[ They're doing this. Like Dean, competition's near impossible for Geralt to find unless he's with another Witcher. Or Ciri. When was the last time he even missed a target? Magic horseshit trickery aside. Probably not since he was a boy or else a time he'd have been too drunk to remember. Happens, on rare occasions. Mostly when he was younger, by which he means fifty or sixty as opposed to his current hundred some-odd.
He did glimpse Dean's aim out in the desert. With the beast they found. (No, he will not refer to it by that name.) He can acknowledge it was more than decent, so consider him intrigued.
He rounds the table alongside Dean. Geralt, ever efficient, does not draw things out nor does he bother to optimally position himself—just tips his beer back before he lets the dagger fly with a casual flick. The blade lands neatly in the center of the wood board. He looks to Dean, waiting for what he has in answer.
Entirely possible, they may need something to make this more interesting than merely seeing who can aim. ]
no subject
He did glimpse Dean's aim out in the desert. With the beast they found. (No, he will not refer to it by that name.) He can acknowledge it was more than decent, so consider him intrigued.
He rounds the table alongside Dean. Geralt, ever efficient, does not draw things out nor does he bother to optimally position himself—just tips his beer back before he lets the dagger fly with a casual flick. The blade lands neatly in the center of the wood board. He looks to Dean, waiting for what he has in answer.
Entirely possible, they may need something to make this more interesting than merely seeing who can aim. ]