[ Amos doesn't look up, but there's a twitch of a frown at property. Can't say he isn't familiar with that. ]
So, in another life, I was what you'd call muscle. I mean, I still kinda am, but that's by choice now. Back then, you didn't really have any other options. I'd get sent out to do basic shit. Enforce debt collection, protect assets, that kinda thing. Last job I had there was to kill someone who'd become inconvenient. [ He smiles, and there's a sharp huff, like he's just said something funny. His hands continue making work of the reassembly. They're broad and calloused and made for this kind of thing and little else. ] It's not a great gig. You fuck up, and that's a bullet in your brain. Unless you're quicker. Stronger.
[ This is the first he's hearing of a downside to the Free Cities. Up until now it's just seemed like a paradise where there's actual shit to do and at least some form of technology. Nothing close to the shotgun he's almost got put back together, but something, at least. ]
Point is, I think I got some idea of what's going on there. You wanna start amassing bodies before the churn comes. Can't say I like it, but can't say I blame them either. It's kinda SOP.
[ Something settles in him. The calm that exists before a storm. It's familiar, routine. The shit out in the world, with magic and farms and what-the-fuck-ever? That's unfamiliar. People scaling up for a war? That's not so far from home.
He puts the final parts back in their place, looks at the assembled shotgun laid out on the table before him, and sighs longingly. A sword's okay, he figures, but can't compare to this.
Amos finally looks back up at Geralt then, sees the shift in demeanour. He takes him in silently, and when he speaks, his voice is still easy, conversational. ] That bad, huh. [ He still looks even worse for the wear than he did before, and maybe that's emphasized by the agitation, the exhaustion he can read in the man. Cocks his head. ] Is that a thing you want to do? Talk to them?
no subject
So, in another life, I was what you'd call muscle. I mean, I still kinda am, but that's by choice now. Back then, you didn't really have any other options. I'd get sent out to do basic shit. Enforce debt collection, protect assets, that kinda thing. Last job I had there was to kill someone who'd become inconvenient. [ He smiles, and there's a sharp huff, like he's just said something funny. His hands continue making work of the reassembly. They're broad and calloused and made for this kind of thing and little else. ] It's not a great gig. You fuck up, and that's a bullet in your brain. Unless you're quicker. Stronger.
[ This is the first he's hearing of a downside to the Free Cities. Up until now it's just seemed like a paradise where there's actual shit to do and at least some form of technology. Nothing close to the shotgun he's almost got put back together, but something, at least. ]
Point is, I think I got some idea of what's going on there. You wanna start amassing bodies before the churn comes. Can't say I like it, but can't say I blame them either. It's kinda SOP.
[ Something settles in him. The calm that exists before a storm. It's familiar, routine. The shit out in the world, with magic and farms and what-the-fuck-ever? That's unfamiliar. People scaling up for a war? That's not so far from home.
He puts the final parts back in their place, looks at the assembled shotgun laid out on the table before him, and sighs longingly. A sword's okay, he figures, but can't compare to this.
Amos finally looks back up at Geralt then, sees the shift in demeanour. He takes him in silently, and when he speaks, his voice is still easy, conversational. ] That bad, huh. [ He still looks even worse for the wear than he did before, and maybe that's emphasized by the agitation, the exhaustion he can read in the man. Cocks his head. ] Is that a thing you want to do? Talk to them?