The grunt from Geralt is exasperated. A distinct, Does it look as though I fucking know? rolled up in one brief noise.
He's moving for the same reason. Hasn't got any desire to sit and think and remember what's buried deep in his home. That she saw it, that he has no wish to get into it with her. It's not a secret, how his kind are made. But knowing the bare facts is one thing. Witnessing the scars it left behind is another. He doesn't want something so personal, so rooted in his past, in her hands.
Except it's too late for that, isn't it?
They bump up into another stone wall before long. Geralt makes another sound, impatient this time.
He glances over his shoulder. Turns back—and then hears a click under his foot where he knows, without a doubt, should be solid ground. They had walked over it only a second ago. But the Horizon does what it will: the floor they're on spins, swinging the walls around. He stumbles, catches himself on a pillar as everything shuts on all four sides.
Tight. So tight there's barely room for two.
And somehow, that stench drifts through again: rotting herbs and thick magic. He curses. Swallows down the spike of rare panic that rises inside him. A door. Is there a damn door in this place? Where he's often been unshakable, steady, there's something almost erratic in how he feels along the walls, searching for what he already senses is not there. He almost forgets Jo is even trapped alongside him. He just wants to get the fuck out.
no subject
He's moving for the same reason. Hasn't got any desire to sit and think and remember what's buried deep in his home. That she saw it, that he has no wish to get into it with her. It's not a secret, how his kind are made. But knowing the bare facts is one thing. Witnessing the scars it left behind is another. He doesn't want something so personal, so rooted in his past, in her hands.
Except it's too late for that, isn't it?
They bump up into another stone wall before long. Geralt makes another sound, impatient this time.
He glances over his shoulder. Turns back—and then hears a click under his foot where he knows, without a doubt, should be solid ground. They had walked over it only a second ago. But the Horizon does what it will: the floor they're on spins, swinging the walls around. He stumbles, catches himself on a pillar as everything shuts on all four sides.
Tight. So tight there's barely room for two.
And somehow, that stench drifts through again: rotting herbs and thick magic. He curses. Swallows down the spike of rare panic that rises inside him. A door. Is there a damn door in this place? Where he's often been unshakable, steady, there's something almost erratic in how he feels along the walls, searching for what he already senses is not there. He almost forgets Jo is even trapped alongside him. He just wants to get the fuck out.