Jaskier tugged his other boot on, nearly knocking a lamp off a very decorative and very precarious end-table in the process. It wobbled ominously but didn't fall--the little crystal decorations on the tabletop, however, were not so lucky and more than one of them tumbled and shattered. Jaskier cursed and looked around--no guards, no incoming boots--he waited a long moment in silence--and then heard Geralt let out a soft snore.
"Geralt--" Jaskier whispered loudly, harshly, and whipped around, eyes squinting into the darkness. "Oh-!"
Geralt had shoved the blankets back lazily and was already pulling himself up into a lazy sort of upright. He swayed a bit, but he was getting up and Jaskier jumped to action. If only to make up for the way he'd hissed at the man (when he was clearly doing as the bard requested) Jaskier fetched up the Witcher's boots and breastplate.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Jaskier murmured quickly and jogged around the end of the bed. He tossed the armor onto the plush duvet and dropped to a knee so he could help stuff his hungover friend's foot into one of his boots. "You know, I bet if we cut through the downstairs we can make it to the stables before anyone is the wiser!"
Outside, the waves crashed in a constant droning repetition. The breeze swayed through the curtains, through the decorative wards, through those shell and wooden windchimes that dangled from gilded rafters. Jaskier hated that sound--he'd forgotten--by all the gods why did Cidarin nobility adore shells so? It was like they had a fetish for gilding things they found in the dirt.
Whatever, that didn't matter--he helped haul on Geralt's other boot, fingers scrambling with the laces whilst the Witcher nursed his hangover. If they hurried, they could be at the border before he heard even the barest mention of Vanessa and, hopefully, before she heard so much as a syllable of his name in turn.
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"Geralt--" Jaskier whispered loudly, harshly, and whipped around, eyes squinting into the darkness. "Oh-!"
Geralt had shoved the blankets back lazily and was already pulling himself up into a lazy sort of upright. He swayed a bit, but he was getting up and Jaskier jumped to action. If only to make up for the way he'd hissed at the man (when he was clearly doing as the bard requested) Jaskier fetched up the Witcher's boots and breastplate.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Jaskier murmured quickly and jogged around the end of the bed. He tossed the armor onto the plush duvet and dropped to a knee so he could help stuff his hungover friend's foot into one of his boots. "You know, I bet if we cut through the downstairs we can make it to the stables before anyone is the wiser!"
Outside, the waves crashed in a constant droning repetition. The breeze swayed through the curtains, through the decorative wards, through those shell and wooden windchimes that dangled from gilded rafters. Jaskier hated that sound--he'd forgotten--by all the gods why did Cidarin nobility adore shells so? It was like they had a fetish for gilding things they found in the dirt.
Whatever, that didn't matter--he helped haul on Geralt's other boot, fingers scrambling with the laces whilst the Witcher nursed his hangover. If they hurried, they could be at the border before he heard even the barest mention of Vanessa and, hopefully, before she heard so much as a syllable of his name in turn.