[ There is something nice about not being argued with. People can think whatever they like. It's not like it'll make a difference. But there are only so many ways you can respond to someone insisting you're better than you are, and really, with Geralt the acceptance is a hell of a lot easier. It's the kind of people who want to think the best of others that Amos doesn't get. They just don't exist where he's from. The world weeds them out pretty quick.

And the two of them are still here, yeah. Amos is the kind to take up whatever space he wants. Won't ask for permission; won't ask for forgiveness, either. Probably helps that he's not greedy, at least. Can't help but wonder if Geralt is similar. They didn't have a choice in being here, and maybe they didn't have a choice back home, either. Amos didn't. Not for a long time, but it was too late for him by then.

Doesn't matter anymore. He nods at Geralt's assessment; he's right. Then he cocks his head, looking directly into his eyes as though that'll help get his point across in what he's about to ask. The unnatural colour. ]

So, when you say your kind. What do you mean by that? [ His voice is a casual drawl. Geralt can answer or not, but it's been referenced too many times in this conversation for Amos to just let it hang there any further — by Geralt himself, no less. ] I take it you're not human. Look plenty human to me, though that's really all we got back where I'm from.