[The way his face changes, the nod, the eyebrows, the smile it fades into—so did he, he thought that, too, thought everyone knew as much, and they apparently did not. It's bitter, it's so so bitter, a taste that hits the tongue and is immediately spat back out. Intolerable, but perhaps not surprising when someone's been around him long enough to pick up that he seems more capable of negative emotions than positive one. Even as he pours himself a nice glass of the good stuff.]

So did I. Thought everyone knew it. Little different, not right, but not so off I'd... [He waves the glass, pulls a face, sits on the ground like he belongs there. Just dirt and grass and stars and sky, this is the sort of simplicity he can revel in.] ...go that far. [How far, though? That's not something to throw out (or throw up), right off the bat.] But I'd totally beat the shit out of someone who tried to attack me and if it came down to one or the other...

[He'd stop him, too. He's not really a hero outside of roles he fills, but even if he was—hero does not mean martyr. Hero does not mean sacrifice at the drop of a hat that means absolutely nothing in the end. Hero does not mean total fucking idiot, and he can drink to that.]

...don't gotta be a monster or a hero to want to keep from being turned into a corpse.