[ Geralt looks right back. It’s not that the question catches him off guard so much as, by this point, he’s presumed Amos put it together some time ago and has merely chosen not to ask. Both his hair and his eyes have always given him away immediately back home; the medallion marks him on top of that. Blending in has never been a priority for them, and especially not for him. ]
It means exactly that. [ His answer comes without hesitation. Almost as though he not only doesn’t care who knows, but that he’d prefer not to be taken as human. He indicates the structure around them. ] I wasn’t only raised in this place. I was made here. One of the last.
[ Home becomes complicated in the face of that, but what isn’t? At least the mages who created them are long dead, though he understands, on some level, that he was shaped by more than the mutations that physically altered him. It just. It isn’t something he reflects on too much, his childhood. He can’t change it. And he didn’t choose it, no. Not really. What semblance of choice existed was given to him when he was only a boy, long after too much had happened.
Maybe Amos understands how that is. That feeling of, even if you could walk away, you wouldn't even know where to go. More than one person has asked him what he'd be, if not a Witcher, if at some point in his life he could've decided otherwise, and he's never been able to explain that that's not a concept he can grasp in any meaningful sense. He can tell by the look in their eyes they don't understand. For them, having dreams they can hope for, however distant and unlikely, is ingrained in a way it no longer is for him. (Except here. In the Horizon, once. When they'd all been stripped of their past.) ]
no subject
It means exactly that. [ His answer comes without hesitation. Almost as though he not only doesn’t care who knows, but that he’d prefer not to be taken as human. He indicates the structure around them. ] I wasn’t only raised in this place. I was made here. One of the last.
[ Home becomes complicated in the face of that, but what isn’t? At least the mages who created them are long dead, though he understands, on some level, that he was shaped by more than the mutations that physically altered him. It just. It isn’t something he reflects on too much, his childhood. He can’t change it. And he didn’t choose it, no. Not really. What semblance of choice existed was given to him when he was only a boy, long after too much had happened.
Maybe Amos understands how that is. That feeling of, even if you could walk away, you wouldn't even know where to go. More than one person has asked him what he'd be, if not a Witcher, if at some point in his life he could've decided otherwise, and he's never been able to explain that that's not a concept he can grasp in any meaningful sense. He can tell by the look in their eyes they don't understand. For them, having dreams they can hope for, however distant and unlikely, is ingrained in a way it no longer is for him. (Except here. In the Horizon, once. When they'd all been stripped of their past.) ]