[Jaskier's voice is tight with a sick mix of unease and fear. Not only for what this means -- that they cannot stop it and cannot control it -- but for once, he fears what might have been seen.

He grips his friend tightly, even as his eyes open again, helping keep his head above water. Jaskier clicks his tongue at Mog to silence him, eyes never leaving Geralt's face. (The soap has fallen, lost to the abyss of water around them.)]

I -- fuck. You'd say that if you were missing a bloody arm, too. [He moves closer, all but taking his weight as he can.] I'm sorry... I thought it -- I thought it was over. If you can sit up, I've got -- Nadine made me a nice concoction, it should help with the pain. Would you like it? It's rather concentrated.