[ John emerges looking put-together, as usual. Geralt, meanwhile, has a thick layer of mud caked on his boots; his hair is damp from the rains northeast of the Horizon, and several strands have come loose from the leather cord at the back of his head. A worn cloak is tossed over his shoulders.
He lifts an eyebrow in greeting. ] I'd offer a ride, but the weather's shit.
[ Thunder claps overhead. Next time, maybe. His gaze roams over John before he says without preamble: ]
We were interrupted. [ He swings off the bike and steps towards the entrance where John is peering out. ] In Ikorr.
[ Whether John is interested in resuming where they left is another matter. He won't take it personally if the other's changed his mind—though he doesn't think John has. ]
no subject
He lifts an eyebrow in greeting. ] I'd offer a ride, but the weather's shit.
[ Thunder claps overhead. Next time, maybe. His gaze roams over John before he says without preamble: ]
We were interrupted. [ He swings off the bike and steps towards the entrance where John is peering out. ] In Ikorr.
[ Whether John is interested in resuming where they left is another matter. He won't take it personally if the other's changed his mind—though he doesn't think John has. ]