Jaskier sagged as he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. The sudden wash of relief was the only thing that gave him energy to move back toward the house. He didn't spare a glance at his relatives, or another at the upstairs windows, and soldiered forward until they were back in that gods' damned foyer again. This time, for better or worse, there was no Ethan to drag them out to the party and Jaskier had to lead the way.
His parents would be in one of two rooms, that he knew, and both of them required a trip up one flight of stairs. Jaskier's momentum carried him up the flight in the foyer easily enough, but the first step onto the floor of the second story was utterly surreal. His bedroom was just to the left, second door past the corner. His governess' rooms were past that. Would Iris be in those? No, she would be in the guest rooms to the right--fuck, they would have to pass her to get to the upstairs drawing room, or to the flight to his father's study.
Jaskier's steps halted as he stared down that hallway and his hands fidgetted at his sides.
"Actually!" He started brightly, the sudden lilt in his tone covered his overwhelming terror rather well, he thought. (He was a coward, he would admit as much.)
"It might be best to do the regaling first," Jaskier suggested and glanced back at Geralt. The Witcher had followed after him and stood at the top of the stairs. Jaskier felt a sharp, strange disconnect at the sight of him--Geralt and his family home were not, in the bard's mind, compatible images. The strangeness of seeing them both together reminded Jaskier of vertigo and he shoom his head to dismiss the feeling.
"Someone should have a good day, at least," he added softly and, in the deathly stillness of the house, it still felt terribly loud.
Jaskier motioned quickly and spun on his heel. He was running, if only metaphorically, but he just...he couldn't. Not yet. He started at a quick clip and headed toward his--that is, the room he grew up in. For as rigid as he'd been when he stared down the hall that lead his parents, now he very nearly had a skip to his step.
He was certain it wouldn't be a surprise, Geralt's hearing was superb and while his parent had certainly made an attempt at soundproofing the music room, they hadn't done it that well. Geralt would know the sounds of rough housing at a distance, surely, yet Jaskier still remained coyly silent as he moved down the hall. Geralt surely heard the shouts and screams from the music room long before Jaskier opened the door, but Jaskier still treated it as a grand reveal anyway.
Perhaps it wasn't a surprise for the Witcher so much as the cousins on the other side.
The bard threw open the double doors to the music room with gusto and all the noise inside came to a shocked and terrified halt as they banged against the wall. Jaskier barged in, chest puffed out and hands on his hips.
"What's all this, then? Who is touching my--"
He couldn't finish his posturing before he was set upon. A dozen children, none older than ten, gasped in unison and charged him. Their game, something that had clearly involved pretending at a grand battle between the piano and the chaise, was abandoned instantly. A chorus of delighted shouts of "Julian!" drowned out anything and everything else Jaskier had to say. He was nearly toppled over as several flung themselves at his legs and hugged.
If there was a question about why Jaskier ever suffered his family, this surely was the answer.
no subject
His parents would be in one of two rooms, that he knew, and both of them required a trip up one flight of stairs. Jaskier's momentum carried him up the flight in the foyer easily enough, but the first step onto the floor of the second story was utterly surreal. His bedroom was just to the left, second door past the corner. His governess' rooms were past that. Would Iris be in those? No, she would be in the guest rooms to the right--fuck, they would have to pass her to get to the upstairs drawing room, or to the flight to his father's study.
Jaskier's steps halted as he stared down that hallway and his hands fidgetted at his sides.
"Actually!" He started brightly, the sudden lilt in his tone covered his overwhelming terror rather well, he thought. (He was a coward, he would admit as much.)
"It might be best to do the regaling first," Jaskier suggested and glanced back at Geralt. The Witcher had followed after him and stood at the top of the stairs. Jaskier felt a sharp, strange disconnect at the sight of him--Geralt and his family home were not, in the bard's mind, compatible images. The strangeness of seeing them both together reminded Jaskier of vertigo and he shoom his head to dismiss the feeling.
"Someone should have a good day, at least," he added softly and, in the deathly stillness of the house, it still felt terribly loud.
Jaskier motioned quickly and spun on his heel. He was running, if only metaphorically, but he just...he couldn't. Not yet. He started at a quick clip and headed toward his--that is, the room he grew up in. For as rigid as he'd been when he stared down the hall that lead his parents, now he very nearly had a skip to his step.
He was certain it wouldn't be a surprise, Geralt's hearing was superb and while his parent had certainly made an attempt at soundproofing the music room, they hadn't done it that well. Geralt would know the sounds of rough housing at a distance, surely, yet Jaskier still remained coyly silent as he moved down the hall. Geralt surely heard the shouts and screams from the music room long before Jaskier opened the door, but Jaskier still treated it as a grand reveal anyway.
Perhaps it wasn't a surprise for the Witcher so much as the cousins on the other side.
The bard threw open the double doors to the music room with gusto and all the noise inside came to a shocked and terrified halt as they banged against the wall. Jaskier barged in, chest puffed out and hands on his hips.
"What's all this, then? Who is touching my--"
He couldn't finish his posturing before he was set upon. A dozen children, none older than ten, gasped in unison and charged him. Their game, something that had clearly involved pretending at a grand battle between the piano and the chaise, was abandoned instantly. A chorus of delighted shouts of "Julian!" drowned out anything and everything else Jaskier had to say. He was nearly toppled over as several flung themselves at his legs and hugged.
If there was a question about why Jaskier ever suffered his family, this surely was the answer.