[ Probably, it is for the best that Geralt hasn't got any idea Nero is fucking carrying him. He can't say how he'd even react to that. That he's been picked up like he weighs not an ounce more than a leaf.
All he knows is that he tumbles free of the room somehow, some way. He falls forward on his hands and knees as he struggles to catch his breath. Nero's slap goes unnoticed. But he does hear his name, filtering in through the haze of deafening screams. He sucks in air—fresh air compared to the stifling stench in that place. It twists his stomach, cold and sharp. Then he's heaving up a bitter, sour mixture of blood and bile—thick, black, splattering on the ground.
Fuck. Fuck.
He shoves himself back against the wall. His hands are shaking. He can't seem to stop; Nero is staring at him and he doesn't know what to say. Can't even remember how the hell they ended down these stairs out here. Weren't they on the mountain a second ago? He recalls falling, then—
His gaze lingers on the open door. It's not near as loud outside. But he can still hear it. Or perhaps he's imagining it. (Everything here is his from his mind. That's the damn problem.) ]
I'm fine. [ Shit. Fine is enormously absurd claim following everything. There's a sense he isn't even attempting to convince, that he's only saying it to say it. ] I just. I need a minute.
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All he knows is that he tumbles free of the room somehow, some way. He falls forward on his hands and knees as he struggles to catch his breath. Nero's slap goes unnoticed. But he does hear his name, filtering in through the haze of deafening screams. He sucks in air—fresh air compared to the stifling stench in that place. It twists his stomach, cold and sharp. Then he's heaving up a bitter, sour mixture of blood and bile—thick, black, splattering on the ground.
Fuck. Fuck.
He shoves himself back against the wall. His hands are shaking. He can't seem to stop; Nero is staring at him and he doesn't know what to say. Can't even remember how the hell they ended down these stairs out here. Weren't they on the mountain a second ago? He recalls falling, then—
His gaze lingers on the open door. It's not near as loud outside. But he can still hear it. Or perhaps he's imagining it. (Everything here is his from his mind. That's the damn problem.) ]
I'm fine. [ Shit. Fine is enormously absurd claim following everything. There's a sense he isn't even attempting to convince, that he's only saying it to say it. ] I just. I need a minute.