Once Jaskier is in the relative safety of the room, Geralt locks the door and sets their things down. Everything is kept out of the way except for the medical kit, which he sets next to the bed as he goes over to check the bard more thoroughly than he could've in the outpost. He takes stock of Jaskier's injuries, starting from the head and moving downward, calm and methodical.
His head seems relatively unharmed, aside from some bruising on the face-- they likely struck him, probably just with fists. They wouldn't want him too addled from brain trauma to talk to them, after all, just scared enough to be compliant. The neck is fine, collarbone intact, shoulders still in their sockets. Bruises and abrasions on his wrists from the shackles, but nothing that some salve and bandages wouldn't take care of. Geralt checks his hands and fingers with particular care-- they're Jaskier's livelihood, after all, and he's relieved to find that they're uninjured.
Geralt had been silent, inspecting Jaskier with an expression on his face like a thundercloud-- dark, angry, and brooding. Not at the bard, but at the state of him and at himself. This is what happens to everyone to gets caught up with Geralt and his bullshit destiny.
He looks up from Jaskier's hands sharply when the bard speaks.
"Shut up, Jaskier."
It's not the right thing to say, and part of him knows that. But it's ridiculous, the idea that he'd walk out the door while Jaskier is in this state, just send along a healer and leave him to his fate? While Nilfgaard is still looking for him? He'd just rescued the man, he doesn't want him to walk out the door and get captured all over again.
He reaches for the torn hem of Jaskier's chemise, intending to pull it off of him.
"I need to see your wounds."
Which meant he'd need the trousers off, too. They'd whipped the back of his legs, and he needs to have a better look at any bruising. Make an estimate at whether he has enough salve and bandages, or whether he'll need to send someone to wake the healer and get supplies. If possible, he wants to take care of everything himself, without involving any third parties that might have loose lips.
no subject
His head seems relatively unharmed, aside from some bruising on the face-- they likely struck him, probably just with fists. They wouldn't want him too addled from brain trauma to talk to them, after all, just scared enough to be compliant. The neck is fine, collarbone intact, shoulders still in their sockets. Bruises and abrasions on his wrists from the shackles, but nothing that some salve and bandages wouldn't take care of. Geralt checks his hands and fingers with particular care-- they're Jaskier's livelihood, after all, and he's relieved to find that they're uninjured.
Geralt had been silent, inspecting Jaskier with an expression on his face like a thundercloud-- dark, angry, and brooding. Not at the bard, but at the state of him and at himself. This is what happens to everyone to gets caught up with Geralt and his bullshit destiny.
He looks up from Jaskier's hands sharply when the bard speaks.
"Shut up, Jaskier."
It's not the right thing to say, and part of him knows that. But it's ridiculous, the idea that he'd walk out the door while Jaskier is in this state, just send along a healer and leave him to his fate? While Nilfgaard is still looking for him? He'd just rescued the man, he doesn't want him to walk out the door and get captured all over again.
He reaches for the torn hem of Jaskier's chemise, intending to pull it off of him.
"I need to see your wounds."
Which meant he'd need the trousers off, too. They'd whipped the back of his legs, and he needs to have a better look at any bruising. Make an estimate at whether he has enough salve and bandages, or whether he'll need to send someone to wake the healer and get supplies. If possible, he wants to take care of everything himself, without involving any third parties that might have loose lips.