[ When Sam first mentioned the meeting to Geralt, he'd turned down the invitation. Geralt went to the last one only because he was asked to keep an eye out and because its purpose was simply to bring folk to a place for a drink or two. Today, though, is meant for discussion: of the potential war, of the tension between the territories, between the Summoned. Not his field. He's got his own thoughts on those matters, his own concerns, but getting involved amongst the population at large is far from his preference.
Attending, then, is not the reason Geralt has made an appearance. He's arrived strictly to speak to Sam, and that's clear in how he slips around the periphery of the gathering, moves towards the back. He catches Sam's eye before he goes up the front steps of the house. He doesn't expect the man to drop what he's doing—plans on swiping a beer and waiting inside until Sam finds a moment—but Sam is behind him before the door's even closed.
Timing isn't perfect; Geralt would rather do this when half the Summoned aren't right outside. A small handful he trusts. The remainder are acquaintances at best. And while he isn't sure if what he's uncovered means anything, he's little interest in the way rumours and tales spiral from one person to another. As far as he's concerned, the Summoned as a whole don't need to know about this until he determines what the fuck it even is and what's to be done next. Waiting isn't an option, though. This far out into the desert is hardly the most forgiving place to sit and vacate into another plane of existence. Last thing he needs is some bastard sand worm taking chunk out of him. He's found a spot and a bit of time where he can safely be inside the Horizon. Makes use of it while he can. ]
Shame I missed the grand speech. [ There's a distracted edge behind his poking. His eyes shift towards the front door, which he knows would be kept open for anyone. Goes back to Sam. ] We need to talk.
lil chat.
Attending, then, is not the reason Geralt has made an appearance. He's arrived strictly to speak to Sam, and that's clear in how he slips around the periphery of the gathering, moves towards the back. He catches Sam's eye before he goes up the front steps of the house. He doesn't expect the man to drop what he's doing—plans on swiping a beer and waiting inside until Sam finds a moment—but Sam is behind him before the door's even closed.
Timing isn't perfect; Geralt would rather do this when half the Summoned aren't right outside. A small handful he trusts. The remainder are acquaintances at best. And while he isn't sure if what he's uncovered means anything, he's little interest in the way rumours and tales spiral from one person to another. As far as he's concerned, the Summoned as a whole don't need to know about this until he determines what the fuck it even is and what's to be done next. Waiting isn't an option, though. This far out into the desert is hardly the most forgiving place to sit and vacate into another plane of existence. Last thing he needs is some bastard sand worm taking chunk out of him. He's found a spot and a bit of time where he can safely be inside the Horizon. Makes use of it while he can. ]
Shame I missed the grand speech. [ There's a distracted edge behind his poking. His eyes shift towards the front door, which he knows would be kept open for anyone. Goes back to Sam. ] We need to talk.