( He snorts lightly at motor oil and steel. It's not too far off base, if they're shooting straight here.
He trails after Geralt at a lazy amble, high contrast to how keen he was on keeping at the guy's heels earlier. Funny how things flip like that.
Geralt will find a maybe surprising number of the pages are filled. It's not the whole thing start to finish, only the chapters Dean's flipped through that were relevant or interesting enough to bother reading. The ones on these shelves will be lore about their most recent hunts, or biblical lore, or possibly recipes and instructions for useful spells. Much as he likes to say he's not the brains of the family, he's honestly practically a damn walking lore repository. )
Yeah. Well, no. Kind of. Not exactly. ( He settles his hips on the edge of one of the sturdy mahogany tables, content to watch as Geralt takes it all in for a moment. ) It used to belong to this organization that got wiped out a couple decades back. They called themselves the Men of Letters. Bunch of pretentious hunter scholars who screwed around above their paygrade and got wiped out by a demon they couldn't handle.
( He pushes off the table again a moment later. )
But, uh. This isn't exactly what I wanted to show you. You can get your nerd on in a sec, just- humor me for, like, two more minutes.
( It'll swiftly become apparent that this place is huge; hallways branch off left and right, disappearing further down, deeper, out of sight. They pass by the massive telescope, a full-sized fully stocked kitchen, the showers, on a ways until they reach an unremarkable door. He nudges it open, to reveal an equally unremarkable room.
Might take a second to notice it isn't a cookie-cutter vacant guest room. There are a few subtle changes. A wall rack for mounting swords, a comb on the dresser that Dean certainly doesn't need alongside a rather suggestive set of scissors (he's just saying), and an extra blanket on the bed — which he personally finds hilarious.
He gives the guy a second or two to take it in, and then volunteers: )
There's a back entrance. Through the garage. Leads out into the woods, so...
( You can come and go without needing to pass through the bar. Like he's trying to help sell the appeal of this whole thing. )
no subject
He trails after Geralt at a lazy amble, high contrast to how keen he was on keeping at the guy's heels earlier. Funny how things flip like that.
Geralt will find a maybe surprising number of the pages are filled. It's not the whole thing start to finish, only the chapters Dean's flipped through that were relevant or interesting enough to bother reading. The ones on these shelves will be lore about their most recent hunts, or biblical lore, or possibly recipes and instructions for useful spells. Much as he likes to say he's not the brains of the family, he's honestly practically a damn walking lore repository. )
Yeah. Well, no. Kind of. Not exactly. ( He settles his hips on the edge of one of the sturdy mahogany tables, content to watch as Geralt takes it all in for a moment. ) It used to belong to this organization that got wiped out a couple decades back. They called themselves the Men of Letters. Bunch of pretentious hunter scholars who screwed around above their paygrade and got wiped out by a demon they couldn't handle.
( He pushes off the table again a moment later. )
But, uh. This isn't exactly what I wanted to show you. You can get your nerd on in a sec, just- humor me for, like, two more minutes.
( It'll swiftly become apparent that this place is huge; hallways branch off left and right, disappearing further down, deeper, out of sight. They pass by the massive telescope, a full-sized fully stocked kitchen, the showers, on a ways until they reach an unremarkable door. He nudges it open, to reveal an equally unremarkable room.
Might take a second to notice it isn't a cookie-cutter vacant guest room. There are a few subtle changes. A wall rack for mounting swords, a comb on the dresser that Dean certainly doesn't need alongside a rather suggestive set of scissors (he's just saying), and an extra blanket on the bed — which he personally finds hilarious.
He gives the guy a second or two to take it in, and then volunteers: )
There's a back entrance. Through the garage. Leads out into the woods, so...
( You can come and go without needing to pass through the bar. Like he's trying to help sell the appeal of this whole thing. )