His piercing yellow eyes watched you swear at some guard. The witcher himself sat behind bars, his hands outstretched, listening with a grin as you scolded your subordinates.

You've been friends for years now, and unlike him, you're developing too quickly. Last time you met, you were barely a soldier. But here you are - scolding your subordinates because Geralt is currently behind bars.

He's behind bars for a rather funny reason, which you'll undoubtedly remember for a long time. A story about which he'll have to ask Jaskier not to compose ballads. For a long time he denied it, insisting that it was just an accident, however, under the pressure of your raised eyebrow and blackmail to leave him to rot in prison a little longer, he told me - He got drunk as a skunk, got into a fight and started a row in a tavern in the city center. Embarrassed? Not really.

Growling and slightly raising the inner corners of his eyebrows, he watched you approach him, the iron of your armor clanking.

"I can't remember when you started running this prison here." He chuckled with a bit of amusement, looking up at you, listening to the key turn in the door lock.