Bull makes an amused noise. Amused at himself, mostly, the way he has to decide how squirrley to be about this and how much he wants to give away. It's kind of a funny position to be in. Important to be careful, important to keep things friendly, too - but a guy like this doesn't feel like the type to get too mad if Bull ends up having to explain just why he's being so cautious. So maybe he has a little wiggle room.

"Yeah, that was one of my guesses too," he admits, stretching out one leg and leaning back on his hand. "What makes you think so? Must be something about my pretty face, right?"

Bull, grinning, turns his head and looks up a little as he says it so the witcher can see his face in profile, inviting a good look at the stretched out, squashed down nose, the long pointy chin, the forehead and scalp all hardened and creased up from horns too big and heavy to leave room for normal skin and the lumpy, scarred up mess of his empty eye socket. Makes a pretty homely picture, if you're comparing to any of the succubi Bull grew up with. Which the witcher won't be, probably, because he doesn't know. Should make this little guessing game interesting.