( Man is he glad he got this freakin' ring. He could take or leave the tote bag, but the magic flashlight is exactly what he'd been mentally begging for throughout that entire last spelunking trip with Geralt. Might've actually saved his life today, as it turns out — easy enough to guess, probably, once Geralt gets close enough to give him a once-over.
He's fine now, but there's evidence of a less than smooth hunt lingering behind. Torn shirt, nice big freshly bandaged gash underneath it he's patched up himself. The fabric hangs open just enough to show off most of his tattoo, and then the white patch beneath it carrying just the faintest sliver of bleed-through. Barely noticeable, but Geralt can probably smell it. A few scraped knuckles, a bruised cheek. Pretty basic stuff, pleasantly illuminated by the ring on his finger that he's using to "accidentally" blind the guy at the market stall counting coins at him. )
Yep. Yeah. That's right. Keep 'em coming. There we go. Throw in the bottle, too.
( The merchant looks less than enthusiastic about the order, but does eventually fork over a pricey-looking bottle of something alcoholic. Dean raises it in a little salute, says something along the lines of it's been a business doing pleasure with you, and yoinks the cork out of the thing with a squeaky pop. He ambles all of about two steps away before he lifts the bottle up, chugging down a few hearty swallows like the thirstiest bitch in the desert. Following that, a nice long exhale, eyes closed, exhausted.
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He's fine now, but there's evidence of a less than smooth hunt lingering behind. Torn shirt, nice big freshly bandaged gash underneath it he's patched up himself. The fabric hangs open just enough to show off most of his tattoo, and then the white patch beneath it carrying just the faintest sliver of bleed-through. Barely noticeable, but Geralt can probably smell it. A few scraped knuckles, a bruised cheek. Pretty basic stuff, pleasantly illuminated by the ring on his finger that he's using to "accidentally" blind the guy at the market stall counting coins at him. )
Yep. Yeah. That's right. Keep 'em coming. There we go. Throw in the bottle, too.
( The merchant looks less than enthusiastic about the order, but does eventually fork over a pricey-looking bottle of something alcoholic. Dean raises it in a little salute, says something along the lines of it's been a business doing pleasure with you, and yoinks the cork out of the thing with a squeaky pop. He ambles all of about two steps away before he lifts the bottle up, chugging down a few hearty swallows like the thirstiest bitch in the desert. Following that, a nice long exhale, eyes closed, exhausted.
Today sucked balls, thanks for asking. )