I heard you were trying to court Fredda.
There’s a glint of something in his eye as Wolfgang turns (or was that the sun reflecting off his blood spattered glasses?) regarding the sentence aimed at his back like so many knives. There surely would have been a period at the end of that sentence had it been a letter in his mailbox, but here? Spoken aloud? It was phrased as a question.
Did this man expect him to fess up, to state his intentions with one of the few people he’d met that had truly caught his eye? Or was he giving an out, a chance to say he was in fact, not trying to court the woman?
Or… and Wolfgang truly did have to keep the smirk off his face lest he break into unhinged laughter —
Did he see a threat? A challenge? Someone dangerously worthy of their fellow doctor, someone perhaps BETTER than he?
Taking a moment to compose himself, brushing spare liquid crimson off the Amputator in hand, Wolfgang blinked. He had several options here; play innocent, be aggressive. State facts, ignore the RED altogether. Or…
“You know, aside from the fact that it is not only juvenile, but incredibly rude to gossip about your coworkers, you seem to already have made up your mind on which answers to your interrogation you are willing to accept.”
“You have gotten me in quite a box here, schatz, what would you like me to say?”
“Because simply ‘courting’ may not be the only thing I’ve been doing with Fredda.”
