[ Which is to say...well, good, and see him soon. Sam sticks around the house for the evening in ways he otherwise might not. There's takeout on the counter, one of the only places that's gotten up and running again, and Sam's flopped on the couch, staring at the ceiling. (He's reading, and it's annoying as hell that it involves staring at electronic words in his vision instead of a book, but whatever, that's what happens when you're stuck in the future.) ]
[ It takes him a little while, but only because traveling through the gates requires trekking to somewhat-remote areas for access. The journey itself is short, it's the way there that takes approximately several freaking hours and a strong desire for a hot shower after the fact.
He doesn't get the chance.
Sam is right inside the door as soon as he arrives, the smell of takeout hitting him like a delicious freight train and the ganglier body of his older brother sprawled on the sofa. Nate knows he hasn't been around much, since they returned from the Aerie, and also knows that sequestering himself is "unhelpful," according to certain former FBI employees. ]
[ He sits up when the door opens, blinking a little as he closes up the text he'd been looking at. His attention turns to his brother, taking in the whole sight of him--how tired he looks, frayed at the edges in the ways Sam knows how to spot.
He doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he offers: ]
Dunno if you've looked at any of the history books around here. Couple hundred years starts to distort things even more than they were back in our time.
[ Has he been reading about Avery? Don't worry about it. ]
[ Nate would very much appreciate it if his brother did not overanalyze how exhausted he both looks and feels, thank you very much. ]
Yeah, it's like telephone, but through the reflections of three different funhouse mirrors.
[ Searching back far enough into 2015 yields some absolutely insane information, only half of which is true and half of which feels like sensationalist theorizing based on a lack of primary sources. With so much going digital and then the other world war happening, the A.I. uprising, he's not surprised a lot of that material got knocked out in the process. Lost forever. There is something to be said about having a physical record.
Hunched to examine the contents of the fridge, Nate pulls out two beers and meanders back to the sofa before collapsing on it next to Sam, passing him one. ]
[ He takes the beer, his fingers brushing against thoughtlessly against Nathan's. It's a flash of worry and frustration, exhaustion and loneliness, all twined up in a thorny mess, and Sam has no intention of acknowledging any of it. ]
How about you?
[ He's more intent on the answer to that question than on saying much about himself. His brother's looked like hell ever since Sam found him collapsing in on himself with grief. When he tries to think back to the last time he saw Nathan fall apart that completely, all he can come up with are their parents. ]
Great. I keep getting recognized in the street as "celebrity murderer Nathan Drake."
[ It's brief, that contact, but Nate and Sam so rarely touch each other with anything more than a clap on the shoulders that it feels like someone just prodded him in the solar plexus. For his own part Nate offers an involuntary flash of weariness, of guilt and longing.
Not that dissimilar, actually.
The boyish smile he usually wears is superseded by stony impassivity, no humor in his voice when he adds: ]
[ He's got the feeling he hasn't had it nearly as bad as Nathan, but between people squinting at him and finding brotherly resemblance and old-timers guessing he was the asshole who won two Quarries and then pushed his baby brother into winning plenty more? It's been a hell of a return to "normal."
Just more reasons not to baby a city's worth of people who lived and died and profited in that world, same as them.
More important is what he catches from Nathan's fingertips, that sense of exhaustion at the whole world. He's taking it hard. Of course he's taking it hard. ]
They're gonna get over it. Might take some time, but-- [ We bring back a treasure like that, anyone would. If he notices the parallel, the awareness doesn't make it to his face. ] They were there, too. We all did what we had to.
[ He admits with some reluctance, examining the lip of his bottle in vague, distant interest before taking a very, very healthy sip.
Nate mulls over the following seconds, piecing together his thoughts. ]
There's a- a disconnect, somewhere. People seem happy to act as though that world and what we all did in it weren't as real as this one, but at the same time there's active condemnation in the streets. I keep getting dirty looks and- maybe it's just easier for them to rationalize how upset they are if they have a scapegoat, you know? Like they can pretend they didn't do those things - that they weren't those people - so long as they have my face to hate.
[ If no one came back but the bystanders, maybe they could write it off. But murdergame winners eating dinner a table away? That's harder.
If things had gone differently, maybe he'd be feeling the same way. He doesn't know who shot Ian, tried to shoot Nathan. It might be different, if he did. ]
Thing is, it's still fresh. They're staring you down now because they were there when it ended--you'n me, we got a head start getting over it. So we give 'em some time. And if it doesn't get better, we pack up and pick ourselves a new city.
[ Sam had him up until that point, because it hadn't quite sunken in yet as to why Nate should be concerned on a more logistical level than "it sucks to buy groceries now."
He sits up a little, staring. ]
I don't know if you've noticed, but that isn't as easy as it used to be.
So we try to make New Amsterdam work. I'm not saying we pack up right here and now.
[ But it wouldn't that hard--he doesn't think so, anyway. They've been making decent money. They have ID, they have references. That's more than they've shown up with in the past. ]
But if it ain't getting better after a few weeks? We don't throw out the option just because you signed a lease.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Which is to say...well, good, and see him soon. Sam sticks around the house for the evening in ways he otherwise might not. There's takeout on the counter, one of the only places that's gotten up and running again, and Sam's flopped on the couch, staring at the ceiling. (He's reading, and it's annoying as hell that it involves staring at electronic words in his vision instead of a book, but whatever, that's what happens when you're stuck in the future.) ]
no subject
He doesn't get the chance.
Sam is right inside the door as soon as he arrives, the smell of takeout hitting him like a delicious freight train and the ganglier body of his older brother sprawled on the sofa. Nate knows he hasn't been around much, since they returned from the Aerie, and also knows that sequestering himself is "unhelpful," according to certain former FBI employees. ]
Hey.
[ He chucks his duffel bag by the side table. ]
Working hard, or hardly working?
no subject
[ He sits up when the door opens, blinking a little as he closes up the text he'd been looking at. His attention turns to his brother, taking in the whole sight of him--how tired he looks, frayed at the edges in the ways Sam knows how to spot.
He doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he offers: ]
Dunno if you've looked at any of the history books around here. Couple hundred years starts to distort things even more than they were back in our time.
[ Has he been reading about Avery? Don't worry about it. ]
no subject
Yeah, it's like telephone, but through the reflections of three different funhouse mirrors.
[ Searching back far enough into 2015 yields some absolutely insane information, only half of which is true and half of which feels like sensationalist theorizing based on a lack of primary sources. With so much going digital and then the other world war happening, the A.I. uprising, he's not surprised a lot of that material got knocked out in the process. Lost forever. There is something to be said about having a physical record.
Hunched to examine the contents of the fridge, Nate pulls out two beers and meanders back to the sofa before collapsing on it next to Sam, passing him one. ]
How're you holding up?
no subject
[ He takes the beer, his fingers brushing against thoughtlessly against Nathan's. It's a flash of worry and frustration, exhaustion and loneliness, all twined up in a thorny mess, and Sam has no intention of acknowledging any of it. ]
How about you?
[ He's more intent on the answer to that question than on saying much about himself. His brother's looked like hell ever since Sam found him collapsing in on himself with grief. When he tries to think back to the last time he saw Nathan fall apart that completely, all he can come up with are their parents. ]
no subject
[ It's brief, that contact, but Nate and Sam so rarely touch each other with anything more than a clap on the shoulders that it feels like someone just prodded him in the solar plexus. For his own part Nate offers an involuntary flash of weariness, of guilt and longing.
Not that dissimilar, actually.
The boyish smile he usually wears is superseded by stony impassivity, no humor in his voice when he adds: ]
Loving that.
no subject
[ He's got the feeling he hasn't had it nearly as bad as Nathan, but between people squinting at him and finding brotherly resemblance and old-timers guessing he was the asshole who won two Quarries and then pushed his baby brother into winning plenty more? It's been a hell of a return to "normal."
Just more reasons not to baby a city's worth of people who lived and died and profited in that world, same as them.
More important is what he catches from Nathan's fingertips, that sense of exhaustion at the whole world. He's taking it hard. Of course he's taking it hard. ]
They're gonna get over it. Might take some time, but-- [ We bring back a treasure like that, anyone would. If he notices the parallel, the awareness doesn't make it to his face. ] They were there, too. We all did what we had to.
no subject
[ He admits with some reluctance, examining the lip of his bottle in vague, distant interest before taking a very, very healthy sip.
Nate mulls over the following seconds, piecing together his thoughts. ]
There's a- a disconnect, somewhere. People seem happy to act as though that world and what we all did in it weren't as real as this one, but at the same time there's active condemnation in the streets. I keep getting dirty looks and- maybe it's just easier for them to rationalize how upset they are if they have a scapegoat, you know? Like they can pretend they didn't do those things - that they weren't those people - so long as they have my face to hate.
no subject
[ If no one came back but the bystanders, maybe they could write it off. But murdergame winners eating dinner a table away? That's harder.
If things had gone differently, maybe he'd be feeling the same way. He doesn't know who shot Ian, tried to shoot Nathan. It might be different, if he did. ]
Thing is, it's still fresh. They're staring you down now because they were there when it ended--you'n me, we got a head start getting over it. So we give 'em some time. And if it doesn't get better, we pack up and pick ourselves a new city.
no subject
[ Sam had him up until that point, because it hadn't quite sunken in yet as to why Nate should be concerned on a more logistical level than "it sucks to buy groceries now."
He sits up a little, staring. ]
I don't know if you've noticed, but that isn't as easy as it used to be.
no subject
[ But it wouldn't that hard--he doesn't think so, anyway. They've been making decent money. They have ID, they have references. That's more than they've shown up with in the past. ]
But if it ain't getting better after a few weeks? We don't throw out the option just because you signed a lease.