[ In between the silence, Geralt relocates to the bed. He's hardly small, but compared to the other man (fucking tall is the only way to put it), he at least marginally fits the mattress. Not exactly Yennefer's downy feathered beds. Still softer than a bedroll tossed on the ground. He finds a small spider crawling along that he flicks away.
The ruckus down the hall makes him finally crack open an eye. Ah, fuck. He sits up, feeling that flicker of wrongness he always does when he tries to listen in from a distance and realizes he now has to strain to catch the details that normally come to him with no effort. ]
Friend of yours? [ His tone is dryer than their water cups. ]
no subject
The ruckus down the hall makes him finally crack open an eye. Ah, fuck. He sits up, feeling that flicker of wrongness he always does when he tries to listen in from a distance and realizes he now has to strain to catch the details that normally come to him with no effort. ]
Friend of yours? [ His tone is dryer than their water cups. ]