( Now that earns a laugh out of him, honest to god — a little surprised, a flash of teeth, head thrown momentarily back before he ducks it again. Geralt, stoic son of a bitch that he is, sometimes hits just right with that dry sense of humor. )
Well, you're not wrong. ( Is his wry return, shaking his head gently and bringing that mug back up to his mouth. Into it, he mutters a pleasant: ) God, I hope not.
( It's a bleak joke, and there's just a hint of dark truth to it. What's dead should stay dead, he doesn't consider himself the exception.
Nobody brings back the dead for anything good. At the very least, nobody brings him back for anything good. Leave him in the hat. )
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Well, you're not wrong. ( Is his wry return, shaking his head gently and bringing that mug back up to his mouth. Into it, he mutters a pleasant: ) God, I hope not.
( It's a bleak joke, and there's just a hint of dark truth to it. What's dead should stay dead, he doesn't consider himself the exception.
Nobody brings back the dead for anything good. At the very least, nobody brings him back for anything good. Leave him in the hat. )