"I'll call it whatever I damn please, you pedantic, self-important prick."
She snaps back with just as much venom as before, but she can feel her heart racing faster, realizations catching up. How much he really knows. What it could mean.
That Geralt didn't know. She's still pissed Geralt hadn't seen fit to mention this mage from their world, but if Geralt truly had no idea, that also worries her.
And still Istredd even bothers to mention that he has questions for her. Like she cares in the slightest about what he wants to know, when she's made it plenty clear how unhappy she is that he knows anything at all. She's quite sure she's also made it clear she'd rather put a sword through his throat than subject herself to his interrogation (for the sake of knowledge, no less). The fact he brings it up at all only drives the frustration and fury higher until she wants to fucking scream.
Somehow, she manages to keep her voice mostly even, though it is a dubious calm at best, emotion cutting her syllables short and imparting a faint quiver that's echoed in her tightly balled-up fists.
"Let me make this very clear for you, mage. Whatever you think you know, whatever you want to know, I have absolutely no intention of entertaining your whims and fancies so that you can exclaim over how 'special' I am and prod at me with your questions and theories. I do not care about your history books. I do not care about your precious quest for knowledge."
She is all sharp lines and angles, shoulders squared, jaw tight, standing tall. Her eyes remain fixed on Istredd's in that unflinching, icy stare. This is not a threat; for her, it is a simple statement of fact.
"If you make yourself a problem for me or mine, you will regret it."
And with that, she vanishes, removing herself back to to the world outside.
no subject
She snaps back with just as much venom as before, but she can feel her heart racing faster, realizations catching up. How much he really knows. What it could mean.
That Geralt didn't know. She's still pissed Geralt hadn't seen fit to mention this mage from their world, but if Geralt truly had no idea, that also worries her.
And still Istredd even bothers to mention that he has questions for her. Like she cares in the slightest about what he wants to know, when she's made it plenty clear how unhappy she is that he knows anything at all. She's quite sure she's also made it clear she'd rather put a sword through his throat than subject herself to his interrogation (for the sake of knowledge, no less). The fact he brings it up at all only drives the frustration and fury higher until she wants to fucking scream.
Somehow, she manages to keep her voice mostly even, though it is a dubious calm at best, emotion cutting her syllables short and imparting a faint quiver that's echoed in her tightly balled-up fists.
"Let me make this very clear for you, mage. Whatever you think you know, whatever you want to know, I have absolutely no intention of entertaining your whims and fancies so that you can exclaim over how 'special' I am and prod at me with your questions and theories. I do not care about your history books. I do not care about your precious quest for knowledge."
She is all sharp lines and angles, shoulders squared, jaw tight, standing tall. Her eyes remain fixed on Istredd's in that unflinching, icy stare. This is not a threat; for her, it is a simple statement of fact.
"If you make yourself a problem for me or mine, you will regret it."
And with that, she vanishes, removing herself back to to the world outside.