Somehow, impossibly, Jaskier didn't jump as the curtains were torn down and a hundred little brass rings spilled across the floor. He didnt dare breathe as the floor creaked with the Witcher's weight, but his horror mounted as the first board gave under a sharp blow.
Light spilled into the room, watery and pale, and a quick, brisk ocean breeze chased after it. Jaskier watched dustmotes stir wildly in the air. Another board and another groaned and squealed as they were torn free from the wall. The sound of crashing waves was nearly deafening. It drowned out everything, save for the quiet flutter of that stupid pennant as it fluttered to the ground by his foot. The design on it was a sparkling gold nautilus.
He stared at the symbol as it glittered in the moonlight, and realized that Geralt must've been looking outside.
For him.
He had a window of escape, however narrow, and he had to take it.
He might have made it, but that stupid little parchment decoration floated up as he moved and managed to insert itself right underneath his goddamned boot. He dove out from under the desk and the very first step he took crunched with the sound of that paper underfoot. He darted for the gaping doorway, but that fucking paper stuck to his shoe, held there by whisky and bad luck (apparently). His foot skidded atop the smooth hardwood floor as he ran. He lost some traction, then, and Jaskier's nimble darting was reduced to a pitched, graceless scramble.
no subject
Light spilled into the room, watery and pale, and a quick, brisk ocean breeze chased after it. Jaskier watched dustmotes stir wildly in the air. Another board and another groaned and squealed as they were torn free from the wall. The sound of crashing waves was nearly deafening. It drowned out everything, save for the quiet flutter of that stupid pennant as it fluttered to the ground by his foot. The design on it was a sparkling gold nautilus.
He stared at the symbol as it glittered in the moonlight, and realized that Geralt must've been looking outside.
For him.
He had a window of escape, however narrow, and he had to take it.
He might have made it, but that stupid little parchment decoration floated up as he moved and managed to insert itself right underneath his goddamned boot. He dove out from under the desk and the very first step he took crunched with the sound of that paper underfoot. He darted for the gaping doorway, but that fucking paper stuck to his shoe, held there by whisky and bad luck (apparently). His foot skidded atop the smooth hardwood floor as he ran. He lost some traction, then, and Jaskier's nimble darting was reduced to a pitched, graceless scramble.