[ 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The boyish smile he usually wears is superseded by stony impassivity, no humor in his voice when he adds: ]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.
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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.