Re: The Disaffected/The Entertainer
Wasn't always about barely being old enough to drink. Not entirely. Call it what you will: poor socialization or the need to grow up in a hurry and fighting against the instinct every step of the way. Remembered being twelve and playing with Pokemon cards one day and thrust into life-or-death situations the next. Five years of his life spent in near-constant danger, trying to stave off and survive, first one war, then another. Things most of the world wouldn't know about or be grateful for. Doing things because they were the right things to do, and trying to figure out what the fuck that even was, most of the time. Hell, it made him tired. Made him feel older than old Miles, who was not that old. Was, by birthdate. Not the one on the ID he carried, but a birth certificate lost somewhere to time. Nicholas Andrew Sherwood, born New York, New York, January 9, 1932.
He'd been riding the age thing hard, and now he found himself regretting it a little bit. Didn't mean to chase Miles off or make him think he was unwelcome. But, he had a lot to think about, and decide if he wanted to spend the rest of this trip alone or not. "You're not old. I'm just an asshole." Had the grace to look ashamed. Not much, but it was there in the cast of his mismatched eyes. "You've given me a lot to think about. Thanks." Good advice from a neutral party, one who - as mentioned - wouldn't bullshit him, was worth the price of a few drinks.