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[The feed starts out of focus and when it comes back into focus, the view isn't much better. Mostly just a glass of amber liquid, but then these days Seth isn't much seen without one. Not unless a certain friend has been saddled with talking him down again. After a moment though the view shifts, showing the man himself. Midnight black suit, snowy shirt, even his tie is neat and knotted just show.

So much for predictions that after a while he'd start dressing down, though the girl that made the prediction had been shipped home so that might have something to do with it.

Anyone that knows the area though might recognize a booth at Lux. The same one his child self had occupied a few weeks earlier.]

Right so it hit me just now that I've been in this place over a year, which given I haven't stayed in a place longer than about six months since I was eight would be impressive. You know if not for the fact that this is about as mandatory as my last stint, and without the fun knowledge of a release date but with just about as many visit from my brother so that evens out.

[Even without Richie there, Seth's taking jabs at him. Not that he could fault Richie not visiting him in prison, but logic has no place in Seth's rantings.]

Whatever though. Most seem to keep a calendar here and the holidays and all. Christmas. Thanksgiving. What? Arbor Day's coming up, right? What about the rest though? Given we stay our same youthful, beautiful selves [He bites back saying Grunkles not included because dude, what even with the fez] does the rest matter but for ourselves? Do we count the years, or just the celebration of being alive to be stuck in this place? What about anniversaries and other dates from before?

Or does it all just become when you got here, and when all the people that matter left?

[Because for some barely functioning alcoholics without jobs to distract them, that's what's sticking in their heads, apparently.]

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I did just celebrate my birthday. There is some comfort in the familiarity of celebrating the passage of time as we experience it.

Happy Birthday! I remember someone sending out a message about that. Probably what got me thinking about all of this. So, thanks?

[Not even sarcastic about it. Not entirely. Much less than usual with Seth.]

For some, sure. And go for it, you know? But... yeah for some? The idea of not ever aging here was a good one. I was kind of looking forward to that.

[So it wouldn't ever matter that his brother was undead and they would stay the same forever. He'd been good with that.]

[It's okay, Ben can take minor sarcasm. It's refreshing, compared to 18th century passive-aggressive Army politics.]

Oh, uh, you're welcome. And thank you. I haven't celebrated my birthday like that in years. [He shrugs lightly.] I can hardly disagree though, there are certainly benefits to not aging. But... it's all too easy to grow restless over time. Celebrations here and there make this place feel a little less like a cage.

Edited 2018-03-07 02:13 (UTC)

Yeah well, some people don't get the choice, you know? About not celebrating them and not growing restless. I mean, I guess they can but no point.

[Which, in some ways, he's talking in riddles.]

Eh, I've dealt with prison before. Far as they go, this one is the nicest. Less fights, more basic desires, and the alcohol is way better than the shit they try making in toilets.

You ever see yourself having a chance at something you thought was gone and then it's taken away? How the idea of aging celebrations feels in this place. Even if supposedly we go back to right where we were, and how that happens still makes my brain hurt.

[Ben feels as though he hit a nerve.] ... Yes, actually. I recently lost my little brother to the black hole of a British prison ship, and Wonderland brought him to me in a recent event.

I think we all cope in ways we feel are best for ourselves.

My brother was here when I got here. Not anymore.

[And the bitterness of his tones likely makes it obvious how he feels about that.]

Yeah, I can guess that event. All it gave me was a reminder of how my old man died and smoke inhalation.

I'll curious. How do you cope? [Not that he's planning on giving up blowing up shit and alcohol, but he's curious.]

[He sighs.] As I said. Everyone has their own methods. I prefer a good drink every so often, tending to my horse, upkeep of the library. The company of decent people--I have the benefit of having my best friend here--and I visit the shooting range.

What about you?

Blow shit up. Usually the maze, or I go out to the caves. I figure it all comes back, so why not do some damage to it.

And I drink. A lot. At this point I'm not sure my system remembers how to function without Scotch. Way I'm going, my first death here will be from my liver giving out.