Jaskier let out a delighted, manic chirp of laughter as Geralt cursed. Geralt used Jaskier's sleeve to pull himself up and Jaskier tried to help him with hands under his armpits. They were all but kneeling in a pile of broken glass. They needed to move but, honestly, he was going to savor the moment. He already had his arms mostly around Geralt, it wasn't much of a stretch from that to a sloppy sort of hug.

"I am so glad you're not dead," Jaskier told him and left off as that maid in the corner started sobbing again.

"It's a bit of a tale but the long and short of it is: this villa is owned by a witch. She is not a fan of mine." At this point Jaskier twisted and shouted up at the ceiling, for some reason. "Good thing she's a predictable bitch with a penchant for shells!"

Vanessa probably couldn't hear him. She was probably not even in the manor, itself, but the shouting was still very cathartic. Jaskier let out a sigh and returned his attention to Geralt--his smile was chipper, even with the devestation around them.

His gaze drifted to the marks on Geralt's face and Jaskier debated, a moment, whether to fill the Witcher in on the nitty gritty (horrifying) details of the night. He started to elaborate--well, he wanted to start--but there wasn't really an easy way to detail the last few minutes.

Fuck, had it only been minutes?

"I can regale you with the tale another time. For now, let's get out of the pile of glass and twisted metal. Can you walk?"