"Yes. But less often. There's something going on out there. Subtle, but something. And I don't trust it, for whatever reason."
The birds had been quiet, the deer skittish.
Geralt entered the building, holding the door for Nina, and took to the stairwell to make his way up to his apartment. He was still mildly untrusting of the elevators, and they tended to give him a weird sense of claustrophobia that he didn't get, somehow, from crawling through caves or hiding in cupboards.
He let them in to the apartment, flicking on the lights for Nina. It was a human gesture, one he made with only conscious thought. Geralt never turned the lights on in the apartment on his own, when he was there. He had no need. His eyes would adjust, and at times the electric lights could be too sudden and too artificial for Geralt. The buzzing of the wires, distracting.
It was, as he'd said, almost entirely empty, with only the furnishings provided. But there were notably a great deal of pillows and throws on the sofa, and a pile of reading material thick on the coffee table where he'd been studying.
It smelled clean inside, and masculine. There was an herbal edge, because he'd been gathering and drying plants, and on the kitchen stove sat a pot of White Honey that still looked threatening and hours away from drinkability, even for a witcher.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-09-18 05:43 am (UTC)The birds had been quiet, the deer skittish.
Geralt entered the building, holding the door for Nina, and took to the stairwell to make his way up to his apartment. He was still mildly untrusting of the elevators, and they tended to give him a weird sense of claustrophobia that he didn't get, somehow, from crawling through caves or hiding in cupboards.
He let them in to the apartment, flicking on the lights for Nina. It was a human gesture, one he made with only conscious thought. Geralt never turned the lights on in the apartment on his own, when he was there. He had no need. His eyes would adjust, and at times the electric lights could be too sudden and too artificial for Geralt. The buzzing of the wires, distracting.
It was, as he'd said, almost entirely empty, with only the furnishings provided. But there were notably a great deal of pillows and throws on the sofa, and a pile of reading material thick on the coffee table where he'd been studying.
It smelled clean inside, and masculine. There was an herbal edge, because he'd been gathering and drying plants, and on the kitchen stove sat a pot of White Honey that still looked threatening and hours away from drinkability, even for a witcher.