middaeg | ( OPEN ) just a pinch of salt in the wound; you'll be fine

[ Where Jaskier might not have heeded warnings about the rise of the Sisters, Yennefer had listened. Until she'd lost track of time on her latest exploration. And that had set her on the path of one of Geralt's victims, the description of the medallion around the wolf's neck all she needs to hear to know who was responsible.

Tracking him wasn't hard, following the blood and entrails. By the time she hears a voice, the recognition clicks and she can't help but swear under her breath and take off at a run towards the fight.

The wolf that was in front of Jaskier suddenly teleports 100ft backwards, giving Yennefer a chance to move in and step in front of the bard. She extends a hand towards the wolf, hoping her scent and the sound of her voice might break through in a way Jaskier's couldn't. If Geralt starts to charge, she'll teleport him again. ]

Geralt. Enough! [ Splitting her attention, she casts a cursory glance at Jaskier. ] We need to knock him out so I don't have to kill him. Help me or run and get someone who can.

[ Teeth and claws scratching at him had been easy to shrug off. The swipe of silver is different. A sharp burn flares across his flank. Geralt stumbles back. Blood spills from the open cut, staining more of his white fur red.

He's about to lunge again, and he does -- only his target is suddenly empty air. He lands on only grass, twisting around. What the fuck. The scent distracts him as much as being teleported does. His teeth are bared, but he pauses in front of her. Stares at her extended hand. Unlike Jaskier, there's no fear coming from her to push his instincts and for a moment, it almost seems as if he's considering her gesture.

Then she glances back and he's reminded of what's there behind her: an unfinished hunt. If she had caught him earlier in the night -- if either of them had -- it might've been possible to get through to him. But he's spent the past several hours tearing through whatever's crossed his path. The taste of blood is thick in his mouth and now it hangs in the air, fresh. He's never allowed a hunt to be interrupted and he's not about to start now.

He charges again. There's a slight swerve in his path that suggests he's trying to go around her rather than through her, but before he gets anywhere, he's sent across the clearing. As he reorients, it's obvious the silver shears have left their mark. He's not so steady anymore, his gait uneven. ]

[Geralt did not, in fact, fuck off, and for a horrible moment Jaskier was afraid the silver in the shears may have poisoned him -- or worse yet, that he'd have to hurt his friend more just to survive the night. The word feral cuts through his head again, and while that was helpful knowledge at the time, no one had really told him a damn thing to make a feral wolf stop --

If he wasn't already on the fucking ground, he would've fallen over again. Yennefer appears from the darkness as quickly as Geralt did, standing in front of him. Time to be shocked at the idea the sorceress would very much lift a finger for him would be had later. The horrible truth was he could see that even his wicked love was not making Geralt stop.

Jaskier scrambles to his feet and moves up beside her, the shears still in his hand, now covered in wolf blood. Find someone else. The fucking audacity --] I know a sleep spell! Just -- just fucking help me with it!

[Not that he has a clue on how to do that, but she's the magic expert here. He can only thank past Jaskier for being the sort of shit idiot who thought a sleep spell would be helpful. He focuses in the only way he knows how at the moment: through song. Except the way he sings now, it's not beautiful, but messy, a desperate string of words as he puts aside the pain of his arm.] Dhu deien me treise, dearme!

[ Of course she has the fucking audacity, the memory of him yelling for Geralt when hunting the dragon after cooing at a hirikka that was hiding in the bushes. He surprises her, though, pushing through the pain to do something.

Maybe he was more than just an annoying bard. Focusing on Geralt and ready to break the chanting to teleport him again, her hands flex. ]

Dhu deien me treise, dearme...

[ The words are repeated, somewhat following his rhythm but she is absolutely not singing it. She puts more force behind them, continuing to chant and watch the wolf. They can talk about his specific choice of words later. ]

[ Normally, spells of this kind don't affect him. But wrapped up in the pure instincts of an animal, he has no defenses of any sort in his mind. Between the two of them, it's easily taken over.

In fact, it doesn't even occur to him there's a spell going on: he pursues his prey with a singular focus, running at Jaskier without hesitation, even as he's beginning to limp just a little. His steps slow, and then he stumbles, though he still manages to get both paws on Jaskier's chest to pin him down. His breaths come hot and heavy, blood staining his teeth.

His vision blurs. At first, he thinks it's blood in his eyes. A sluggishness overtakes him, one that leaves him swaying on his feet. Then he simply collapses where he stands. ]

[Jaskier doesn't know where he finds the strength to keep singing the words as the wolf charges at him. He does know he about runs out of it around the time Geralt stumbles, the glow of his eyes no longer alert. Jaskier hollers as the gigantic wolf rams straight into him, bowling both of them over. It's pure luck that Geralt's weight doesn't land on his arm, and he has a split second to roll before the entire wolf falls on top of him.

He looks over to see Geralt's eyes closed. Jaskier rolls onto his side, fighting the distinct urge to vomit or, more likely, pass out himself. The pain is excrutiating. It's hard to think past it.

But he does. He gets to his knees using his good arm. He spits, cursing.] Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking shit.

[Ah. He was saying that out loud.] I don't know where the fuck you came from, but -- [He groans. Even just shifting his arm feels like he might very well be dying. He can't even spare a look at it. He knows it's shredded and wet and hot and the most terrifying thing in his life would be to look down and see bone peeking up through his torn skin.] Thanks. Is he -- is he all right? Am I? Oh. I think I'm dying, actually. Not exaggerating.

[ She keeps chanting as Geralt charges, not sure if she'd be able to shift gears quickly enough to teleport him far enough away for safety. If Jaskier had froze, she'd have had no other choice. But, as he slows down, she continues -- hoping he'll collapse before he gets to them.

She'd thought Jaskier would sidestep, but that was not the case. Once this was all done, she'd need to have a discussion with both of them about what if any combat training Geralt has given the Bard. Even just self-defense and evasion.

Once Geralt is on the ground and Jaskier isn't pinned, he's rambling and she's fairly certain he might be going into shock. Taking hold of his chin surprisingly gently, she draws his gaze to hers. ]

Look at me. You're not dying, bard. You wouldn't be speaking like this if you were truly on the brink. We need to wait until he reverts back to his regular form to move. I have bandages at my cottage.

[ Letting go of his chin, her attention shifts to his arm -- assessing and carefully touching the wound. Seeing how deep it is, if it's something that can wait or needs to be addressed now. ]

[Shock. Yes, shock sounds about right. Shock is the thing that only makes him blink when she catches his chin instead of jerk away in fear. (Their last meeting alone had not been terribly cheerful, and he remembers the threat of a knife between his legs. Some things a man doesn't forget.)

How odd, he thinks dimly. It's the softest he's ever heard Yennefer's voice go.]

Bandages... [He doesn't ask. Fuck, he's about three seconds from crying or going unconscious. With his good arm, he rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. So they stay here? Until -- when? Dawn?

There's a thousand questions, but now that his adrenaline is fading he's so terribly exhausted that he can't think to ask them. He holds his arm out for her, looking to the side. He's seen it, the meat of his arm now bare, a shade of bone underneath, looking all like a drumstick after a drunkard's been after it.] I haven't gotten to healing yet. Can you -- I don't know, could you stop the bleeding? I have to check on Geralt.

[ At least the threat wasn't hers directly. More of a flitting concern that he might piss off someone's spouse and stumble upon less than savory results. Luckily for Jaskier, with Yennefer's focus on Universal skills first before heading into something more specialized, she knew a few healing spells. ]

Anything I can offer for healing won't be too extravagant. This might hurt a bit. [ Not like she used to be able to do. Not yet. Holding a hand above Jaskier's arm, she concentrates and focuses on his wounds. As it's what she knew before, some of her old habits carried over -- magic costing something to produce something. Some of the grass and plants immediately next to Jaskier begin to wilt and die as Yennefer does something akin to a transference. She manages to stop the bleeding for the most part, some pieces still leaking through. Nowhere near perfect, but a better state than he started in. With her still being somewhat new to this particular brand of healing, he might've felt some pulling of his skin trying to knit itself back together. Sorry. ]

Once he's shifted back to his human form, we'll have a better idea of what injuries he has.

[ He's breathing and this may be her way of telling Jaskier to wait. ]

[Usually he would retort that it hurts quite a bit now, but honestly, Jaskier has already exhausted his well of sarcasm and scathing comments. He's shaken, terribly... literally. His body shivers as he holds his arm out, biting his lip to keep himself silent, or nearly so, as a sorceress he has avoided for years heals the chewed chicken wing that is his arm.

Yes, it does hurt like a bitch. At least he only manages a strangled noise, caught in his throat.

When he dares to peek, his lovely doublet is still ripped apart, and his arm is covered in gore, but at least there's no shine of white like before. His head pounds, his arm is burning -- just another shit day that, hopefully, he can forget ever happened.

He cradles the arm against his chest and sits back on the grass, only somewhat surprised to find the ring around him has turned brown and rotted. So. Almost dying. What a feeling.

Even in his head, the words feel bitter. He wipes his brow with the back of a hand.] I would normally say hearing the word shifted applied to a witcher feels absolutely insane, yet... here we are. [He ends up staring at Geralt's sleeping, collapsed body. It does bring to mind how much of a terrible traveling companion he must have been -- yet so much blood soaked into his fur meant Jaskier was not the only lucky victim. Had he -- had he killed someone...?

Gods. He prays not, and he hardly is the sort to pray. He knows exactly what that will do to Geralt.] Have you been following him? Not that I don't appreciate your timing, but it was far too fortuitous.

[ Honestly, if she'd known that all it took to knock some sense and calmness into the bard was a near-death experience... Well. Not that she'd wish such things on most people, death was humbling to even the loudest braggard.

The grass was probably more wilted than it otherwise would have been if she hadn't had to proceed slowly and carefully to offset ill effects of the full moons. Because everything was weaker, she'd needed to pull longer than intended. And just because it had gone relatively well this time around didn't mean she intended to attempt it again before the sun rises.

She makes no comment on the insanity of the word shifted applying to Geralt, knowing how much the Witcher might be struggling with that idea on his own. Yennefer had no intention of piling on whether or not he could hear them.

As for how she found them-- ]

I had a visitor to my cottage. One of his victims. [ Who'd probably intended to make a victim of her initially, but luck had been on her side tonight. ]

Once I gathered enough information, I set out in search of him before he killed someone. Didn't expect to find you. [ As for luck of her timing? Something she'd probably attribute to the wish before anything else. ]

Victims? [He repeats the word with distaste. It's not inaccurate, but it feels so... disingenuous. Jaskier cradles his head for a moment. This really has been a shit night. It's what he gets for trying to be a good, studious witch. Ah. Destiny strikes again.]

Yes, well, I didn't expect to be eaten tonight, either! Would have been nice to receive a warning Geralt might decide he was tired of having companions! [There's an edge of panic, but he forces a slow breath so he doesn't just. You know. Fucking lose it on the spot. Sometimes it was entirely infuriating to be around so many people who lifted their nose to harrowing escapes from death and broken bones.

Carefully, he shuffles his feet underneath him, moving to stand with the use of his one good arm.] We're stuck here, then. I certainly can't help move his gigantic ass like this. [And they couldn't really bring a giant, bloodied wolf into the city, either. He needs something to... to do. Or he may very well go into shock, if he isn't already. Jaskier defaults to the task he's done many times before simply so he doesn't, possibly, lose his mind. He starts piling sticks, and a bit of dry grass, somewhat near Geralt's sleeping form. Now that half of his doublet is ruined, it's quite clear it's a bit cooler out here than in the city.] Don't suppose you know how to make a bit of fire, eh? I can only manage, ah, smoke.

Edited 2020-08-09 22:23 (UTC)

[ And that was the difference between them. How they were handling this. Yennefer wasn't letting herself get caught up in the thoughts and the what-ifs and the whys. Just focusing on getting through each moment. There'd be a chance to reflect later. On all of this. But the shit wasn't done and until the sun came up, they needed to be vigilant. Self-distraction was the quickest way to die both here and at home.

She's about to round on him when he slows his own breathing. Good. He was proving more and more that he wasn't a complete and total waste of a person. He just needed guidance. And perhaps a softer touch than Geralt offered to hold that focus and help him to stay alive. With time, she might be willing. But not right this moment.

Watching him stand, she follows suit -- letting her gaze fall to the unconscious wolf and then Jaskier's gathering of fire supplies. She bites back a comment about what he's capable of doing, instead giving him a new task. ]

Yes, I'll get a fire going. [ Taking off her cloak, she hands it over. ] If you can cut this in half. I assume he'll be nude when he rouses. We can use this as a cover as well as makeshift bandages for both him and you.

[ The cooler air motivates her to get the fire going, keeping her attempts for a flame very small and weak. She focuses on the nest of dry grass she'd placed under the sticks. It takes a bit longer than she wanted to admit, but eventually a soft crackle meets their ears as she's able to coax the flames to stay and grow. ]

[Wow, and he's very sure he walked right into the potentially obliterating sort of comment she could make. Even in his shock it's a whole other level to find the sorceress not picking at every edge she could find. And... possibly, him not doing the same. Considering it's (and he thinks so with a hint of bitterness) the second time she's saved his life.

Because of Geralt. Destiny, indeed.]

Yes. Let me find the -- shit, the bloody shears. [Literally. Ah, gods. He doesn't want to think about it. What the silver could do. Though he is still breathing, which is a good sign. Only the slightest twitch of his... of his paws. (Geralt has paws now. What's next?) He finally finds them from a glint made by the moonlight. He wipes the blood off onto his trousers and returns to the cloak. Normally he might find a bit of petty joy in tearing some of Yennefer's over-the-top clothing up, but in the moment, his potential for petty enjoyment is dim.

Later, maybe.] Pity. It's rather nice.

[The shears, which he'd brought merely for cutting plants, are still silver and sharp. The cloth cuts easy. Between the snapping of the shears, a fire crackles.

What a strange sense of relief. Unless the sleeping spell doesn't stick, and Geralt rouses and kills them both. Ah. What a helpful thought.

He folds the largest piece up and sets it aside, the smaller he works on cutting into strips of bandages. Funny that all the times he's had to do this, it was for Geralt's wounds, not his own.

He doesn't need to ask when, in fact, he'll rouse. He's learned a bit of Monsters, at least, even if he feels a fool for never considering it in Geralt's case. Of course he'd changed. With the medallion, and his absolute hesitation to speak of bonds. So they wait until dawn. Until the magic inherent in the moons wears off.

Shockingly, after the attack is over, it isn't the worst night he's had.]

[ The spell keeps him knocked out for the rest of the night. In fact, if not for the transformation that grips him at dawn, he might've slept well into the afternoon. The excruciating twist of bones is enough to shatter even the deepest sleeping spell. His joints break and snap back into place, fur receding as he groans. In time, the change might grow smoother, but for now it's messy and fucking painful. And a little too familiar, the way it feels as if his organs are reshuffling inside him.

But at least it doesn't drag for days and days. Just minutes pass before only his sharpened canines and nails remain of his change. He's already struggling to his hands and knees, instinctively trying to get up as he's still processing what's happened. His hands are slick with blood; he can taste it on his tongue. A sharp pain pierces his side when he moves.

He stares at Jaskier and Yennefer both, as if seeing them for the first time. They look like shit. His gaze lands on Jaskier's doublet soaked with blood, makeshift bandages around his arm. A deep chill settles in his bones. His memories might not have all returned to him yet, but he knows. How can he not? He's no stranger to the monsters of any world. And if he's halfway across the woods from where he'd taken himself last night, on the edge of the city with Yen and Jaskier with him, then— ]

Fuck. [ Oh, fuck. His head feels like someone's poured hot coals in it. ] What's—?

[ It's hard to watch the transformation, Yennefer intimately familiar with the pain that accompanies the shifting of bones and organs while awake. It makes her freeze and very few things manage that nowadays. Some pains are not worth wishing on her worst enemy. There's a look of both being present and also not in the firelight and wash of a fresh dawn as Geralt stares at them, the distinct fuck pulling her out of her thoughts. She moves in front of him, trying to stop him from standing up all the way. Yennefer is in far better shape to do anything than Jaskier and she knows that. So, almost expectedly, she's going to try and take control of the situation. ]

Easy. You're injured. We weren't sure how badly, but-- stop. [ Her hand gently cups his cheek to fully capture his gaze and pull the focus to her. ]

Take a moment. I will heal what I can out here. However, efforts will be better served once you're both cleaned up.

[The first sound of snapping bone makes Jaskier jump. He curses.] Melitele's tits --

[He covers his ear with one hand, shutting his eyes. He doesn't want to watch this. It's terrible enough hearing his bones snapping, over and over, the grunts of pain. The Monster he's met have never brought this up. And honestly, who can blame them? It's awful.

Jaskier will never admit it, but he's thankful Yennefer here. Clearly she's more helpful than he's ever made himself.

He opens his eyes at Geralt's voice, watching the two of them. The softness with which the sorceress touches him, bringing him out of it. Jaskier has been treated just as tenderly, though at the moment he's still very on the edge of vomiting, so. He couldn't provide much comfort at all.

Strange to think after all these years, the very sight of them together is surprising.

Jaskier is quiet for their moment. He pushes himself to his feet, wincing, to move beside her, the neatly folded strips of cloak, now bandages, hanging from his arm.] And not to worry, we'll have you covered enough you won't be offering the royal jewels to the entire city.

[ His head's still spinning, but unlike under the moon, Yennefer's gentle touch and familiar scent brings him home. He reaches up to hold her hand in turn, taking a deep breath. For a moment, it's tempting to close his eyes and ignore the blood staining his skin and the deep ache in his bones.

He at least eases himself back down onto the morning frosted grass. The cold rarely bothers him, even more so now that his body's been running hot, but for once, he feels the winter air bite. ]

No. [ His voice is rougher than even usual. He presses a hand to the wound on his side. He's bleeding elsewhere, but this one bothers him the most. He doesn't need to ask to know it was silver that cut him. Not when he can see the bloody shears beside Jaskier. It doesn't matter. He's fine. He doesn't need Yennefer expending any more effort on him than she already has. Than either of them have. ] I can make it.

[ Geralt lifts his gaze to meet Jaskier's finally. He doesn't ask what happened to his arm. It's pretty damn obvious and he—

They can talk. Later. Only when the bard speaks does he realize there'd been any attempt to cover him in the first place. He can't give a shit about what people see, but might be best to avoid questions as they go back. He makes a second attempt to get to his feet, only slightly steadier than his first. ]

[ If there was ever a time to not deal with masculine bravado, this was it. The biting comment manages to remain held to herself as she watches his eyes find Jaskier. ]

Fine.

[ He won't ask for help because she knows him, but she offers it anyway - if only to make sure this attempt is successful. Taking one of the strips of fabric off of Jaskier's arm, she balls it up some to hand over to Geralt. ] Hold this against your side to slow the bleeding.

[ And once she's sure both he and the bard aren't about to collapse, she takes the larger swath of fabric to wrap it around Geralt's hips. She keeps it loose to not aggravate any other injuries because she had to assume there were more that weren't going to present themselves until some time had passed. ]

My cottage isn't too far from here.

[Matters of life and death aside, Jaskier still feels a distinct swell of guilt at Geralt's attention first going to the wound he inflicted. The silver. Luckily he can see now the wound isn't blackened with infection or poison, as he'd been afraid of, but it's certainly inflamed in a rather terrible way, or perhaps burned, like the medallion.

When Geralt's eyes meet his, he's the first to look away. There's nothing against him, even now, but if he thinks too much of last night, he might end up simply throwing up on both of them regardless. Unfortunately, the bright gold of Geralt's eyes remind him far too much of the wolf's glowing in the dark.

He wants -- needs -- to go somewhere dark and simply pass out for an entire day. Soon. And if Yennefer won't press the matter, he will.]

Don't be a fucking sow about help right now. We can't stay out here much longer. [It's a bloody miracle they haven't been bothered or seen as it is. While Monsters are a common sight in Aefenglom, Jaskier imagines there's no quarter given for one covered in blood. He already dreads hearing his first tales of a giant wolf gone rabid.

Without asking, Jaskier moves to Geralt's right side to help him up with his left, unharmed arm around his waist.] Come on. Up you go.

Edited 2020-08-10 04:08 (UTC)

[ He does at least accept her hand to help himself up, if only because falling on his face isn't going to get them anywhere. Between her and Jaskier, he stays upright.

He'll worry about who sees them in the city later. If there are any bodies he left a trail of. He imagines if there are, he'll find out quickly tomorrow. The shine of his medallion is unmistakable. For now, he just wants to get somewhere he can fucking lay down and pass out. For a day or two. A week.

It's a slow walk back into the city. He keeps the cloth against his side, but he leaves a trail of blood regardless. He grits his teeth and simply puts one foot in front of the other. He's dragged himself to a village inn or a healer's hut in worse condition. At least nothing inside him is threatening to spill out this time.

Eventually, the familiar cottage looms ahead. His entire side feels torched aflame. He doesn't want to think about Jaskier's arm. Or what miracle passed that he hadn't hurt Yennefer, either. (Had he tried to? She's unharmed, but he also knows her magic, even here, could protect herself well enough. The thought turns his stomach.) ]

[ Her frustrations with Geralt have a tendency to ebb and flow like a tide, Yennefer able to push some things back in favor of getting through a situation. With that in mind, she has no interest in seeing him executed for anything that might've happened if he took a life. So, if there are trails she can cover up, she will.

They just needed to get out of the fucking woods first.

Once he's up, she starts moving and immediately wishes he'd let her heal him. At least enough to stop the bleeding. There's a tinge of gratitude that she didn't have to kill him because where Jaskier might've hesitated with the shears, she wouldn't have if she saw no other options.

The sight of the cottage is a relief, Yennefer immediately giving orders. ]

Into the pool, both of you. The wounds need to be cleaned. [ As well as their bodies. While she couldn't keep all of the mud and blood out of her cottage, she was going to do her damndest to minimize it. She'll help as best she can however they choose to get into the outdoor bath, either using the stone stairs or just sliding in from the edge. ] It won't be cold for long.

[It's a rather miserable procession of three exhausted, somewhat gory, possibly very stinky magical beings, and though Jaskier is far too ready to feel extra sorry for himself and for Geralt (all right, and by extension, Yennefer... though he will not admit it), he's rather relieved (another thing he will not admit) to have someone else help drag Geralt somewhere he can receive care, to follow someone else's advice. More brainpower for him to concentrate on not falling over himself as the adrenaline begins to fade.

Jaskier does not argue. It's a mess of a thing, trying to aid Geralt into the water, down the steps, while not slipping or jerking his arm with terrible pain. He does, a few times, the shock of the movement waking him back up.

There's not a chance either of them have to remove their clothing first. At this rate, it could do with a good soaking.] And aren't we lucky for that? I'd rather be hot and bloody than cold.

[He shivers. He releases his hold on Geralt and, with a great amount of hissing, attempts to clean his arm as he can. He can admit her healing did him a wealth of good, now that he can look at it without immediately vomiting. Jaskier manages to wiggle desperately out of his doublet, placed on the grass outside the pool. (He notes a little bitterly his cottage did not come with a pool.)] Don't suppose you have something to scrub with?

Edited 2020-08-12 17:10 (UTC)

[ The snow and lake in the Wilde leaves him wet and cold. Traveling into the city with its heated summer air is more uncomfortable than if he'd simply stayed in the cold, each breath hot and the prick of sweat starting to bead against his skin.

Yennefer's pool is a relief in more ways than one. Geralt struggles to hold his own weight as much as he can, but he knows better than to risk slipping into the water. He hangs onto them both, the water splashing as he submerges with none of his typical inhuman grace. A hiss escapes him as his wounds sting.

While Jaskier asks for a scrub brush, Geralt lets the water do the work because frankly, he's fucking exhausted and if not for the potential of drowning, he'd be tempted to pass out where he stands. The world still spins, wobbling gently. He remembers being bounced around (a portal?). It hadn't done wonders for his head. Coupled with the fact that he didn't normally gorge on raw meat -- or any meat at all in the quantity he'd consumed tonight -- it's not long before his stomach lurches a second time.

He grips the edge of the pool. At least he manages not to vomit right in it. It ends up on the grass instead, a half-digested mess of bones and fur and blood. Ugh. Fuck. ]

[ Once they were both in the water, Yennefer now wet, bloodied, and muddied from helping them, she shakes her head at Jaskier's complaints. If he'd actively voiced his displeasure with not getting an outdoor bath, she'd have asked if he'd gone for one of the three-bedroom cottages or if he'd just settled for the first one he arrived upon. ]

You won't be in here long. Fear not. I won't let you freeze to death, bard. [ She hasn't learned any warming spells, but the promise of a warm bed should be comfort enough to get him through this. She nods, starting to head inside to grab towels and some cloths for scrubbing when she hears a very familiar and unwelcome sound and-- ] Fuck.

[ Spinning on her heels, she's back out into the garden just in time to watch Geralt throw up who knows what. Concerned he's about to pass out, she wades into the water, her focus on him as she manages a prestidigitation spell over the surface to return the pool to a somewhat cleaner state. The vomit was... fourth on her list at the moment. ]

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