Winters' eyebrows rise a millimeter on his forehead, and he decides to address one thing before the other.
"Ricochet hit my heel," he begins (and the first tip-off that he is not indeed Charlie Crews should be the gentle-but-present accent), "S'posed to keep off the foot."
A beat.
"I'm Winters. Don't, uh. Don't think I was the guy you were lookin' for."
His uniform doesn't look quite like what they wear in Ancelstierre but its close enough that Sameth's tugging at his sleeve and remembering that battle.
Comments 64
She catches sight of the red hair, then the limp, and practically rushes him while he's standing at the bar.
"Crews? What the hell happened to you?"
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"Ricochet hit my heel," he begins (and the first tip-off that he is not indeed Charlie Crews should be the gentle-but-present accent), "S'posed to keep off the foot."
A beat.
"I'm Winters. Don't, uh. Don't think I was the guy you were lookin' for."
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Her eyes widen apologetically.
"Sorry," she mutters. "You just look an awful lot like my - someone I work with."
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Sam looks up when he enters and walks over quickly, he looks as if he's from a medieval history book but Sam knows the look of a hurting soldier,
"Sir, can I do anything to help?"
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"Don't think so, but thank you for askin'. I'd get more questions if I went back through the door fully heeled than if I just kept the wound."
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His uniform doesn't look quite like what they wear in Ancelstierre but its close enough that Sameth's tugging at his sleeve and remembering that battle.
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A beat.
"Earth."
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