[ Only when Dean's hand lands on his shoulder does Geralt realize the music's become muted. He glances up. Reaches over after a second to switch off the machine altogether.
Hm. Silence. For the first time. ]
It's not that. [ He drops his hand from the strap. Well. Perhaps it is that; he isn't sure what Dean is reading in him. Hollow is not inaccurate. He exchanges the hammer for a turnscrew. Begins undoing the legs on the rickety wooden frame. A minute or so passes before he continues. ] We never dismantled it. We left the Oubliette standing. Repurposed the lab. Kept the beds, the equipment. I would spend time in that same lab studying monsters, alchemy.
[ The leg comes loose, and the bed collapses on a corner. He offers Dean another turnscrew. If the man wants to take the other side. Some light has come back into the room now, even without any extra torches; dim, but no longer pitch black. ]
We learned to live with our memories, not bury them. [ He pauses. This. The room. It is not the lab as it stands in the real world back home. It's something else altogether. ] This place shouldn't exist. Not like it is. But erasing every trace feels...
[ Irresolute. As a solution. Even if he truly doesn't want this fucked up ball of memories that's spawned beneath his home to remain. It needed to go. He's glad it's gone, that it's grown quiet at last. He is. Only, taking it apart should be cathartic. Should. For awhile, at the start, it was. Ultimately, though, the act has left him conflicted more than anything. Maybe that's what bothers him most. That he's not certain what he'll have accomplished when all is said and done. ]
no subject
Hm. Silence. For the first time. ]
It's not that. [ He drops his hand from the strap. Well. Perhaps it is that; he isn't sure what Dean is reading in him. Hollow is not inaccurate. He exchanges the hammer for a turnscrew. Begins undoing the legs on the rickety wooden frame. A minute or so passes before he continues. ] We never dismantled it. We left the Oubliette standing. Repurposed the lab. Kept the beds, the equipment. I would spend time in that same lab studying monsters, alchemy.
[ The leg comes loose, and the bed collapses on a corner. He offers Dean another turnscrew. If the man wants to take the other side. Some light has come back into the room now, even without any extra torches; dim, but no longer pitch black. ]
We learned to live with our memories, not bury them. [ He pauses. This. The room. It is not the lab as it stands in the real world back home. It's something else altogether. ] This place shouldn't exist. Not like it is. But erasing every trace feels...
[ Irresolute. As a solution. Even if he truly doesn't want this fucked up ball of memories that's spawned beneath his home to remain. It needed to go. He's glad it's gone, that it's grown quiet at last. He is. Only, taking it apart should be cathartic. Should. For awhile, at the start, it was. Ultimately, though, the act has left him conflicted more than anything. Maybe that's what bothers him most. That he's not certain what he'll have accomplished when all is said and done. ]