He nods slowly as he takes it all in. "I wish I could say the kingdoms in my world were somehow less violent, but a lot of that sounds awfully familiar. You probably could have guessed at that, though." Given his occupation and all. It's tragic that people seem to find so many reasons to kill each other, no matter where in the universe they are.

"Those two medics I mentioned earlier. I think, based on what you've said and what I remember, they were involved in that second world war." And he shudders, remembering what he saw and felt. Flying machines dropping unending streams of bombs, people dug into trenches that were wet and cold and full of mud, so far away from home with little hope of ever going back. Rosinante himself may not really be a peacetime soldier, but nothing he ever experienced personally was so bleak. He hated every moment of that last mission, every second of fear and anxiety and absolute loathing and twisted familiarity, but he can't objectively say he was worse off.