Would be a terrible fate, wouldn't it? Gods know we're well aware you've a penchant for trouble.

[He waits by the doorway as Geralt glances around, almost expecting him to take a seat and start working on something. However, wine's as good a decision as any, and with a push of Geralt's shoulder, he starts leading him back to the stairs.

Perhaps, in time, he'll find his way back here to work.

The stairs coil down but with plenty of room for them to go down side by side, lights flickering to life as the windows pale behind them. The air grows cool, but not uncomfortable, with a faint smell of must that's almost homey.

The wine cellar stretches out, displaying Bleobheris's roots, cabinets full of bottles, and a plate of cheeses and crackers already waiting for them in one of the benched nooks.] Come on. I made a new one out of elderflowers. I think you'll enjoy it.

[He scoots into the nook and pours them both a glass, stretching his legs out. The height of relaxation he is here, with soft cheese and emerald-winged moths gently fluttering the wings against the stone walls.]