"Not a whole lot of difference between blue and grey, is there." She said as a matter of fact, fanning herself with silk and wood.
Her friend sat next to her, smoothing the fabric over her nortorious hoop skirt. She glanced up at the smoke, and shrugged. "I suppose not." Following the sound of cannon fire, she quirked her head. "Although...."
Turning her head, the one with the fan glanced at her. "What?"
"Wearing a blue uniform or wearing your own grey one can decide whether or not someone will shoot you out there, on the grass."
She shook her head. "Doesn't decide who gets shot, just who shoots them." As if on cue, someone fell in the field, and didn't rise again. A medic walked over to him, checked him over, and shook in head. Too late.
"It's not a very civil war, is it?"
"Not at all."
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