"It's going around," Geralt said, dull voice deep with irony. He looked up to meet Bull's eyes and away from the rabbit and squirrel he was now busy skinning completely. Geralt wasn't using a knife to do the work, but hands tipped with impossibly sharp claws.
His face was a greyer shade of pale.
The smell of whatever was in the demijohn at Iron Bull's hip met Geralt's nose, and his nose twitched as he tried to place it. He couldn't, though by the smell it was stronger than a dwarven spirit from Mahakam.
It might not be Regis' mandrake cordial, but it would do, certainly. He was up for being a drunk that night.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-09-24 03:12 am (UTC)His face was a greyer shade of pale.
The smell of whatever was in the demijohn at Iron Bull's hip met Geralt's nose, and his nose twitched as he tried to place it. He couldn't, though by the smell it was stronger than a dwarven spirit from Mahakam.
It might not be Regis' mandrake cordial, but it would do, certainly. He was up for being a drunk that night.
"What have you got?"