[ He'll clean the blood off the table afterwards. Geralt does move his beer out of the way, so as not to have gore splashed into his drink. ]
Not a shithole? [ His tone is vaguely amused. Oh, now Nero decides to be delicate about matters? Geralt is well aware of what Kaer Morhen looks like. And as Nero suspects, it is like that for a reason. It would not be home were it shiny and new.
Geralt watches the myriapod attack a finger with all its might. He huffs a sound. Not worth thinking about indeed. It's a question he can never answer when asked: what he would be if not a Witcher.
This world is making him realize it is far more ingrained in him than he'd even believed. Because—he has got a choice here. More of one. Hasn't he? No one would blink if he opened up a shop and sold flowers. He's not known as a Witcher here and the weight of stories and rumours that word carries. If he truly wanted, he could remake himself anew. But the truth is, he can't imagine it. He can't imagine being not this, can't imagine knowing what it is to live without a sword in his hand.
Maybe it's simply too late to be anything else. Maybe this is no longer a choice for him to make, even though it would seem he might have one at last. (Has he really one at all?)
As Nero said. Not worth thinking about. Sure as fuck not at the moment, when he's only here to drink. ] And what do you do now? Sheer the sheep?
no subject
Not a shithole? [ His tone is vaguely amused. Oh, now Nero decides to be delicate about matters? Geralt is well aware of what Kaer Morhen looks like. And as Nero suspects, it is like that for a reason. It would not be home were it shiny and new.
Geralt watches the myriapod attack a finger with all its might. He huffs a sound. Not worth thinking about indeed. It's a question he can never answer when asked: what he would be if not a Witcher.
This world is making him realize it is far more ingrained in him than he'd even believed. Because—he has got a choice here. More of one. Hasn't he? No one would blink if he opened up a shop and sold flowers. He's not known as a Witcher here and the weight of stories and rumours that word carries. If he truly wanted, he could remake himself anew. But the truth is, he can't imagine it. He can't imagine being not this, can't imagine knowing what it is to live without a sword in his hand.
Maybe it's simply too late to be anything else. Maybe this is no longer a choice for him to make, even though it would seem he might have one at last. (Has he really one at all?)
As Nero said. Not worth thinking about. Sure as fuck not at the moment, when he's only here to drink. ] And what do you do now? Sheer the sheep?