[ She's never seen anything like that before, Sharpe reminds himself. There isn't anything remotely like this before. This is new to him too, the walking dead, but he's at least seen the insides of men's bodies; at least he knows how they look like when they have half their heads blown off, or the sinews of their legs hanging in the air after a cannonball takes off everything below. She hasn't had anything near this; she's just a woman, and a woman who hasn't seen war.
Sharpe sighs quietly to himself. He looks down. There's bits of half-rotting gore on his clothes, but it isn't much. Just splashes here and there. It's clean enough, he guesses, and he takes his jacket from her shoulders, and tugs at her coat. ]
Get it off yerself, ma'am. C'mon.
[ When that's done, he takes off his shirt and then shoves it at her. Sharpe scrambles a bit, trying to keep his rifle dry with her coat- and he manages to drop it. He turns his back to pick it up- and really, Teresa once joked that his back looks like a washing board, what with the white, raised scars. There are many, many of them, crisscrossing from side to side, covering his entire back until his waist.
Sharpe picks up the coat and hangs it over his rifle. ]
no subject
Sharpe sighs quietly to himself. He looks down. There's bits of half-rotting gore on his clothes, but it isn't much. Just splashes here and there. It's clean enough, he guesses, and he takes his jacket from her shoulders, and tugs at her coat. ]
Get it off yerself, ma'am. C'mon.
[ When that's done, he takes off his shirt and then shoves it at her. Sharpe scrambles a bit, trying to keep his rifle dry with her coat- and he manages to drop it. He turns his back to pick it up- and really, Teresa once joked that his back looks like a washing board, what with the white, raised scars. There are many, many of them, crisscrossing from side to side, covering his entire back until his waist.
Sharpe picks up the coat and hangs it over his rifle. ]
Let's get going.