Geralt found himself wrapped up by Jaskier and grunted for the places it made throb with pain but patted the man on the back until he decided to let go. So glad he wasn't dead? Must have been a fun night; shit he hated magic. When the bard yelled Geralt winced at the way it banged around his skull and put a hand to his closest ear. "Yes, you make fans wherever you go," he muttered. "I can walk, I'm fine."

And in fact it only did take a little help to get Geralt to his feet. He blinked at the other people in the room, people he recognized from the party earlier tonight. He didn't understand why they were all in this room-- he could certainly guess at a few connections but it didn't seem worth the ache of his head, only that for now the worst was over and they seemed in much better shape than he felt. The... the chandelier had fallen on him? He shook his head and rubbed his eyes and then turned his hand over and pulled a shard of glass from between his knuckles, letting it fall to the ground. He was sure it was in his hair and other places as well.

As Jaskier's words sank in, Geralt stopped picking his way through the mess of the floor and looked at his friend. "Is she still here?" His body tensed with the possibility, ready for a fight.