[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Devil's Casino[/center]
[center]Lvl 4 (14/40) -> Lvl 4 (15/40) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 254 words[/center]

Geralt grunted and rolled his eyes at the Courier's words, utterly unconvinced that he had things handled. "Only thing you've got is this table covered in liquor." He snarked. The fact that the three living glasses were still, well, alive was a bit annoying, admittedly. He wasn't expecting it to be that easy, all things considered, but a man could dream, couldn't he? 

Still, the counter-attack wasn't exactly life-threatening. Geralt watched the plume of alcohol flow up into the air, seemingly in defiance of all logic and physics, and rolled out of the way, the liquid splattering harmlessly on the table where he'd previously been. "What the...?" He muttered, looking at the two that weren't being attacked yet. The Courier and his newest companion were focusing on the wine glass and the floating olive, so Geralt figured that he'd go with the bigger threat. Which was the smaller one, in this case, he figured. 

Rushing in at the shot glass and grunting as he swung his sword, Geralt's eyes narrowed when his opponent instead leaned forward, pouring more rum on the ground. Geralt found himself unable to properly dodge in time as not only did his sword swing miss, but he felt his Quen shield being drained by the liquid. It wasn't enough to shatter the barrier, but it was more than enough to damage it. 

Cursing, Geralt grabbed a hold of the bastard's oversized nose and flipped his sword in his hand, slamming the pommel into its face, right in between its eyes.