"I don't but you're here," Phobos replied with a light shrug. "So it's not completely rotten." Grinning lopsidedly, he leant back when the waitress placed two bottles in front of them.
The 'how have you been' part was a lot harder to reply to. How had he been. Not good; not good at all. But he was alive and breathing and sitting here with Ares. Even though it was a little bit awkward, it was better than being in New Orleans.
"I've been... not bad. Didn't get shot at by crazy women or anything." The boy scratched at the label of his beer. "Every day's pretty much like the one before. You know... routine. Getting up, make it through the day, scare tourists, go to bed again." Same old, same old - except he didn't mention his recurring homicidal and suicidal episodes.
Curling the fingers of his hands around the bottle, Phobos leant forward and looked at his father. "How about you, dad?" he asked, wanting to ask more - Are you glad the golden boy and his normal family are back? Have you all met? How is mom? I bet she's happy they're back... - but left it at that for the moment.