( You have got two of them — he grunts absently in agreement. Hunter humor. Classic stuff, apparently regardless of what realm of existence you're from.
Vermin, less so. For all the blood and guts he's covered with regularly, Slight Germaphobe Dean Winchester is not a fan of rats. It gets a passing lip-curl in faint disgust. Look man, those things carry the plague and he's fresh out of Purell. )
What, you're playing man servant today? That sounds like a fun change of pace.
( Gotta give ya boy a little shit for being an escort. As a wise Mandalorian will one day say: This Is The Way. )
Hope he didn't pay you in scorpions. You're worth more than that, don't sell yourself short, Gerald.
( Also a joke, though the near-toneless delivery might not be all that obvious. Then again, Geralt's got the sense of humor and general demeanor of a pancake in a hydraulic press. Maybe it translates.
Somebody else goes to sidestep a rat — little bastards are bold in the dark, aren't they? — and shoulder-checks him. Wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for that whole lung removal thing. He grunts again, this time a winded and sharply annoyed sound, accompanied by a sharp glare at the passing civilian, who scurries off faster than the rodents at their feet. )
no subject
Vermin, less so. For all the blood and guts he's covered with regularly, Slight Germaphobe Dean Winchester is not a fan of rats. It gets a passing lip-curl in faint disgust. Look man, those things carry the plague and he's fresh out of Purell. )
What, you're playing man servant today? That sounds like a fun change of pace.
( Gotta give ya boy a little shit for being an escort. As a wise Mandalorian will one day say: This Is The Way. )
Hope he didn't pay you in scorpions. You're worth more than that, don't sell yourself short, Gerald.
( Also a joke, though the near-toneless delivery might not be all that obvious. Then again, Geralt's got the sense of humor and general demeanor of a pancake in a hydraulic press. Maybe it translates.
Somebody else goes to sidestep a rat — little bastards are bold in the dark, aren't they? — and shoulder-checks him. Wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for that whole lung removal thing. He grunts again, this time a winded and sharply annoyed sound, accompanied by a sharp glare at the passing civilian, who scurries off faster than the rodents at their feet. )