[ His eyes flick to the chatty canine, then back to Kyle as he watches the man pick up the medallion. There's a sense Geralt debates an explanation—where they are, what this foreboding room means—not because he wants to get into it, but to field any impending questions.
But Kyle doesn't ask. Neither does Geralt, about the dog. Though he'll certainly want to know once they're free of this damn place.
He walks around to the other side of the room. There isn't a lot; the room is sparse, utilitarian. But under the bed, he thinks—yeah. There it is. An old stylus, slightly hooked at the end. It'll do. He isn't sure what sort of locks Kyle has in his world, but the ones here? They're not complicated, easily opened with a skeleton key. This place held children, not cunning thieves.
He hands it over. Geralt, too, knows fuck all about picking locks. He glances at the floor, unsure if the ooze indeed can't get in. Still—even if they're safe here, how long would that last? They need to get the hell out eventually. ]
no subject
But Kyle doesn't ask. Neither does Geralt, about the dog. Though he'll certainly want to know once they're free of this damn place.
He walks around to the other side of the room. There isn't a lot; the room is sparse, utilitarian. But under the bed, he thinks—yeah. There it is. An old stylus, slightly hooked at the end. It'll do. He isn't sure what sort of locks Kyle has in his world, but the ones here? They're not complicated, easily opened with a skeleton key. This place held children, not cunning thieves.
He hands it over. Geralt, too, knows fuck all about picking locks. He glances at the floor, unsure if the ooze indeed can't get in. Still—even if they're safe here, how long would that last? They need to get the hell out eventually. ]
Normally, I just kick down the door.