[ As if stumbling through a fucking pane of glass wasn't enough, he's got something barreling right at him. Geralt has enough time to curse before he takes the man directly on.
He grunts, glass crunching beneath his boots. ] The fuck.
[ What—
He's in no mindset to even think about being polite; Geralt simply pushes the man back, his hand reaching instinctively for his sword. It closes around the grip as he takes in his surroundings. He is not, at all, at the inn he'd been staying at. ]
no subject
He grunts, glass crunching beneath his boots. ] The fuck.
[ What—
He's in no mindset to even think about being polite; Geralt simply pushes the man back, his hand reaching instinctively for his sword. It closes around the grip as he takes in his surroundings. He is not, at all, at the inn he'd been staying at. ]
Who are you?