[ Fortunate for Sam that Geralt's not the interrupting type, even though he can put two and two together before Sam finishes explaining. A healing potion. From the crystals. The name Zelda sends a shadow of recognition over his face.
He shifts. His eyes narrow a little. It's clear, out of everything that Sam's said, what catches his attention the most. ] Side effects.
[ It's not that he doesn't trust Sam. It's that side effects is fucking vague and these crystals haven't exactly been harmless in their native form. Which. Yeah. He knows. He knows Sam isn't wrong. He'd have to be head buried in the sand to not feel the tension in the air. How things have expanded to the snapping point. He's equally reluctant to forge ahead not at a hundred percent—especially with how muted his senses are. How slow he feels. He hates that just about anyone can sneak up on him.
A breath escapes him. It's difficult to explain how he feels without being entrenched in a history he'd rather not delve into. Still, he does reach for the vial, if only out of curiosity. It sits neatly in his palm. Unassuming as anything.
If he wasn't healing—slowly, but he is—if it'd been getting worse, he'd likely have chanced it. He'd meant it when he'd promised Sam as much. And if he'd been anywhere but trapped in a cell, with so much of himself stripped away, he'd have chanced it, too. As things are, though, he's less willing to play so loosely with the unknown. ] I know what you'll say. But I've fought with worse. I can walk on it.
[ After a moment, he holds it back out. It isn't like him to explain, but he understands Sam's been trying. Has gone out of his way when he's no real reason to. He wants Sam to know that it's not mistrust nor some misplaced bravado that's made him turn the down the help. He's too damn old to indulge in the latter, anyway. ]
I've never had the most blessed experience with experimental alchemy.
no subject
He shifts. His eyes narrow a little. It's clear, out of everything that Sam's said, what catches his attention the most. ] Side effects.
[ It's not that he doesn't trust Sam. It's that side effects is fucking vague and these crystals haven't exactly been harmless in their native form. Which. Yeah. He knows. He knows Sam isn't wrong. He'd have to be head buried in the sand to not feel the tension in the air. How things have expanded to the snapping point. He's equally reluctant to forge ahead not at a hundred percent—especially with how muted his senses are. How slow he feels. He hates that just about anyone can sneak up on him.
A breath escapes him. It's difficult to explain how he feels without being entrenched in a history he'd rather not delve into. Still, he does reach for the vial, if only out of curiosity. It sits neatly in his palm. Unassuming as anything.
If he wasn't healing—slowly, but he is—if it'd been getting worse, he'd likely have chanced it. He'd meant it when he'd promised Sam as much. And if he'd been anywhere but trapped in a cell, with so much of himself stripped away, he'd have chanced it, too. As things are, though, he's less willing to play so loosely with the unknown. ] I know what you'll say. But I've fought with worse. I can walk on it.
[ After a moment, he holds it back out. It isn't like him to explain, but he understands Sam's been trying. Has gone out of his way when he's no real reason to. He wants Sam to know that it's not mistrust nor some misplaced bravado that's made him turn the down the help. He's too damn old to indulge in the latter, anyway. ]
I've never had the most blessed experience with experimental alchemy.