The pressure against his grip, the weight of Jaskier failing to keep up, that was nothing. Geralt just kept fingers in the silks as he stepped into the dark hallway. "Stop--" but the ripping of fabric was louder than his words and then Jaskier was twisting and free; without the direct light of the moon the dark of the witcher's pupils expanded as they adjusted to the new dimness that the bard turned and ran into. Geralt looked back through the doorway into the room... his swords were there, but that seemed less effective an option to achieving his ends than his bare hands. The blades were left behind and he started walking, boots kitten-soft against the flag stone as he traced where his quarry had gone. Jaskier always used such distinctive soaps; he would find it hard to hide.

Despite the sound that he'd caused with the door, no one stepped into the halls. The villa was eerily silent save for the sound of the waves off the shore. Most of the party goers would have left but surely the family, the servants... not that it was something that Geralt considered outside of the fact that humiliation was often easier with others to witness. Perhaps maiming would have to do. "Jaskier!" he called out as he walked, his voice bouncing off stone and seeming to shiver the chiming wards hung here and there. "If you want to play Hide or Seek like children, so be it!" No faces appeared at the sound of his voice, no light appeared at the cracks under doors.