Geralt struggled, grabbed and chugged and desperately tried to crush liquid from the waterskin. It was a sight that gave Jaskier a bit of hope--made him glad he'd brought up that pitcher--he was about to offer it when the Witcher promptly coughed, sputtered, and vomitted the lot of it over the edge of the bed and, consequently, all over Jaskier's trousers.
They were ruined already, he reminded himself, but the sudden mess of it was still enough to have the bard freeze in place and just...stare. He let out a strained huff and looked up as Geralt dropped back into sleep--
He made another strained sort of sound and, once a few moments had passed, Jaskier reached and picked up the waterskin.
Right.
Well. Then.
He looked at Geralt's side--where he'd started to peel away the ruined bandages...and then looked at the state of the bedding and himself. He had no idea if the Witcher was aware enough that alcohol would sear him back awake...so, perhaps it was best if he...cleaned. A bit.
Perhaps.
The pub owner was more than happy to lend him use of a tub, to let him wash and clean his own clothing and the top-sheet. He had tried to extract the bottom sheet but the Witcher was not a small man and, without lifting him bodily, there would be no changing that. Jaskier settled for wiping up the thin watery mess and changing out the pillow, at least.
Geralt had complained, however briefly, about the pain of changing out those bandages. Jaskier supposed he could leave it, now that he was on the mend, but the thought of those wounds opening made him terribly anxious. He could recall just how awful they'd looked when he closed them the first time and, frankly, picturing that put him off every other activity he could have done.
So, whilst Geralt slept, Jaskier decided to soak the matted bandages off of his side. It would make the Witcher bleed again but the top-sheet was a lost cause, regardless. At least if he soaked off the clotted blood and mess, he could cut the fabric away and deal with the wounds. So, he did. With a bucket of very warm water and a rag, and more patience than sense, he set to task.
Unfortunately, Jaskier was dead on his feet as he started again. He barely even noticed that he was falling asleep until he finally succumbed, draped over Geralt's hip with a wet and bloodied rag still in hand.
no subject
They were ruined already, he reminded himself, but the sudden mess of it was still enough to have the bard freeze in place and just...stare. He let out a strained huff and looked up as Geralt dropped back into sleep--
He made another strained sort of sound and, once a few moments had passed, Jaskier reached and picked up the waterskin.
Right.
Well. Then.
He looked at Geralt's side--where he'd started to peel away the ruined bandages...and then looked at the state of the bedding and himself. He had no idea if the Witcher was aware enough that alcohol would sear him back awake...so, perhaps it was best if he...cleaned. A bit.
Perhaps.
The pub owner was more than happy to lend him use of a tub, to let him wash and clean his own clothing and the top-sheet. He had tried to extract the bottom sheet but the Witcher was not a small man and, without lifting him bodily, there would be no changing that. Jaskier settled for wiping up the thin watery mess and changing out the pillow, at least.
Geralt had complained, however briefly, about the pain of changing out those bandages. Jaskier supposed he could leave it, now that he was on the mend, but the thought of those wounds opening made him terribly anxious. He could recall just how awful they'd looked when he closed them the first time and, frankly, picturing that put him off every other activity he could have done.
So, whilst Geralt slept, Jaskier decided to soak the matted bandages off of his side. It would make the Witcher bleed again but the top-sheet was a lost cause, regardless. At least if he soaked off the clotted blood and mess, he could cut the fabric away and deal with the wounds. So, he did. With a bucket of very warm water and a rag, and more patience than sense, he set to task.
Unfortunately, Jaskier was dead on his feet as he started again. He barely even noticed that he was falling asleep until he finally succumbed, draped over Geralt's hip with a wet and bloodied rag still in hand.