[They crowd around him, and sometimes move in and out in unnatural ways that Jaskier is too far gone to really notice. This all fits into what his heart wants: some comfort, some bitching (from Geralt, of course), and the girl who is both a girl and a woman but with the same green eyes -- and in the back there are shadows of others: a tall white-haired elf, and a smaller white-haired man with a low voice (why is it always the white hair? Hector really mustn't had called him out about it --) There's a vampire, though one could hardly tell by looking at him, and those mean are shadows that move in and out compared to the solid colors of the people he knows the best.
And, of course, there is no need to look for Sam, because he's the closest. Jaskier squeezes his hand and finds there is enough strength, for a moment, to do it... and then his strength is leeched away, Ciri's magic unknowingly still seeping into his veins.]
You stay. [He feels some part of Sam pulling away, so he must be insistent. No one can miss the party. In his other hand he grips a pearlescent dragon scale, and near the back is a shorter woman with horns and a tail.] Someone has to keep them in line. And Geralt is terrible at crowds.
[He doesn't hear Sam's call of his name, his grip slack already. He turns his head and the visions all shimmer and shift, until his eyes close and he is once again unconscious. The potion attempted to fight the leeching of his life, but it couldn't heal him and protect the fluttering pulse that has grown lighter by the minute.]
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And, of course, there is no need to look for Sam, because he's the closest. Jaskier squeezes his hand and finds there is enough strength, for a moment, to do it... and then his strength is leeched away, Ciri's magic unknowingly still seeping into his veins.]
You stay. [He feels some part of Sam pulling away, so he must be insistent. No one can miss the party. In his other hand he grips a pearlescent dragon scale, and near the back is a shorter woman with horns and a tail.] Someone has to keep them in line. And Geralt is terrible at crowds.
[He doesn't hear Sam's call of his name, his grip slack already. He turns his head and the visions all shimmer and shift, until his eyes close and he is once again unconscious. The potion attempted to fight the leeching of his life, but it couldn't heal him and protect the fluttering pulse that has grown lighter by the minute.]