On the other hand, [He continues, as if in answer to her question,] I’m not so sure everyone isn’t bloody sick of bread. I think Rinwell and Hector are becoming desperate in their attempt to find a sustainable soup-to-bread ratio.
[And no one has had the gall to bring up the stressed bread making to his face, which is why he loves both and will die for them.
And for Ciri, of course. He has quiet songs too, that he keeps to himself, that perhaps only Geralt has ever heard him hum, of this girl that came from nowhere, from a woman’s womb he met decades ago and only once, and how improbably and easily she fell into his heart.
Not like it was Destiny. Nothing so convoluted. Only as if she fit perfectly in this shape it had been missing. Wistful songs of love’s power to choke even Destiny. Sorry songs of burden and freedom.
Some people keep journals. He keeps his songs. Though at this rate, he should be far more careful with them.
He claps his hands together, as if the drop in their conversation never happened.] Cake! That’s it! I can manage cake. Apple cake. And some sort of… you know, like a glaze? Oh, gods, I’m starting to sound like Alucard. [Now that he has reignited that mood, the reminder he was here to help Ciri forget her wounds, if only for a moment, it is much simpler to cling onto it.]
Yes, cut a few thinner, if you don’t mind. I know you mentioned cards, but how about you help me a spell? Then you can lose terribly to my strategic card-playing because I am, of course, a genius.
no subject
[And no one has had the gall to bring up the stressed bread making to his face, which is why he loves both and will die for them.
And for Ciri, of course. He has quiet songs too, that he keeps to himself, that perhaps only Geralt has ever heard him hum, of this girl that came from nowhere, from a woman’s womb he met decades ago and only once, and how improbably and easily she fell into his heart.
Not like it was Destiny. Nothing so convoluted. Only as if she fit perfectly in this shape it had been missing. Wistful songs of love’s power to choke even Destiny. Sorry songs of burden and freedom.
Some people keep journals. He keeps his songs. Though at this rate, he should be far more careful with them.
He claps his hands together, as if the drop in their conversation never happened.] Cake! That’s it! I can manage cake. Apple cake. And some sort of… you know, like a glaze? Oh, gods, I’m starting to sound like Alucard. [Now that he has reignited that mood, the reminder he was here to help Ciri forget her wounds, if only for a moment, it is much simpler to cling onto it.]
Yes, cut a few thinner, if you don’t mind. I know you mentioned cards, but how about you help me a spell? Then you can lose terribly to my strategic card-playing because I am, of course, a genius.
[And not deflecting. Like, at all.]