[the gesture catches his attention, but leaves more questions than anything else. If it was Chilton's face that was hurt - and that looks the sort of flinch a wounded man would make - wouldn't there be a scar? Unless it's something stranger; deeper.
Rincewind shifts his weight, discomfited.]
No. No, I imagine you wouldn't. I certainly can't blame you there. I've never had to to deal with something like that. [a beat.] Well, all right, scars, sure, I've plenty of those, but not something that... leaves that sort of lasting, erm. Damage. ...I'm sorry, is what I mean.
[and he's obviously flailing in his attempt to make this less awkward, so he's going to take a minute to empty his glass down his throat. Excuse him.]
Have you got a living room? D'you want to sit down? [please, gods, anything to inspire a change in subject.]
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Date: 2016-06-05 04:28 pm (UTC)Rincewind shifts his weight, discomfited.]
No. No, I imagine you wouldn't. I certainly can't blame you there. I've never had to to deal with something like that. [a beat.] Well, all right, scars, sure, I've plenty of those, but not something that... leaves that sort of lasting, erm. Damage. ...I'm sorry, is what I mean.
[and he's obviously flailing in his attempt to make this less awkward, so he's going to take a minute to empty his glass down his throat. Excuse him.]
Have you got a living room? D'you want to sit down? [please, gods, anything to inspire a change in subject.]