[ At first glance, York isn't much to look at. He's tall and broad and muscular, but they're on a military base -- who isn't? In Cetagandan fatigue bottoms and a standard t-shirt he could be just another engineered soldier rather than an exotic, except for the deep scar that cuts across the left side of his face, blinding that eye. Surely the Cetagandans wouldn't stand for such a thing. His smile is lopsided and friendly as he extends a hand to her, good eye meeting her gaze steadily. ]
I'd never complain about a good spar, maybe you could teach me something new. I'm York.
[ He waits for her name, and for her to take his hand -- when she does she'll find that his grip is strong and sure, calloused in all the right places for someone who's used to holding a gun. ]
no subject
I'd never complain about a good spar, maybe you could teach me something new. I'm York.
[ He waits for her name, and for her to take his hand -- when she does she'll find that his grip is strong and sure, calloused in all the right places for someone who's used to holding a gun. ]