[ Geralt leans his shoulder against the wall next to Kyle, arms folded once he's relinquished the pick. The tension in him is not absent so much as better suppressed—appears, mostly, in the way he can't help looking around the room sometimes. As though waiting for more to appear.
Nothing does. Thankfully.
His attention cuts to the dog. He taps a finger against his arm, swallowing a rising impatience to get the fuck out of here. ]
Are talking canines common where you're from?
[ That's not a dog, is it? Its scent. It's—hm. But as forthcoming as Geralt is, he isn't without his own sense of consideration. Some things need not be said out loud. ]
no subject
Nothing does. Thankfully.
His attention cuts to the dog. He taps a finger against his arm, swallowing a rising impatience to get the fuck out of here. ]
Are talking canines common where you're from?
[ That's not a dog, is it? Its scent. It's—hm. But as forthcoming as Geralt is, he isn't without his own sense of consideration. Some things need not be said out loud. ]