Doc would much prefer to stick to his own profession. Or, better yet, to his second profession: gambling. Which, though not without its dangers, was usually a safer bet than war. And more profitable. And as far as weaponry, Doc preferred to be on the delivering end of bullets instead of the receiving.
He sipped his whiskey. A slow-down might have been a wise venture on his part.
Doc quirked a brow at the sound Anders made when he hit the ground. He'd heard that before and imagined Anders was hiding a world of pain behind those chuckles, but he didn't say a word. Not his problem. Not his place. Now, if Anders mentioned having a toothache, Doc would be on him like white on rice.
Unfortunately, everyone in the Hotel seemed to have an uncanny presentation of straight dentition.
"I always find that the more I drink, the easier it is to forget the pain. You clearly have not yet reached your level of intolerance."
He pushed himself off the bar, grabbing his bottle and book.
"It would be an honor to share a booth with a genuine hero of the front lines."