[ Had. The look on Geralt's face suggests he hasn't missed that particular note, but he isn't asking after it, either. He can guess what happened.
He can see it. The rundown bar here, the yard full of scraps and metal across the road. Reminds him of the scattered bones outside the keep, the crumbling walls within. They're not the prettiest of views, but home is home. ]
Mm. [ Funny. That's what they say about him now. Old bastard who spends his time keeping idiots from burning shit down. Knows too fucking much about everything. Vesemir raised all of them, shaped every one of them, but in more than one sense, Geralt might've turned out most like him. ] And how often did you make him tan your hide?
[ A faint squint to his eyes as he studies where in the hell Dean's knife even landed. He was taking a sip when it flew and enough liquor has entered him that he can't recall what the board looked like a second ago.
He waits a few more seconds, a minute. When the dagger does not drop: ] Fuck it.
[ He'll give it a pass. Mostly because he suspects it'll be his turn to argue the finer point of what counts in the near future. The next one does strike neatly into black—though he's lost track of whether that's his second for Dean to drink or the first of next round. Hard to tell when the board resembles a porcupine. He makes a gesture for Dean to drink, anyhow. ]
no subject
He can see it. The rundown bar here, the yard full of scraps and metal across the road. Reminds him of the scattered bones outside the keep, the crumbling walls within. They're not the prettiest of views, but home is home. ]
Mm. [ Funny. That's what they say about him now. Old bastard who spends his time keeping idiots from burning shit down. Knows too fucking much about everything. Vesemir raised all of them, shaped every one of them, but in more than one sense, Geralt might've turned out most like him. ] And how often did you make him tan your hide?
[ A faint squint to his eyes as he studies where in the hell Dean's knife even landed. He was taking a sip when it flew and enough liquor has entered him that he can't recall what the board looked like a second ago.
He waits a few more seconds, a minute. When the dagger does not drop: ] Fuck it.
[ He'll give it a pass. Mostly because he suspects it'll be his turn to argue the finer point of what counts in the near future. The next one does strike neatly into black—though he's lost track of whether that's his second for Dean to drink or the first of next round. Hard to tell when the board resembles a porcupine. He makes a gesture for Dean to drink, anyhow. ]