[Like any normal person, when Jaskier returns home, he believes, fully, that it will be exactly as he's left it. All the furniture where it should be, and the lights off -- or on, if Geralt or Ciri are around, but he didn't hear any sawing from the basement, so he isn't entirely sure. Sometimes he walks into the kitchen and Geralt is just there, sitting in silence, drinking ale and waiting to scare the shit out of him.
But that's the worst that's happened. A home is a man's sacred space.
Which is why when he opens the door, juggling a new wreath he's made from extra succulents from the shop, the last thing he has ever expected to see in or near his home is a cloud of bats.
He screams, throwing the wreath on pure adrenaline, pure primal fear, without thinking of his dear friend who is also known to turn into bats. He also adds a small bit of poetry to the violence:] AHHHGETTHEFUCKOUTOFHERE
[Whether he even noticed Geralt is up for debate, but considering Geralt is not a threat and a bunch of bats is, that's absolutely where Jaskier's attention lands.]
drive-by interruption
But that's the worst that's happened. A home is a man's sacred space.
Which is why when he opens the door, juggling a new wreath he's made from extra succulents from the shop, the last thing he has ever expected to see in or near his home is a cloud of bats.
He screams, throwing the wreath on pure adrenaline, pure primal fear, without thinking of his dear friend who is also known to turn into bats. He also adds a small bit of poetry to the violence:] AHHHGETTHEFUCKOUTOFHERE
[Whether he even noticed Geralt is up for debate, but considering Geralt is not a threat and a bunch of bats is, that's absolutely where Jaskier's attention lands.]