Even though not particularly subtle, that one's a swing and a miss, John. Either sandbagging or simply oblivious, Andrej's response skips over the little double-entendre completely.
"The back then," he replies curtly, already thin lips pressed even more firmly together. "For if there is a future two-and-twenty awaiting, or the like, I have little doubt an unskilled hand will wipe the slate clean." And leave its own scars, but better perhaps than this profane exercise and its intent. He's not keen for any of the list to be etched on his body either.
Andrej's quick to strip off his uniform shirt, and untie the fastenings of underblouse, pulling it over his head - a mark of blood showing on the white from where one of the earlier cuts marked his shoulder, he notices. Is there laundry service in hell? An absurd thought, perhaps.
Stripped to the waist, he's not particularly tall, and not particularly well muscled to look at him, though lean and fit enough, with skin clear and unblemished. No tattoos, or even scars on him. Those carrying the Writ to Inquire were too valuable to Fleet to damage, physically, at least.
"Have at it then, and let us be done with this exercise," he says firmly. Should he put his hands to the wall for stability? No, no the table's edge will be fine surely, this is hardly torture in truth. In terms of pain, at least.
no subject
"The back then," he replies curtly, already thin lips pressed even more firmly together. "For if there is a future two-and-twenty awaiting, or the like, I have little doubt an unskilled hand will wipe the slate clean." And leave its own scars, but better perhaps than this profane exercise and its intent. He's not keen for any of the list to be etched on his body either.
Andrej's quick to strip off his uniform shirt, and untie the fastenings of underblouse, pulling it over his head - a mark of blood showing on the white from where one of the earlier cuts marked his shoulder, he notices. Is there laundry service in hell? An absurd thought, perhaps.
Stripped to the waist, he's not particularly tall, and not particularly well muscled to look at him, though lean and fit enough, with skin clear and unblemished. No tattoos, or even scars on him. Those carrying the Writ to Inquire were too valuable to Fleet to damage, physically, at least.
"Have at it then, and let us be done with this exercise," he says firmly. Should he put his hands to the wall for stability? No, no the table's edge will be fine surely, this is hardly torture in truth. In terms of pain, at least.