[ Parentless and complicated. Nate doesn't have too many reservations giving the plainest of facts about his childhood, but the intimate details are better left for those he knows won't judge him, and he isn't entirely sure where he stands with Stephen yet outside of a general working respect. ]
Nebraska, really? Great Plains must've driven you nuts.
[ Middle America isn't a place Nate has ever actually visited much - if at all - and part of that is just due to the lack of historicity. ]
I was born in Boston, which is about as much a polar opposite as possible. And the accents-
[ He was marooned on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean before he came here, so being trapped in a future where everyone he knows is probably gone is something of a lateral move. Nate can feel himself drifting into that distracted listlessness again and fights it with a thin excuse for a smile. ]
Yeah.
[ He's fucking lonely. Judging by their current surroundings it seems like Stephen knows the sensation intimately. Nate lifts his beaker in a mock toast. ]
[ There's a shift. Stephen quiets, seeking out evidence, and finds it in the raise of a makeshift glass and the unconvincing tilt of a smile. ]
... To coping mechanisms.
[ Three small words and a beaker raised in turn. A greater concession to struggle than any other he's given in— nine months.
He drains his glass. Wonders if he's ever put any real thought into what his coping mechanisms are, the liquor burning a path down his throat aside. But of course, he's standing in the basement of the product of them: a business pulled out of nowhere, a "home" without personality or comfort, all of his resources poured back into the bar so that others might be better supported. No time to dwell. Less room for guilt.
The empty glass in his hand and the company it's shared with is an admission of its own, one that takes him slightly by surprise. It shows the first sprouting shoots of a willingness, however infrequent, to allow himself a little break for air. ]
And to limitless supply.
[ Which is to say he's pouring himself another, bottle lifted in question. Top up? ]
Edited (this thread was Some Time ago and even this correction is incorrect but I'm too lazy to run the numbers bye) 2020-04-19 22:18 (UTC)
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no subject
Nebraska, really? Great Plains must've driven you nuts.
[ Middle America isn't a place Nate has ever actually visited much - if at all - and part of that is just due to the lack of historicity. ]
I was born in Boston, which is about as much a polar opposite as possible. And the accents-
[ GRIMACE ]
no subject
Well, we both made it out. [ ... ] Maybe a little too far out.
no subject
Yeah.
[ He's fucking lonely. Judging by their current surroundings it seems like Stephen knows the sensation intimately. Nate lifts his beaker in a mock toast. ]
To coping mechanisms?
no subject
... To coping mechanisms.
[ Three small words and a beaker raised in turn. A greater concession to struggle than any other he's given in— nine months.
He drains his glass. Wonders if he's ever put any real thought into what his coping mechanisms are, the liquor burning a path down his throat aside. But of course, he's standing in the basement of the product of them: a business pulled out of nowhere, a "home" without personality or comfort, all of his resources poured back into the bar so that others might be better supported. No time to dwell. Less room for guilt.
The empty glass in his hand and the company it's shared with is an admission of its own, one that takes him slightly by surprise. It shows the first sprouting shoots of a willingness, however infrequent, to allow himself a little break for air. ]
And to limitless supply.
[ Which is to say he's pouring himself another, bottle lifted in question. Top up? ]