"As best I can," Faolan answers, which is hardly an answer at all, but it's the best he's got. He sighs slightly, before reaching forward to pull up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a freshly healing scar on his forearm. "It would seem that luck does not always run in my favor. The wolf found me again and decided to give me a little present for it. 15 stitches worth of one. With his claws, though, so I suppose I was lucky."
He shrugs, rolling his jacket back down and toying with his coffee in his hands. "Could have been worse." Probably would have been, if he hadn't run into that PCSO, to get him cleaned up and all. To guilt him into getting the wound taken care of for that matter. But that was neither here nor there, he supposes.
"What about yourself?" Isn't that what one's supposed to do in polite conversation, after all? Turn the question around on the other speaker? Faolan's never been very good at this, though that's probably hardly a surprise.
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He shrugs, rolling his jacket back down and toying with his coffee in his hands. "Could have been worse." Probably would have been, if he hadn't run into that PCSO, to get him cleaned up and all. To guilt him into getting the wound taken care of for that matter. But that was neither here nor there, he supposes.
"What about yourself?" Isn't that what one's supposed to do in polite conversation, after all? Turn the question around on the other speaker? Faolan's never been very good at this, though that's probably hardly a surprise.