The wards were hung throughout the villa-- pennants and wind-chimes, baubles meant to catch the sigh of the ocean in some way or another, each with that signature gold nautilus to focus power. Geralt had noticed them before and thought nothing because in big cities (especially elf-ruin cities) magic was cheap and plentiful and that was doubly true for royal families. Was there a royal family in existence that hadn't at least tried to buy a sorceress? For a water witch, there could be no better place to work than with the rhythm of the sea lapping in every window-- and if she were powerful enough to bind that raw power to an object...
Geralt slammed into the doorframe as Jaskier skidded out from under his lunge. It slowed him down for long enough for Jaskier to get a head start but ultimately there was little chance for the bard to get away. Geralt was fast and he was sure and he could easily follow Jaskier's path based on scent alone, especially now that the man had fallen in the fresh whiskey. There was no reason to even slow down and consider. It took Geralt two long stretches of hallway and one corner to get the man in his sights, silks catching the moonlight as they slid through wide double-doors and into the ballroom.
The witcher hit the doors with a shoulder handful of moments later and they burst inward, hitting the inner walls and rebounding with enough force that he had to catch them; the slapped against his palms and stopped, shuddering. "Fingers or cock, Jaskier?" Geralt asked as he stepped into the room. He surely looked a sight. The ballroom was lined by fine, high arched windows and the moonlight slid though the curtains in flat, shimmery slats, cutting the room into slices. Geralt stood in one, hair a mess, face marred by three bloody lines across the left side of his forehead and cheek, chest pale and bare save its normal network of scars that shone white in the light. Even with his eyesight the sectioning of the light made it hard to see. "I could break one and spare the other."
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Geralt slammed into the doorframe as Jaskier skidded out from under his lunge. It slowed him down for long enough for Jaskier to get a head start but ultimately there was little chance for the bard to get away. Geralt was fast and he was sure and he could easily follow Jaskier's path based on scent alone, especially now that the man had fallen in the fresh whiskey. There was no reason to even slow down and consider. It took Geralt two long stretches of hallway and one corner to get the man in his sights, silks catching the moonlight as they slid through wide double-doors and into the ballroom.
The witcher hit the doors with a shoulder handful of moments later and they burst inward, hitting the inner walls and rebounding with enough force that he had to catch them; the slapped against his palms and stopped, shuddering. "Fingers or cock, Jaskier?" Geralt asked as he stepped into the room. He surely looked a sight. The ballroom was lined by fine, high arched windows and the moonlight slid though the curtains in flat, shimmery slats, cutting the room into slices. Geralt stood in one, hair a mess, face marred by three bloody lines across the left side of his forehead and cheek, chest pale and bare save its normal network of scars that shone white in the light. Even with his eyesight the sectioning of the light made it hard to see. "I could break one and spare the other."