[ Geralt frowns between them, which suffices as an answer for the gamut of their remarks.
His sword is covered in blood and a thick blue-green substance. At some point during the fight, the back of his hand sprouted a fang that looked suspiciously like the sharp talons of the enormous centipede. Preoccupied with the worm's gaping maw, Geralt fails to notice before the fang falls off, lost to dirt and dust.
Naturally, he ends up digging through the pile of intestines alone while Dean considers the culinary merits of worm meat. He makes no effort to convince Dean to join him; Geralt is driven purely by practicality, and practicality says that things will go much smoother and quicker if he were to just. Get this fucking part of the job done. So that's what he does. He splits its sack-like insides with his hunting knife and rummages through a mixture of bile and chunks of half-digested horse until a glint catches his eye.
Hm.
Geralt retrieves the green stone without a word. Takes the gold, too, which he plans on keeping if the man shorts him what he's owed. Multiple detached teeth later, Geralt tosses the pouch of worm fangs at Dean. The jewel and swallowed coin go to Jaskier.
He peers at the sun, low in the sky. ] We should make camp nearby. No sense in disturbing the sands at night.
[ By the time the sky turns dark, they have a crackling fire to keep the dipping temperatures at bay. A bubbling pot hangs over the flames. Geralt sits to the side, rag in hand. Entrails cling to his hair, dried and sticky, though he's more interested in cleaning his blade than himself. ]
no subject
His sword is covered in blood and a thick blue-green substance. At some point during the fight, the back of his hand sprouted a fang that looked suspiciously like the sharp talons of the enormous centipede. Preoccupied with the worm's gaping maw, Geralt fails to notice before the fang falls off, lost to dirt and dust.
Naturally, he ends up digging through the pile of intestines alone while Dean considers the culinary merits of worm meat. He makes no effort to convince Dean to join him; Geralt is driven purely by practicality, and practicality says that things will go much smoother and quicker if he were to just. Get this fucking part of the job done. So that's what he does. He splits its sack-like insides with his hunting knife and rummages through a mixture of bile and chunks of half-digested horse until a glint catches his eye.
Hm.
Geralt retrieves the green stone without a word. Takes the gold, too, which he plans on keeping if the man shorts him what he's owed. Multiple detached teeth later, Geralt tosses the pouch of worm fangs at Dean. The jewel and swallowed coin go to Jaskier.
He peers at the sun, low in the sky. ] We should make camp nearby. No sense in disturbing the sands at night.
[ By the time the sky turns dark, they have a crackling fire to keep the dipping temperatures at bay. A bubbling pot hangs over the flames. Geralt sits to the side, rag in hand. Entrails cling to his hair, dried and sticky, though he's more interested in cleaning his blade than himself. ]