[It neither surprises him, nor elicits revulsion in him to hear of the Count being burned alive. The affluent always tend to go out with a bang if their subjugated subjects manage to get their hands on them. You’d think it would compel them to try to be a little more agreeable, but multiple beheadings, skewerings, burnings, and other such messy ends have yet to dissuade people in positions of power from going out of their way to make their subjects miserable.

To the suggestion that Julian escaped prison in the form of a swarm of bats, Geralt shakes his head.]

Preposterous, as rumours go. You were clearly a single, large bat.

[Once in the train, Geralt sits himself down beside Julian in a much less exuberant fashion. He has a neat way of sitting, like a man sitting before the desk of a superior. This is courtesy of an on-and-off lover who managed to impress some manners on him despite Geralt being raised among and almost exclusively by men.

He nods along as Julian continues his story, periodically arching his eyebrows in amusement. Julian's quite the talented storyteller, so much so that he manages to draw forth a laugh from Geralt with the mention of the rum. It’s short and soft, and clearly not a sound Geralt makes often.]

A man cannot reasonably be expected to demonstrate restraint when put in a case of rum. I likely would have done the same, and with my constitution, I’m not certain any of it would have survived the journey.