[ Mm-hmm. Geralt seems unimpressed, the concern he has showing only briefly over his features. But it says something, that he hasn't just left. He sidesteps the sweeping tail.
I know implies more given the history. He sheathes his sword without comment, nudging through a couple of bodies with his boot for something suitable. The shambling corpses hadn't exactly shown up in more than torn rags. He grabs something that won't take effort to throw on -- loose trousers and a long heavy cloak. Blood soaks into his hands where he grips the fabric, sticky and only just starting to dry. He's nice enough to pick off a bit of flesh clinging to the cloak, letting it drop to the ground.
It'll have to do. He assumes the man won't give a shit. ] You're in luck. Freshly laundered.
no subject
I know implies more given the history. He sheathes his sword without comment, nudging through a couple of bodies with his boot for something suitable. The shambling corpses hadn't exactly shown up in more than torn rags. He grabs something that won't take effort to throw on -- loose trousers and a long heavy cloak. Blood soaks into his hands where he grips the fabric, sticky and only just starting to dry. He's nice enough to pick off a bit of flesh clinging to the cloak, letting it drop to the ground.
It'll have to do. He assumes the man won't give a shit. ] You're in luck. Freshly laundered.