The soft sigh of the paper against the crash of the surf was more than enough to capture Geralt's attention and he was yanking himself back through the window, hair a mess, and launching himself forward almost before he'd set his eyes who had come out of the woodwork. In comparison to Jaskier's scurried and awkward flight, Geralt was some large cat-- all muscle and grace as he vaulted the desk with a single, fluid motion. Hitting the tacky floor on the other side he dodged a leather armchair and made to head Jaskier off. He would end this now, he would make sure the job was done. The roaring of the sea was loud, so loud, and the roaring of its voice louder still.
Humiliate him, maim him, take his joys away. Humiliate him, maim him, destroy his loves...
Geralt lunged for Jaskier just as Jaskier fell and not even a witcher could have changed his momentum so completely, so quickly. Hands that had been aiming for his waist caught boot leather instead and Geralt barely managed to keep his lower torso free of the flailing limbs of the bard as his momentum carried him past his target. He hit the shelving of the nearby wall with almighty shudder of wood and stuffed animals, books, glassed curios, all toppled and fell to the floor around him. The racket was terrible and utterly ignored. He looked at his hands-- a torn patch of lilac trouser leg and the pennant with the nautilus upon it. Yellow eyes darted to Jaskier and Geralt growled a deep, feral sound as he shredded the fabrics in his hand.
He hadn't even taken a step forward when the shudder gripped him; Geralt's gasp was audible and he staggered, went down to a knee, crumpled, ripped fabric clutched in his hands against the floor. The pain of glass slicing into his knee, his knuckles, was completely lost against a wave of dizziness; it was as if, for just a moment, all the water inside that large, dark cave inside of him had been sucked away and he had to remember how to breathe air again. He looked up at Jaskier and just for a heartbeat small wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes. And then they smoothed away.
Geralt drew in a deep breath with the sound of the next breaker from the ocean down below. "Boo," he whispered in that gravel voice, his muscles tensing before he launched himself forward again.
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Humiliate him, maim him, take his joys away. Humiliate him, maim him, destroy his loves...
Geralt lunged for Jaskier just as Jaskier fell and not even a witcher could have changed his momentum so completely, so quickly. Hands that had been aiming for his waist caught boot leather instead and Geralt barely managed to keep his lower torso free of the flailing limbs of the bard as his momentum carried him past his target. He hit the shelving of the nearby wall with almighty shudder of wood and stuffed animals, books, glassed curios, all toppled and fell to the floor around him. The racket was terrible and utterly ignored. He looked at his hands-- a torn patch of lilac trouser leg and the pennant with the nautilus upon it. Yellow eyes darted to Jaskier and Geralt growled a deep, feral sound as he shredded the fabrics in his hand.
He hadn't even taken a step forward when the shudder gripped him; Geralt's gasp was audible and he staggered, went down to a knee, crumpled, ripped fabric clutched in his hands against the floor. The pain of glass slicing into his knee, his knuckles, was completely lost against a wave of dizziness; it was as if, for just a moment, all the water inside that large, dark cave inside of him had been sucked away and he had to remember how to breathe air again. He looked up at Jaskier and just for a heartbeat small wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes. And then they smoothed away.
Geralt drew in a deep breath with the sound of the next breaker from the ocean down below. "Boo," he whispered in that gravel voice, his muscles tensing before he launched himself forward again.