His attention shifts momentarily. Just a fleeting, flickering look back at Geralt accompanied by the soft, silent nodding of his head.
Yeah. They have an understanding about that. Doesn't need a conversation, doesn't even necessitate a word from him about it.
He shifts his focus back to her, back to this, the far more precarious thread of conversation unfolding still.
Fine.
Some of the tension breaks. His shoulders soften from the rigid stone he hadn't even realized they'd locked into, a relief that creeps in centimeters down his spine. His hands come up again — in surrender this time, fingers fanned, wrists twisting outwardly.
"Deal. Road haul me if you wanna, I'll give you the damn keys."
His car is parked outside. He'd let her behind the wheel to drag his ass up and down the blacktop strip. That's how much he stands by what he's saying.
He gives it just another tentative second, glancing between the two of them, waiting for another shoe to drop. When it doesn't, he slowly leaves the space between them to round the bar and look for a bottle of something strong. Don't know about the two of them, but he sure as shit could use it.
The heavy bottle thunks down on the hardwood, and as he pulls the glasses out, he figures he might as well go ahead and answer the question she hasn't asked yet.
"He's a Witcher. Not a demon. Not a shifter. It's more like a hunter on steroids. That's it."
no subject
His attention shifts momentarily. Just a fleeting, flickering look back at Geralt accompanied by the soft, silent nodding of his head.
Yeah. They have an understanding about that. Doesn't need a conversation, doesn't even necessitate a word from him about it.
He shifts his focus back to her, back to this, the far more precarious thread of conversation unfolding still.
Fine.
Some of the tension breaks. His shoulders soften from the rigid stone he hadn't even realized they'd locked into, a relief that creeps in centimeters down his spine. His hands come up again — in surrender this time, fingers fanned, wrists twisting outwardly.
"Deal. Road haul me if you wanna, I'll give you the damn keys."
His car is parked outside. He'd let her behind the wheel to drag his ass up and down the blacktop strip. That's how much he stands by what he's saying.
He gives it just another tentative second, glancing between the two of them, waiting for another shoe to drop. When it doesn't, he slowly leaves the space between them to round the bar and look for a bottle of something strong. Don't know about the two of them, but he sure as shit could use it.
The heavy bottle thunks down on the hardwood, and as he pulls the glasses out, he figures he might as well go ahead and answer the question she hasn't asked yet.
"He's a Witcher. Not a demon. Not a shifter. It's more like a hunter on steroids. That's it."