Geralt let a small smile play on his lips at the mention of his mother's blood. This was true, if not for her and his father, he would not exist. He at least owed them that much, even if their parentage had been...lacking. [color=crimson]"You're not wrong...I suppose that's why it's so easy going down."[/color] He rose his glass a bit too, but refrained from sipping from it again. He did not want to cut the night short, he had to pace himself, though it would take at least another two helpings for him to feel its effects.

He raised his eyebrows at the mention of uisce beatha and the following confession. Honestly, he hadn't expected that. Before The Republic of Ireland gained its independence from England in 1922, the British had been attempting to wipe all trace of Irish culture from their domain. It had been illegal to speak Irish and even wear a mustache for a while, as this was seen as an Irish fashion. The fact that a French immigrant living in the United States knew even several phrases in Irish was quite astounding, not to mention fluency.

[color=crimson]"You get more and more impressive every time we speak."[/color] Geralt said, looking at Lucien with half-lidded eyes and a light, easy smile. [color=crimson]"Who taught you? And don't tell me you learned it on the road, or 'here and there' because I know that can't be true."[/color] He kept his tone light, but sensed in Lucien's expression a deep sadness. It was a look he had seen many times before, in fact the occasions were countless, as he always recognized it when he looked in a mirror.