Re: log: dylan & max
He shrugged about the purpose of the toast like the reason didn't matter. He figured that they were both here to get drunk or close to it, and that was as good a reason to toast as any. It didn't feel like a celebration, it barely felt like a reunion, and Dylan knocked back the rest of the whiskey in the glass to try and kill the dread that came quick on the heels of any brief joy or hope his head might accidentally stumble upon. He'd been in really good spirits in those days before the hotel dropped him into a totalitarian nightmare. He wasn't brave enough to test the waters or his luck with genuine glee. He kind of avoided it, to be honest.
But damn if Max didn't make him crack a smile when she said that she was too old. The grin stayed, and he cast a glance back at nothing before he waved the bartender down for another round. "You wanna talk about it, or are we shelving that for some longterm repression issues down the road?" We, because Dylan hadn't decided what he wanted to do with his own demons. He wouldn't blame her for burying it, if she wanted to. It seemed to him like something that she'd be good at, or just good at faking. He looked at her with eyes narrowed, like he was trying to figure out what she was going to say before she said it, and in that moment, the new whiskeys were set down before them.
Dylan quickly pushed one toward her, liquid sloshed against glass, and he shook his head. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sure you don't want to talk about anything," shotglass in hand, he gestured to his chest, "I don't want to talk about anything." He made a face like in this dawning moment, he could clearly see how fucking backwards he was. "I've been doing this thing where I just fucking say what I'm thinking, except, you know, I'm not thinking."