[ The thought of making something more than what should be there just hasn't crossed his mind, down to the liquor, down to the simple bread that Amos will find on the tables. Part of it is his lack of desire to toy with a fantasy, however small. The other runs deeper. Because the last time he let himself create what he doesn't have, what he shouldn't have, a girl appeared. A quaint little life that didn't belong to him. Never would.
So now there's just this, built stone for stone, with its rough edges and scuffed foundations—all of it drawn from memory, none of it drawn from imagination. Amos is right: ale does feel right for this place. If there's ever a clearer indication that Geralt comes from a world of little difference to the one they've been dragged to, it's here. Torches light the inside; every one of the heavy wood benches and tables look hewn by hand. Not one modern convenience is in sight. ]
Cities. [ He studies Amos for a second. Hands him the ale in a tankard, not a glass. His feet are planted on one of the benches, candles flickering behind him. ] You went the other way?
[ The Free Cities is vast; it's possible Amos wound up there, too, and they've not crossed paths. Amos seems relaxed enough right now, which means wherever he is, he's doing all right. Not that Geralt's been anything close to worried. More—it's just good to know, for reasons Geralt doesn't care to examine too deeply. There's been an understanding, that's all, and it's one that lacks the complicated edges of what he often finds in others. A rare sense that the only expectation between them is that there are none. ]
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So now there's just this, built stone for stone, with its rough edges and scuffed foundations—all of it drawn from memory, none of it drawn from imagination. Amos is right: ale does feel right for this place. If there's ever a clearer indication that Geralt comes from a world of little difference to the one they've been dragged to, it's here. Torches light the inside; every one of the heavy wood benches and tables look hewn by hand. Not one modern convenience is in sight. ]
Cities. [ He studies Amos for a second. Hands him the ale in a tankard, not a glass. His feet are planted on one of the benches, candles flickering behind him. ] You went the other way?
[ The Free Cities is vast; it's possible Amos wound up there, too, and they've not crossed paths. Amos seems relaxed enough right now, which means wherever he is, he's doing all right. Not that Geralt's been anything close to worried. More—it's just good to know, for reasons Geralt doesn't care to examine too deeply. There's been an understanding, that's all, and it's one that lacks the complicated edges of what he often finds in others. A rare sense that the only expectation between them is that there are none. ]