Geralt toppled, finger that had dug into his legs went slack and spasmed--the Witcher hit the floor and Jaskier was both consumed by shock and filled with a tentative sort of hope. Had those few wards been enough?
He dropped the paper and pushed up, gripped the table to lift himself from the chair he'd tumbled in to. Geralt was on the ground, blinking, almost awake--he heard a gasp to the right, along the wall. He looked on reflex and spotted one of the maids as she stumbled forward and collapsed to her knees coughing.
What--why was she--
He looked back and Geralt was--the face that stared up at the chandelier was not Geralt, again.
"Oh, fuck me, then--" Jaskier breathed and grabbed the table as he hauled himself up out of the chair. He made it to his feet but before he could vault the banquet table, an iron grip caught him around his ankle.
no subject
He dropped the paper and pushed up, gripped the table to lift himself from the chair he'd tumbled in to. Geralt was on the ground, blinking, almost awake--he heard a gasp to the right, along the wall. He looked on reflex and spotted one of the maids as she stumbled forward and collapsed to her knees coughing.
What--why was she--
He looked back and Geralt was--the face that stared up at the chandelier was not Geralt, again.
"Oh, fuck me, then--" Jaskier breathed and grabbed the table as he hauled himself up out of the chair. He made it to his feet but before he could vault the banquet table, an iron grip caught him around his ankle.