"Excuse me?" The mild and hopeful mask of curiosity slips from Walter's face, and for a time the man looks as though he might forget his injuries and set himself to go another round. He's prepared now, knowing what his adversary is willing to do. The behavior such a man will allow himself on a vessel that renders each of them stuck with their present company. Walter regards the calm smile, the open posture, and the size of the man. He's known similar in his lifetime, mostly through the residential schools his family has employed for their lessons, though the man himself has never spent any significant time within. Still, he understands the type. The smaller ones who think themselves fierce, and will set their sights on larger targets and goad and goad until the latter snaps.

Walter is still looking over the man as if to determine the shape and intent of the insult, when the flask is shoved in his direction instead. Baffled, he accepts without much thought and goes right on staring for several seconds. When it seems the man only means to insist, he gives a sniff at the liquid and puts it to his lips. The taste is sweeter and rougher than expected, and it coats his throat and makes him turn his head to cough. Walter holds up a finger as if to keep the man in his silence, coughs again, clears his tongue, and then takes another swallow. He makes a silent gesture of salute with the flask, then hands it back to its rightful owner.

"What... what language is it that you speak?"