[The coat flumps to the ground with a lot more weight than a coat probably should have, but that's Ford's fault for keeping half of his worldly possessions inside it in various pockets and compartments. He pays it no mind. He wouldn't put things in there if they were easily damaged, especially by a short fall to the floor.
His sweater goes easy too and then he's left in just his white undershirt. It's difficult to tell when he's fully-clothed, mainly because he likes it that way, but much of the space on his neck, shoulders and arms is taken up by tattoos. He got one while drunk in space and then just sort of kept doing it. Some are better than others, but some are also thirty years old. He's been working on getting all the truly terrible ones covered up, since his niece and nephew reminded him that was a thing he could do instead of just wallowing in his Past RegretsTM.
Unfortunately, HEY NOW I'M AN ALL-STAR is never going anywhere. In certain universes that particular symbol can get you in a lot of doors, stupid as it looks, so he's stuck with it.
Where there aren't tattoos there are scars (and there are even more scars under some tattoos, if you squint). He's had a lot of time to collect them in his many years on this and other earths. So basically the answer to her unspoken query is: Very Interesting. More fit than a man of seventy has any right to be, too, but that's come from hard work.]
You would think the elite defense force protecting the most powerful woman in this part of the world would be better-equipped for actual fighting.
[Like. All you have to do is aim for the legs or the stomach. It's ludicrous. Still, now that his arms are free of their sleeves, he starts working at the fastenings on her bodice. He's undone more complicated closures than this, this is fine.]
Though I guess a lot of the fighting here is also sexual in nature. If you didn't agree to the bail idea I was going to challenge you to some variety of sexy single combat.
no subject
His sweater goes easy too and then he's left in just his white undershirt. It's difficult to tell when he's fully-clothed, mainly because he likes it that way, but much of the space on his neck, shoulders and arms is taken up by tattoos. He got one while drunk in space and then just sort of kept doing it. Some are better than others, but some are also thirty years old. He's been working on getting all the truly terrible ones covered up, since his niece and nephew reminded him that was a thing he could do instead of just wallowing in his Past RegretsTM.
Unfortunately, HEY NOW I'M AN ALL-STAR is never going anywhere. In certain universes that particular symbol can get you in a lot of doors, stupid as it looks, so he's stuck with it.
Where there aren't tattoos there are scars (and there are even more scars under some tattoos, if you squint). He's had a lot of time to collect them in his many years on this and other earths. So basically the answer to her unspoken query is: Very Interesting. More fit than a man of seventy has any right to be, too, but that's come from hard work.]
You would think the elite defense force protecting the most powerful woman in this part of the world would be better-equipped for actual fighting.
[Like. All you have to do is aim for the legs or the stomach. It's ludicrous. Still, now that his arms are free of their sleeves, he starts working at the fastenings on her bodice. He's undone more complicated closures than this, this is fine.]
Though I guess a lot of the fighting here is also sexual in nature. If you didn't agree to the bail idea I was going to challenge you to some variety of sexy single combat.