Made, huh? I got made the old-fashioned way. [Geralt gets a five-year-old's grin and a wiggle of his brows. Then he sobers, rolling his shoulders, looking into a pit of fire with a pot hanging over it. For dinner, huh? Explains the smell. Kind of like...
Chicken noodle soup.
And that's the smell that moves across the hall all at once; salty chicken, boiling bone marrow, the sort of bitter tang of celery mixed with sweet carrots. Nero gets the urge to look into the pot, half-expecting (three-fourths expecting) to see soup has appeared in it.
The bench creaks as Nero stands up, approaching the pot. He glances at Geralt over his shoulder, pausing by the fire.] Yeah, I figured. Since, you know... [He rolls his hand through the air. The black vomit? Not a normal color, unless the guy's been eating tar.] You've seen her. [He peers into the pot. It is definitely full of chicken noodle soup. Kyrie's perfect blend of what she calls mire poix and chicken and, because Nero asks, potatoes.] That cat. It's... it's baggage, I guess. And as much as I try to get rid of her, she sticks around.
[Two bowls fall onto the table beside him, and because Nero has been trained under Wanda's tutelage of "magic is fucking weird," he simply scoops out two bowls of warm, hearty soup, parsley still swirling on top, and returns to Geralt. The soup goes right in front of him.]
She's not even mine. She's my -- [He stops before he gets the word out. He still can't. Father.] I dunno, man. This place is fucking weird, and it likes messing with you. So eat some soup and don't try to think about it too hard.
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Chicken noodle soup.
And that's the smell that moves across the hall all at once; salty chicken, boiling bone marrow, the sort of bitter tang of celery mixed with sweet carrots. Nero gets the urge to look into the pot, half-expecting (three-fourths expecting) to see soup has appeared in it.
The bench creaks as Nero stands up, approaching the pot. He glances at Geralt over his shoulder, pausing by the fire.] Yeah, I figured. Since, you know... [He rolls his hand through the air. The black vomit? Not a normal color, unless the guy's been eating tar.] You've seen her. [He peers into the pot. It is definitely full of chicken noodle soup. Kyrie's perfect blend of what she calls mire poix and chicken and, because Nero asks, potatoes.] That cat. It's... it's baggage, I guess. And as much as I try to get rid of her, she sticks around.
[Two bowls fall onto the table beside him, and because Nero has been trained under Wanda's tutelage of "magic is fucking weird," he simply scoops out two bowls of warm, hearty soup, parsley still swirling on top, and returns to Geralt. The soup goes right in front of him.]
She's not even mine. She's my -- [He stops before he gets the word out. He still can't. Father.] I dunno, man. This place is fucking weird, and it likes messing with you. So eat some soup and don't try to think about it too hard.