[ Geralt, too, is distracted by this bottle of hers, because he's never witnessed such a simple affair grow so fucking complicated so quickly. (That's a lie; he absolutely has, every time he steps anywhere near the politics of a king's court.) He wants to tell her to simply stick it under the water source in this kitchen that conveniently runs hot or cold on command, but she has other ideas in mind and he watches as frost crackles around the glass.

All right.

He still doesn't comment, but there's a distinct sigh before he tips back his own ale and takes a drink. What were they talking about again. Monsters being less of a bastard than people? Mm. Yeah. He can agree with that. As for stories—the only fun and terrifying tales he's got are the ones Jaskier has spun with his embellished touch. ] Not particularly. Unless you find three days' worth of sitting in the rain outside a nest exciting.

[ A keen interest grows in his eyes when she says It'd be better for everyone if I wasn't; though Geralt doesn't address it aloud, there's a sense he's taken especial note of that remark. Or maybe it's possible for Himeka to have realized that he's taken note of almost every remark in their conversation, whether he responds to it or not.

That last question, he does answer. ] Sure. Mages, sorcerers. Druids. All about the same. [ He shrugs. Truthfully, he isn't certain why Witchers are called what they are. It just is. If there's a root cause for the term, it's long been lost, but given how they were created, he imagines not too much thought was given. ] Why is an elf called an elf?