[ Interior decorating consists of long tables, wood benches, a scattering of beer and cheese on each. Flames are lit, and an old gnarled trunk sits in the center where the silver medallions hang. It's clear this is not a place for one. That there are usually others here.
He perches on top of one of the tables, his feet on the bench beneath. Rebuilding had been needed, but it leaves him...uncertain, with those who had once seen his cabin. He doesn't want to talk about it. Why he'd torn it down.
Besides, it wasn't home. Not in any real way. This—this is closer. Comfortable. Familiar, in how his footsteps echo. ]
Cozy enough. [ He thinks of the girl skipping through the lonely autumn woods, and pushes it aside. He waves vaguely at the offerings on the table. If the vampire wants to help himself, he's welcome. None of the food here's real—something he's acutely aware of now where he hadn't been before—so Geralt doesn't care who eats it. ]
no subject
He perches on top of one of the tables, his feet on the bench beneath. Rebuilding had been needed, but it leaves him...uncertain, with those who had once seen his cabin. He doesn't want to talk about it. Why he'd torn it down.
Besides, it wasn't home. Not in any real way. This—this is closer. Comfortable. Familiar, in how his footsteps echo. ]
Cozy enough. [ He thinks of the girl skipping through the lonely autumn woods, and pushes it aside. He waves vaguely at the offerings on the table. If the vampire wants to help himself, he's welcome. None of the food here's real—something he's acutely aware of now where he hadn't been before—so Geralt doesn't care who eats it. ]