I don't even know you guys, I don't even know.
Later, Mathew will wonder just how he got to where he was, as it's not every day you find yourself coming to after a truly amazing pity induced bender with the side of your head pressed into the small, soft bosoms of what looks uncomfortably like a sergeant/teacher/duchess.
Who also, as it happens, happens to have a knife at your throat, is wearing an expression that is an unusual mix of anger, embarrassment, and bloody-mindedness along with her dress, which is covered with spangles and feminine fripperies, where the medals don't cover, at least, and would like some answers RIGHT NOW SOLDIER, ARE YOU DEAF? The sheer level of "sergeant-ness" radiating off of her was enough to give Mathew a knee-jerk flash-back to WWI and the very first sergeant he ever met, back at basic. This one is somehow worse because she's managed to combine all of the extreme fury of an angry sarge with the sheer disapproval of a schoolmarm who knows you didn't do your work and is giving you that look that says "You know what happens to little boys who don't do their work? They amount to nothing in this life or the next, Mister!" and the intense disdain of a Duchess who knows you didn't just say what she thinks you did in front of her.
All this, of course, pales in comparison to the throbbing tap-dancing knives that've set up shop inside his skull. So, perhaps we can forgive Mathew his next few moments, when his French-ness really shines through.
"Pardon, Mademoiselle, but if I must not 'ave performed in a pleasing manner. My apologies. Per'aps I may try again?"
After a line like that, is it really so surprising that She cold-cocked him, but good?
…
When he came to again, along with his crackling headache, dry heaves, and fever, the burning in his face was a clear indication that he did something stupid, if he could only remember. He opens his eyes, whimpers, an closes them again.
A soft rustling sound to his left alerts him to the fact that he is not alone. He cracks one of his eyes open, and looks over towards the sound. Sitting on a low stool is the woman from earlier, her narrow-eyed gaze almost burning into him, left arm bandaged tightly. Next to her sits Kumajiro, his body a great white lump. His black eyes flash open for a second, and then with a huff, he goes back to sleep.
She smiles grimly, and says to him "Who are you?"
He blinks, startled, and then says "Mathew Wil—."
She glares at him, and says "Who are you, really?"
He blinks, and then says "Canada."
She grins, and says "My name is Polly, or sometimes Oliver, but it's really Borogravia."
Mathew nods, Polly smiles, and Kumajiro snores.
Umm… not really sure what else to do here…