[Geralt carefully arranges his arm to better bear Julian’s weight. He’ll keep it close since they’re not five feet from the bar and Julian’s already stumbling. He wouldn’t want the man to end up in the gutter, particularly as the Down’s gutters aren’t quite as clean as those found in the Up.]

It’s an eyesore. Quite literally. Nights are meant to be dark, with perhaps a smattering of light; it’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep in this place. [It’s a good thing Geralt is practised at compelling sleep. A necessary skill when you often slumber under the stars.]

The unnatural glare aside, this Vesuvia. Your home, I gather?