[Jaskier hits him, a slap across the chest, as easy and automatic as anything.] Oh, shut it. I don't see you providing surveillance for our... strange, awkward family. Besides, Red is far from useless.
[He wasn't for spying, exactly, but Sam had certainly had no complaints on the utility of the bird.
He drops his arm, looking back.]
Not that I blame you, but it doesn't narrow things down. [Who would be willing to portal someone out of Thorne, especially a prisoner of the queen? Someone assured they would receive no blowback.
It's a lot to take in. Gods knew that Geralt's head must have been spinning, taking it all in. All these hierarchies, the traitors, the possibilities these alliances may mean. And here they had been in Cadens for months, hoping that their escape would not come crawling back to nip at their heels.
A breeze moves through the cemetery, bringing the scent of freshly turned soil, the sweet notes of the blackberries. The dead rose crumbles to nothing as he touches it again, and he ignores the poetic omen it certainly must represent.] I know it does not mean much, hearing it... but I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you. Whatever you need, Geralt, if you can think of a thing. It's yours.
no subject
[He wasn't for spying, exactly, but Sam had certainly had no complaints on the utility of the bird.
He drops his arm, looking back.]
Not that I blame you, but it doesn't narrow things down. [Who would be willing to portal someone out of Thorne, especially a prisoner of the queen? Someone assured they would receive no blowback.
It's a lot to take in. Gods knew that Geralt's head must have been spinning, taking it all in. All these hierarchies, the traitors, the possibilities these alliances may mean. And here they had been in Cadens for months, hoping that their escape would not come crawling back to nip at their heels.
A breeze moves through the cemetery, bringing the scent of freshly turned soil, the sweet notes of the blackberries. The dead rose crumbles to nothing as he touches it again, and he ignores the poetic omen it certainly must represent.] I know it does not mean much, hearing it... but I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you. Whatever you need, Geralt, if you can think of a thing. It's yours.