"Accent?" he frowns before realising. It's funny, he supposes he does sound English. He doesn't tend to really think about it. Still, 1938, England might as well be as far away as the stars.
He looks at the glass as she lays it out, and shakes his head a moment, ready to refuse with an 'I don't really drink' comment. But he's so cold, bones hurting from shivering from the rain, his damp clothes still heavy against him. So he reaches out and takes the glass, consuming its contents in one quick swig, a slight pulled face after it. Might warm him up at least.
"If you know anywhere I could find a bed for the night..." he asks. What do people usually do? He knows what he usually does, but that seems to be off the menu. Not so easy without his old ship or a handy screwdriver to do the job.
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He looks at the glass as she lays it out, and shakes his head a moment, ready to refuse with an 'I don't really drink' comment. But he's so cold, bones hurting from shivering from the rain, his damp clothes still heavy against him. So he reaches out and takes the glass, consuming its contents in one quick swig, a slight pulled face after it. Might warm him up at least.
"If you know anywhere I could find a bed for the night..." he asks. What do people usually do? He knows what he usually does, but that seems to be off the menu. Not so easy without his old ship or a handy screwdriver to do the job.