Jaskier the Bard, Julian Alfred Pankraz to his enemies, was having a shit day indeed. Normally he would compose a more florid metaphor for the exact size and shape of said shittiness, but he was not exactly at his best. It had all started a little less than a week ago. He had been minding his own business, which might have involved haunting the section of the continent he just so happened to know a certain white-haired witcher would move through as soon as he was done hibernating. But! Jaskier had taken steps this year to, as Geralt put it, "make sure the first thing I have to do when I see you isn't haul your ass out of trouble." He'd even gone out of his way to avoid the village with the missing livestock rumors, detouring to a sleepy little hamlet that had naught more dangerous than a particularly tetchy rabbit.
No sooner had he sat himself down at the local tavern for a well-deserved reward of ale and meat, his talents of course promising to pay for both, when he had heard rumors of an unusual nature. Alas, it was not the welcome word of Geralt moving through the newly-thawed roads. Instead the local scuttlebutt had it that a nearby member of the brotherhood had put out a bounty on all witchers. Now, this was concerning for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that witchers were (by and large) lovely people who did not deserve to have bounties on them. The second was that Jaskier was known far and wide as 'The Witcher's Bard,' and had, in fact, advertised himself as such when he entered the village. And the courtyard. And the tavern. And to a great many people in all those places. Really though, it was ordinarily QUITE good business, he wouldn't be apologizing for it.
Anyways. The wizard. The presumably-evil and most-certainly-up-to-no-good sorcerer who had a hit out on his nearest and dearest (and assorted coworkers). Likely the foul fellow would make an appearance to investigate Jaskier, but the tavern was so warm against the spring chill, and the ale was quite good. Well, it seemed a shame to waste an evening fleeing when it was likely someone with magic could track down a humble bard regardless. Jaskier had therefore settled in to play his set, and made not the slightest bit of effort to edit his usual material. When a mysterious cloaked stranger appeared on the edges of the crowd, Jaskier made sure not to miss a beat. He did, however, notice that the figure's somewhat-hidden eyes seemed to follow him around the bar extremely attentively.
In the spirit of inquisition that ruled all his undertakings, Jaskier decided to find out if that was solely for the benefit of his witcherly knowledge, or if there might be more...mundane reasons for the attentions. Call it a hunch, but then there were those persistent rumors about sorcerers so lonely they were conjuring their own bed-mates. Jaskier had only started a few of them himself, even, after having observed Geralt misdone by some of their ilk. A few choice shakes of his hips and strategic divestment of outer garments were enough to convince Jaskier he was being observed for more than research purposes. Oh, he had thought to himself, now this I can work with.