[For Geralt]
Bull needed to get out of the house. Since Dorian made his wish, after the initial floodgate of things Bull didn't necessarily want to share had been broken, the mage had spent a solid week needling things out. It wasn't even always on purpose, but Bull had no recourse. He couldn't censor himself, he couldn't lie, and he couldn't hedge.
He'd been avoiding work, but he needed to do something, and helping Geralt with the house seemed as good an outlet as any. He'd been out to the site frequently since Geralt broke ground; sometimes with Krem and Gannicus, other times not. More hands made fast work, and more than that, he kind of liked seeing the progress. He liked knowing he had a small hand in that. So much of his life before coming to Darrow had involved playing the long game, the end of which he might never see.
On his way through the woods, Bull took off his shirt. It was a warm day and he didn't want to wear it, and there was no point in trying to hide the scars anymore. Geralt certainly wasn't one to judge.
He'd been avoiding work, but he needed to do something, and helping Geralt with the house seemed as good an outlet as any. He'd been out to the site frequently since Geralt broke ground; sometimes with Krem and Gannicus, other times not. More hands made fast work, and more than that, he kind of liked seeing the progress. He liked knowing he had a small hand in that. So much of his life before coming to Darrow had involved playing the long game, the end of which he might never see.
On his way through the woods, Bull took off his shirt. It was a warm day and he didn't want to wear it, and there was no point in trying to hide the scars anymore. Geralt certainly wasn't one to judge.