[ The brewing scuffle caught his attention some thirty seconds back. Geralt's kept one eye on it—not interested in getting involved, but resigned that he may have to. Somehow, Nero feels like his responsibility.
When flames erupt, he finally sets down his wine cup and strides over. There's a furry creature perched on Nero's shoulder (what the fuck), Istredd is now interfering, and the Fey have started chittering in their strange tongue. (It sounds like approval. No surprises there.)
Geralt rests a firm hand on Nero's unoccupied shoulder. His gaze flicks to the other figure (Lucifer? Must be, from the scent and Istredd's appearance), then to Istredd. The shield hums.
He resists the urge to sigh. ] Not here. You can kill him later.
no subject
When flames erupt, he finally sets down his wine cup and strides over. There's a furry creature perched on Nero's shoulder (what the fuck), Istredd is now interfering, and the Fey have started chittering in their strange tongue. (It sounds like approval. No surprises there.)
Geralt rests a firm hand on Nero's unoccupied shoulder. His gaze flicks to the other figure (Lucifer? Must be, from the scent and Istredd's appearance), then to Istredd. The shield hums.
He resists the urge to sigh. ] Not here. You can kill him later.