[They sit, and it's quiet. Nero's a bundle of restless energy, but he doesn't really feel the need to disrupt the silence, either. He can hear plenty: Geralt's uneven breathing, the tape straining a bit against the blasted door to keep it in place. He leans against the wall with one foot propped up, looking at the door they've moved a little bit from. Just a stairwell up. Straight up. Carved right outta stone.
He takes the quiet time to try to put together what the hell's happening. The Horizon's fucking up, for sure, like a television merging two channels together. Neither of them wanted to be in a goddamn blizzard. And his -- the deer, helping once and fucking off? Falling from a cave into this?
And whatever this is, it's. Not something Geralt meant to confront. Something he didn't mean to make, maybe; something like the panther that dogs Nero's footsteps. That lashed out in the last few days like it didn't even recognize him.
It isn't his place to pry. But he can't help but wonder if Geralt will ever bring it up again.
Eventually, he stands. Nero hands him a towel (he meant for it to be, like, a little cloth, but what falls into his hands is a freakin' bath towel) and follows behind him up the stairs. The air grows colder as they go, and for a minute he's thinking they're heading right back onto that mountain.
Door opens to... well, not a mountain, but not exactly anyplace he recognizes, either. But it's weirdly homey, with the fires burning, long stretches of tables.] Huh. Reminds me of the eating hall in the Order.
[Maybe that's it. A place where people were meant to gather. Except there's a weird fuckin' tree.]
Yeah, well. You survived both. That's braggin' rights, yeah? [Nero tosses down a loaf next to him, stretching out his legs. Not sure if his company is helping, or if there's helping at all, but it'd be fucked to just up and leave.] Personally, I dig this place. It's warm. I mean, not literally, but -- this home for you?
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He takes the quiet time to try to put together what the hell's happening. The Horizon's fucking up, for sure, like a television merging two channels together. Neither of them wanted to be in a goddamn blizzard. And his -- the deer, helping once and fucking off? Falling from a cave into this?
And whatever this is, it's. Not something Geralt meant to confront. Something he didn't mean to make, maybe; something like the panther that dogs Nero's footsteps. That lashed out in the last few days like it didn't even recognize him.
It isn't his place to pry. But he can't help but wonder if Geralt will ever bring it up again.
Eventually, he stands. Nero hands him a towel (he meant for it to be, like, a little cloth, but what falls into his hands is a freakin' bath towel) and follows behind him up the stairs. The air grows colder as they go, and for a minute he's thinking they're heading right back onto that mountain.
Door opens to... well, not a mountain, but not exactly anyplace he recognizes, either. But it's weirdly homey, with the fires burning, long stretches of tables.] Huh. Reminds me of the eating hall in the Order.
[Maybe that's it. A place where people were meant to gather. Except there's a weird fuckin' tree.]
Yeah, well. You survived both. That's braggin' rights, yeah? [Nero tosses down a loaf next to him, stretching out his legs. Not sure if his company is helping, or if there's helping at all, but it'd be fucked to just up and leave.] Personally, I dig this place. It's warm. I mean, not literally, but -- this home for you?