"It's easy to forget you're from a different era altogether." Nightingale can't quite remember what era; he chases that thought for a while, but his brain is muddled, running slow. "How's your arm?" His own arms are bared by short sleeves for once, revealing a rough streak of long-healed burn across one. A spray of tiny shrapnel scars peppers the other.
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Date: 2023-11-20 07:58 pm (UTC)