[ if sam were more on it, he might think to explain to geralt that the owner isn’t someone to worry about. that the only person she actually knows is here is jaskier, and that sam has told her a “couple of others are staying over” and very little else. as it stands, though, sam doesn’t really think of it, so he’s not quite able to bring that reassurance. maybe after he sleeps, maybe after he starts thinking a bit more clearly.
content that geralt sits, sam goes back to the bags. tries to reorient himself to keep moving. what he needs to do next. his hands move to a bag, or a basket, or a box, and stop mid-reach by the sound of geralt’s voice. leave that he says, and sam turns - ready to argue, to make some comment about how geralt isn’t really in a state to be making demands, but what he finds is a look that tells him arguing isn’t going to get him anywhere and sam let’s put a sigh of his own. alright, alright, he gives - and moves to sit in the chair closest to the offered extra bowel.
there is a moment where sam hopes that maybe this will be one of those times that they will simply lapse into silence, because geralt is that type of person, and while sam usually is okay with providing the commentary, in this moment he is just. tired. the kind of tired that only comes after prolonged periods of stress, of the rise and fall of adrenaline. everyone is back, now. everyone is safe. and sam…god, sam doesn’t know what he wants. but the stew is actually smelling really good.
sam digs in, only pausing when it’s geralt who breaks the silence, offering unprompted updates. commentary. i’m hard to put down. sam snorts and takes another bite of stew, finding it comforting, warm. ]
Yeah, I’ve figured that much. [ and then, after letting himself finish the bite. glancing across the table towards the mess of white hair, the lines of his shoulders. sam considers his next thought - because geralt opened this door, by offering his update, and now sam can’t quite bring himself to close it yet. ]
Can I ask you something? [ sam asks, watching geralt eat for a moment. whatever answer geralt gives is enough, because sam keeps watching him, expression neutral. ]
no subject
content that geralt sits, sam goes back to the bags. tries to reorient himself to keep moving. what he needs to do next. his hands move to a bag, or a basket, or a box, and stop mid-reach by the sound of geralt’s voice. leave that he says, and sam turns - ready to argue, to make some comment about how geralt isn’t really in a state to be making demands, but what he finds is a look that tells him arguing isn’t going to get him anywhere and sam let’s put a sigh of his own. alright, alright, he gives - and moves to sit in the chair closest to the offered extra bowel.
there is a moment where sam hopes that maybe this will be one of those times that they will simply lapse into silence, because geralt is that type of person, and while sam usually is okay with providing the commentary, in this moment he is just. tired. the kind of tired that only comes after prolonged periods of stress, of the rise and fall of adrenaline. everyone is back, now. everyone is safe. and sam…god, sam doesn’t know what he wants. but the stew is actually smelling really good.
sam digs in, only pausing when it’s geralt who breaks the silence, offering unprompted updates. commentary. i’m hard to put down. sam snorts and takes another bite of stew, finding it comforting, warm. ]
Yeah, I’ve figured that much. [ and then, after letting himself finish the bite. glancing across the table towards the mess of white hair, the lines of his shoulders. sam considers his next thought - because geralt opened this door, by offering his update, and now sam can’t quite bring himself to close it yet. ]
Can I ask you something? [ sam asks, watching geralt eat for a moment. whatever answer geralt gives is enough, because sam keeps watching him, expression neutral. ]
Could I have killed you? With whatever that was?