[ listen - it's carbonated and refrigerated and there's a tool that makes it work. when sam decides he wants some warm ale, he'll ask geralt. for now, he's just being lazy, and if geralt can pop a freaking bottle top with his thumb, sam's not going to waste time figuring out where his bottle opener ended up. so as geralt pops it open and hands it back, sam takes a drink of it.
he is feeling good - comfortable, tipsy but not yet drunk. it's the kind of comfortable he likes most, while in this house. while with others. he leans against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest, propping the bottle in his elbow as he tilts his head from side to side, thoughtful. ]
So he's a survivor? [ because that is the word that comes to mind, first more than anything else. from what he's known of witchers, of their jobs and their dealings. the hints that geralt has dropped of his childhood, how they were created. the understanding that they did not pass away, but instead died because they couldn't keep ahead. if this man, this mentor, was nearly two hundred, it was not because he simply wanted to retire. or at least, sam did not think so.
he is watching geralt, as he huffs. as the amusement hangs somewhere short of his eyes. ]
Do you actually want to be around that long? [ the question is heavier, than the previous questions he's posited. and maybe it's out of place. but sam chances it all the same, waiting for any sign that he's overstepped and that he may need to step back in and shift the conversation again. ] Three hundred years is a hell of a long time to be alive, retirement or no. [ and then, if geralt is too quiet for too long, sam will sort of shift, sort of shrug. it's a lot for him to assume, and from what he knows of geralt, it's not like geralt expects to be around that long anyway. a joke, maybe, but sam had seen the distance there. the thoughts he is starting to think maybe geralt has in abundance, without speaking aloud. ]
Extended aging is nice and all, but it sounds kind of lonely. It's probably a good thing your teacher- or whoever- has you around to give him a hard time in his old age. [ and then they're back - back to lighter, to sam's small smile. to a kind of partial joke, partial truth, wrapped up in the quiet sounds of night in the kitchen, distant chatter from the tv still being on, the people still outside. ]
no subject
he is feeling good - comfortable, tipsy but not yet drunk. it's the kind of comfortable he likes most, while in this house. while with others. he leans against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest, propping the bottle in his elbow as he tilts his head from side to side, thoughtful. ]
So he's a survivor? [ because that is the word that comes to mind, first more than anything else. from what he's known of witchers, of their jobs and their dealings. the hints that geralt has dropped of his childhood, how they were created. the understanding that they did not pass away, but instead died because they couldn't keep ahead. if this man, this mentor, was nearly two hundred, it was not because he simply wanted to retire. or at least, sam did not think so.
he is watching geralt, as he huffs. as the amusement hangs somewhere short of his eyes. ]
Do you actually want to be around that long? [ the question is heavier, than the previous questions he's posited. and maybe it's out of place. but sam chances it all the same, waiting for any sign that he's overstepped and that he may need to step back in and shift the conversation again. ] Three hundred years is a hell of a long time to be alive, retirement or no. [ and then, if geralt is too quiet for too long, sam will sort of shift, sort of shrug. it's a lot for him to assume, and from what he knows of geralt, it's not like geralt expects to be around that long anyway. a joke, maybe, but sam had seen the distance there. the thoughts he is starting to think maybe geralt has in abundance, without speaking aloud. ]
Extended aging is nice and all, but it sounds kind of lonely. It's probably a good thing your teacher- or whoever- has you around to give him a hard time in his old age. [ and then they're back - back to lighter, to sam's small smile. to a kind of partial joke, partial truth, wrapped up in the quiet sounds of night in the kitchen, distant chatter from the tv still being on, the people still outside. ]