[ The heavy doors swing shut behind them. It's a hint warmer inside than it'd been the previous times—Ciri's influence, perhaps, though Geralt's not conscious of it either way—and the same fires and torches flare. There is, however, the small addition of a miniature horse made of vines and succulents: a joke, from Jaskier, that's stayed since. It trots along one of the tables, roaming as any real horse would.
Geralt swings a leg over a bench and sits. He slides a goblet of wine across the table: an offer.
Alucard does look like shit. For him, that is. Normally impeccable, he now looks, mm. Almost as bad as Geralt, except Alucard still manages to come out ahead. Geralt has dust and dirt staining his hands and probably dried blood, on top of hair that's not been brushed for days and that's mostly fallen loose again. ]
Mm-hmm. [ No Ciri. She has her own space across the yard, besides. ] What's this about?
no subject
Geralt swings a leg over a bench and sits. He slides a goblet of wine across the table: an offer.
Alucard does look like shit. For him, that is. Normally impeccable, he now looks, mm. Almost as bad as Geralt, except Alucard still manages to come out ahead. Geralt has dust and dirt staining his hands and probably dried blood, on top of hair that's not been brushed for days and that's mostly fallen loose again. ]
Mm-hmm. [ No Ciri. She has her own space across the yard, besides. ] What's this about?