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

[anonconda]

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.

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[whatupbuttercup]

(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.

[lafiglia]

"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?"

[whatupbuttercup]

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.

[lafiglia]

"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."