Oh his head jerks up fast at the obvious youth in her voice, and when he lays eyes on her - there's a flicker of emotion across his scarred face.
Grief, maybe.
And frankly he looks in no better straits than Cassandra: his own face is a mess, old friction burns across one temple and half an ear missing, facial hair an uneven mess, and with the way he's leaning back and tilting his head up to meet her eyes, the neat slice of scar tissue across his throat is visible, over an outfit that's more blood than suit.
"I-I'm-- I'm alright, yes." His own accent is less formal than hers, ruined by too much time spent overseas, but still distinctly English. "Is there- d-do you have a rope, or- o-o-or is there someone with you who could help?"
OH NO SHES *BABY*
Grief, maybe.
And frankly he looks in no better straits than Cassandra: his own face is a mess, old friction burns across one temple and half an ear missing, facial hair an uneven mess, and with the way he's leaning back and tilting his head up to meet her eyes, the neat slice of scar tissue across his throat is visible, over an outfit that's more blood than suit.
"I-I'm-- I'm alright, yes." His own accent is less formal than hers, ruined by too much time spent overseas, but still distinctly English. "Is there- d-do you have a rope, or- o-o-or is there someone with you who could help?"