even listened to her heart using a device made of a deer's horn. He was particularly proud of that; it was his own invention. Talking of compromising a lady, he did that himself by loosening the ribbons at Juliet's gown, below her neck, though only enough to be able to press the horn above her bosom.

"I do not believe she is poisoned," he finally said, rising up. "She looks far too comfortable for that. Her breathing is shallow, yet her heartbeat is normal. It is a strange combination but if she was poisoned, the symptoms would be different. No, it is more likely that she is under a spell. Do you know anything more of her?"

(ooc: I think I made a grammar mistake earlier. I meant to say that the witch used fish scales when she was supposed to use dragon scales. I guess I wrote it the other way around.)

Edited 2020-03-16 18:28 (UTC)

(OOC: It's all good. Also way to cut corners lady. (Which is to say, darned witch. Using cheaper fish scales in place of dragon scales--no substitutions!!!))

"I've only been in Verona a week, if that? I was hired to sing and dance at her betrothal, little else--I've met her all of once before--" He gestures at the girl before them. "--all of this."

Jaskier is, at the moment, a bit more confident in the credentials and pronouncements of this old man than he had been when he walked in. He'd taken careful stock of the girl, had peered and prodded (within reason and the realm of decorum), and hadn't decided she was dead like the last few people who'd looked her over had done. He was eager to have this solved, even if he wasn't the slightest bit eager to leave her anywhere or entrust her to anyone.

This man might be able to help him solve it--which was a relief. He was about to send word for Geralt or something if this carried on too long.

"She had seemed a bit morose at her party, but then her cousin died and everything went to shit very quickly." Jaskier took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"She did make a little sound--like someone had prodded her whilst she had a good sleep--when she was in the crypt. Could it wear off? Do...spells wear off?"

Fuck it all he knew less about spells than he did poisons, which was impressive, because he knew literally nothing about poisons.

Edited 2020-03-17 07:22 (UTC)

"Spells can wear out if they are meant to wear out. Some of them are meant to be broken by a counter-spell or an action or by other means. How much time do you have to find out? How much time the girl has? As of now I do not know what kind of counter-spell to even look for."

He stepped over some books on the floor and searched for the right volumes on the messy bookcase. Finally picking two them he turned back to face Jaskier, tapping the covers in a nervous way.

"Poisons are easy. They either kill the victim or they don't." His hand made an elaborate gesture that resembled that one makes when bowing down in front of royalty, and he ended it with pointing towards Juliet.

"I believe we're in the agreement that she isn't dead, nor about to be, unless of course left to be in this condition for a very, very long time. I am guessing she will not age or rot."

He offered the other book to Jaskier. "Can you read?"

What type of counter spell? Time? Oh Melitele he hadn't the faintest and his prolonged, muted 'uuuuuh' made the old man stare at him. Fortunately he didn't wait long for an answer and moved to his shelves while Jaskier fumbled for words. He declared it not a poison--which thank fuck for that--but that meant it was magic and, oh dear, even Geralt couldn't help much with that.

"Of course I can read," Jaskier replied, slightly aghast. He had a lute with him, didn't he? He had to be able to read to play and write--he takes the book and flips it open, scanning idly but, ironically, reading little of it. It appears to be a tome on magical ailments and remedies--that or it was a very arcane cookbook.

"She did stir when--" Jaskier started and paused to give the apothecary a shrewd, slightly hesitant look over. The old man hadn't immediately gone for the constabulary. That was...a good sign. Right?

"I uh," Jaskier coughed to clear his throat and snapped the book shut as he did. "I may have...kissed her brow? A sign of respect! Nothing more! Just a token to see her to the next life, right? Perfectly reasonable--"

He was babbling now but, truly, he was not the sort of man who was carnally interested in either youngish teenagers or corpses. He could not be more clear about that. Youngish teenaged corpses? Straight out.

"She made a noise, do you think, maybe that could help...narrow this down?" He gestured to the book and then looked at the door--ready to charge and slam it shut if the apothecary dove for it.

"Ah. Prince Charming, are you?" The days events were starting to repeat themselves, apparently.

Pressing the book against his chest, Orfeo had a long serious look at Jaskier, then Juliet. He had no intention of scolding the bard for kissing this girl goodbye. He seemed like a decent man who had wanted to help after realizing something was amiss. Only now there was no need for goodbyes; she was alive. Sort of. Unfortunately he still lacked the knowledge to make her wake up.

"Give us some clue, signorina, won't you? What spell do we need?" he half-pleaded as he leaned down to hold Juliet's chin between his fingers.

He straightened up and cast a rueful look at Jaskier. Then, as if something had finally started to make sense, the expression on his wrinkled face began to change. It went from concerned to incredulous, and from there to something akin to smiling.

"Charming princes, indeed. Fairytales!"

He tossed away the book in his hands and digged up another, a much thinner book but one that contained old tales and nursery rhymes. He had read it many times to his children, and grandchildren, and he would read it to his great-grandchildren if he ever had any.

"Mayhaps you are the key to this, young man, more than you know. While not having the looks of a traditional Prince Charming, who knows, you might possess the power to kiss her awake." He flipped through the pages of the book. The Pied Piper caught his attention for a brief moment, if only because he was a character who could also play an instrument. Orfeo was quick to brush that off, however. A story of a man who lured children to their demise because he had not been paid for his services was not something that the man standing in front of him should be compared to. But there were other, more suitable examples, not to mention one completely novel idea.

"Or better yet, you could be some unknown type of a hero who saves the day. Would that not be something? You'd be among all these men here. A named bard, a lute player. Remembered forever."

Edited (One last thank you after fixing a misspelled word) 2020-04-11 23:55 (UTC)