[ He blinks uselessly at Sypha, just about managing not to flinch. She's- tiny, up this close. And soft. And warm. And in possession of absolutely no sense of personal space and is this just a thing she does? He's not unused to physical contact - it's hardly abnormal back home (where home refers to some nameless amalgamation of trenches and romanian and french towns) - but he's been under the impression that the Americas were stricter about what was proper. No war, here. All the things of the night under control. No real need to cling together. ]
-thanks.
[ What else can he say? Awkwardly, very awkwardly (is this really proper over here? isn't she practically married?), he wraps his arms around her shoulders. ]
no subject
-thanks.
[ What else can he say? Awkwardly, very awkwardly (is this really proper over here? isn't she practically married?), he wraps his arms around her shoulders. ]
I- the same, I suppose.