[There have being epidemics where he’s from. Epidemics of all kinds, including a plague that was starting to sweep through the lands just prior to Geralt being whisked here. Being a mutant, Geralt has never had to fear death through contraction of disease; it’s one of the benefits of being an aberration of nature, and one he doesn’t much mind. He’s seen how people die when they contract such illnesses and he shudders to think of going that way.

Geralt doesn’t react to the sight of the eye beyond a nod. Although, after a pause, he does shift a little closer, so he’s in the light. He might have been able to pass as wholly human while hunched against the bar, but the overhead bulbs light up his unnatural, sickly pallor and slitted cat eyes. Since his company is being so candid, it’s the least Geralt can do.]

Being brutish seems to be a standard feature of Counts. Wealth and power is a fine concoction for cruelty, as always. But that’s an admirable role you played. There aren’t many willing to endanger themselves in such a manner for the sake of strangers.

[He twists the top off the gin bottle and tops up the man’s glass.]

And what is this exemplary example of a human beings name? I haven’t yet asked, which is quite amiss of me.