[ Maine. If Wash weren't so distracted, he might be more amused by that. There's still a smile that reaches him, anyway, squeezing his hand over Miles' arm, leaning a little closer. ]
Guess he would be your type, huh. [ Tall, could probably rip a guy's arm off. But repeating, again; ] How do you actually feel, about me?
[ Because really. He doesn't want to hurt you. Maybe he already is, though. ]
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Guess he would be your type, huh. [ Tall, could probably rip a guy's arm off. But repeating, again; ] How do you actually feel, about me?
[ Because really. He doesn't want to hurt you. Maybe he already is, though. ]