"Say no more. The dreaded trophy girlfriend. No goals in life other than to look good and spend money, which brings us back to the beginning of our conversation." He motioned to the bartender, then to his glass. "If I had to hear a woman half my father's age call him 'big boy', doesn't matter what I've seen, that'd still be the most disturbing." Maybe even worse than one of Sophie's productions.
He laughed quietly. "I don't do it for the intrigue, I'll tell you that much. I have heard that chicks dig scars," he said and shrugged. When the bartender returned with the glass, he raised it. "To not bleeding all over your pristine new medical bay." He took a drink and set the glass back down.
"It's an idea. Probably not all that different from what I did before I ended up here." He could see parallels, though he knew he was going to have to put in some studying first. The supernatural was a whole new game and he wasn't about to step in without knowing what he was up against yet. "You want out on the road, don't you?" he asked.
"Nobody can save the universe all by themselves, no matter who they are." He didn't have to be familiar with the guy to know that much. "Trying is a good way to go crazy." It took a moment for what she'd said to fully process. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You," he said, pointing at her. "You met the bard himself and inspired a sonnet?"