"Same with me." He shrugged a little. "Curiosity. Guess we're all cats." The smirk didn't seem like quite such an alien gesture. It never touched his eyes and had no real mirth in it, but it seemed like a gesture he was far more familiar with. "Cats that survived, I guess." He shrugged one shoulder.
He downed his second glass, refilled it, and then glanced back at her. He listened as she talked, understanding what she was saying if not quite for the same reasons. Watching a movie depicting him as a nineteen year old, honestly, might as well have been like watching a movie depicting some other person entirely. He'd changed far too much since then. The nineteen year old Pike would never understand the twenty-nine year old Pike. His younger self would hate him and everything he'd done since. The twenty-nine year old Pike was wistful for simpler times, but he was also resentful of that goofy, moronic little rebel-without-a-clue that had no clue what real suffering was.
So he understood. He grunted in acknowledgment of this, downed his third glass, immediately refilled it again, and then elaborated, "It's bizarre." He lifted his glass in a salute. "You look pretty real to me." It was his attempt at saying it didn't matter that there were video games or movies or books or whatever else she had. They were real and that was all that mattered. Then down went his fourth drink, and he refilled it just as swiftly as he had the others. He was showing absolutely no signs of being affected by the alcohol. Demon constitution. You had to love it, if it hadn't come with that whole demonic deal and killing more people than Bundy, Dahmer, and Gayce put together.