Under normal circumstances, Bret would be almost glad to see Mark - someone he'd seen previously as an ally in all of this and after hearing Tommy talk about how they'd all ganged up on him was not hovering somewhere between skeptical of and disillusioned with. No wonder the country's gone to shit, he thought, if the god of the party in power couldn't he figure out how to treat his son with some decency. But he forced a perfect smile at the man as he sat down, trying not to let his hardened doubt work its way to his eyes. It was becoming apparent to him that Glibt was the only one who was on their side. Bret wondered briefly if the god was rummaging around in their heads still, again - wondered if Glibt could hear the string of curses that ran through his mind as Mark and Marijuana smiled at each other.
"Yeah," Bret said, "half of the actors on 51st street either have registered or are seriously considering it. And a few of us are planning on going out to California in November to do what we can. I can make a pretty good argument when it's for a worthwhile cause." He pushed back the thought of and apparently I'm the only one here who thinks Tommy is worth much at all... and just kept smiling. No, he wasn't feeling too great about the situation currently - certain people were far too gleeful and Glibt's warning to him hung heavy over his head. But what could he do? Wait for it to explode and hope there weren't too many casualties.
And he would to his best not to sit there and seethe at the way they were all treating Tommy - like he was some thing, not even a person. Like his life could be bartered, decisions controlled. Some part of him twisted inside - the desire to protect his boyfriend at any costs. But he hid those sentiments deep down, behind the mask of "everything is okay" that he'd worn the first time he met Marijuana.