[ Has he? Geralt reaches for the bottle. ] A measure.
[ His family is here. He has people he loves. It is more than he could ask for, and truthfully, he doesn't expect peace to stay long. It flits in and out like a restless hummingbird. The world does not rest. There is always something to protect.
His eyebrow lifts. He takes a second to mull it over—not because he can't hold his liquor, but because he prefers not to drink himself under the table. Even with his brothers, he'd tap out early. Duller than my shitting pot, Lambert would call him each time he left for bed, disinterested in falling over his own two feet. He decides it doesn't matter. It isn't really about the wager. It's about what he's willing to share, and if that's a fond memory, he can't say he minds.
So he pulls out two small pewter cups, the kind that holds only a couple of mouthfuls. ]
All right. [ He fills one and passes it over. ] I'll even let you ask me a question.
no subject
[ His family is here. He has people he loves. It is more than he could ask for, and truthfully, he doesn't expect peace to stay long. It flits in and out like a restless hummingbird. The world does not rest. There is always something to protect.
His eyebrow lifts. He takes a second to mull it over—not because he can't hold his liquor, but because he prefers not to drink himself under the table. Even with his brothers, he'd tap out early. Duller than my shitting pot, Lambert would call him each time he left for bed, disinterested in falling over his own two feet. He decides it doesn't matter. It isn't really about the wager. It's about what he's willing to share, and if that's a fond memory, he can't say he minds.
So he pulls out two small pewter cups, the kind that holds only a couple of mouthfuls. ]
All right. [ He fills one and passes it over. ] I'll even let you ask me a question.
[ Just one. ]