Re: The Fortune Teller/ The Soldier
The soldier was fit enough, all things considered. There had been some gas in the trenches, along with the mud, the infection and the vermin, but now he was on a high class train across Europe and cigarettes were a cultural standard. If the old chest wasn't what it once was, no one need be surprised. He didn't let it trouble him, laughing even when it would be better to stop. When he finally did stop, he had no trouble catching his breath, and his voice was as hearty as before.
"'L'? I say. That does sound frightfully intimate, what?" He shook his pale head, but preferred the topic to any other yet introduced. "Perhaps Miss Lavinia. Patchouli-grow. 'Fraid I quite make a mess of it, don't I? I can quite manage one name, even, ah. Even after a right bash on the head." He gave a rueful smile. "Quite delighted. Yes. Delighted to make your acquaintance." The shoes had a new shine, with barely a mark on them. Brown, lighter Italian leather and in better condition than the rest of him. They seemed to fit him perfectly even if they didn't have the lived-in look of the rest of him.
He wanted to ask her about her get-up but his dull brain was having difficulty finding the right conversational entrance. "Ah, right." He squinted into the bar car. There were some people about, chatting, someone else on the piano. It seemed alright enough, and he patted her on the forearm where it looped over his thick wool coatsleeve. "After me, eh?" He chuckled, and went in, edging sideways to draw her in after. He eyed the bar. "And here we are. Quite think we are the best dressed in the place, what?" He chuckled. Between his lack of black tie and her sparkle waif look, they didn't exactly blend in with the cocktail set.