[ Wash is sitting on the edge of the bunk he'd been assigned, looking around warily at the people he's apparently sharing quarters with. Other exotics, if he's understood the situation properly, other people they'd just picked up in the snow with no real memory of where they came from. He should be talking to them, trying to find out more, but he's still a little on edge especially after that brief visit to the medbay, and he ends up just -- watching them, instead.
There's a girl who's entirely blue ( paint like these Cetagandan soldiers have on, maybe, but something tells him that's not the case ), people who are clearly soldiers, others who -- clearly aren't, and then there's someone looking his way, someone walking towards him.
Wash notices the scar, first, the blind eye, and then it actually still takes him a second or two to place that face, his heart seizing hard in his chest, lungs twisting into knots. It's been years. It's been years, and he hadn't had the time to bury him, hadn't had the time to do anything other than send the report to command, to take Delta and move on, and it's probably a good thing he isn't armed because the way his hand moves when he leaps up to his feet, he's very clearly reaching for one. He takes a step back when his hand finds nothing, only to find himself just bumping against the bunk, staring wide-eyed at York as if he's seen a ghost, and. Well. ]
This -- [ His eyes flick briefly to the door. There aren't any of those soldiers here, now, but if this is some kind of trick, some kind of a fucking joke, but there he is, standing in front of him in the flesh, looking completely real and very much alive. He shakes his head slightly, turns back to look at him. ] -- York?
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There's a girl who's entirely blue ( paint like these Cetagandan soldiers have on, maybe, but something tells him that's not the case ), people who are clearly soldiers, others who -- clearly aren't, and then there's someone looking his way, someone walking towards him.
Wash notices the scar, first, the blind eye, and then it actually still takes him a second or two to place that face, his heart seizing hard in his chest, lungs twisting into knots. It's been years. It's been years, and he hadn't had the time to bury him, hadn't had the time to do anything other than send the report to command, to take Delta and move on, and it's probably a good thing he isn't armed because the way his hand moves when he leaps up to his feet, he's very clearly reaching for one. He takes a step back when his hand finds nothing, only to find himself just bumping against the bunk, staring wide-eyed at York as if he's seen a ghost, and. Well. ]
This -- [ His eyes flick briefly to the door. There aren't any of those soldiers here, now, but if this is some kind of trick, some kind of a fucking joke, but there he is, standing in front of him in the flesh, looking completely real and very much alive. He shakes his head slightly, turns back to look at him. ] -- York?