( the reason she asks for his 'story' is because he seems far more talkative than she is, and he has a nice accent that she likes listening to. it's not american, that's for sure, but something a little more exotic, a little bit more familiar to what she's used to; different, warm.

when he sits himself down, wanda fetches through her kit to pull out an alcohol swab. she can see on one of his knees that the injury he got isn't too bad; he probably won't be able to feel it tomorrow, but the blood is dried up on the skin, from the scratch, and so she gently dabs at it. her attention is on his knee, back hunched over a touch. )

A cook in a restaurant that floated on the sea...

( she repeats, paraphrasing, sounding a little amused, a little intrigued.

wanda wonders if he's any good at cooking. anyone can call themselves a cook.

after a couple more gentle dabs, she sets the swab aside, then fetches a topical cream that's supposed to help with scarring. hair gets in her way, so she pushes it behind her shoulder. i'm kind of a pirate makes her smile a touch, even as she lightly rubs the cream over the scratch with the pad of her fingers. )

I don't think pirates are supposed to be a good thing, but it doesn't sound so bad. ( she wipes at her hand with the swab, now fetching a large enough bandaid to cover his 'injury'. ) Were you in the sea before coming here? I was, too.

( the burn mark on her neck is noticeable, now, from this distance. placing the bandaid on, she rubs it lightly to warm up the adhesive. )

Not that I'm a pirate.