IC Inbox: In the Night

[worthallthis]

[There is no message for the voice inbox. Just a beep.]

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[worthallthis]

[Beats Soldat's shit hand of one pair of Jacks, easy. They push the pile of peanuts Quentin's way.]

I guess. Being free and not getting brain-fried every other day probably did more than dying did.

[They discard both hands and deal out new ones. This is kind of nice, the motions are familiar and comfortable, like they've done this so many times it's just ingrained.]

Did dying put things into perspective for you, too?

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Oh. Right, yeah. So, that tracks.

[As he picks up the new cards, discarding three before he pushes a handful of peanuts in to the middle.]

It-- uh, yeah? Yes, maybe. At least until I woke up on the ferry and found out that I wasn't done with saving the world after all. And I really, really wanted to not do that anymore.

[worthallthis]

[Oh, this is a much better hand. Soldat sorts, picks one card, adds to the peanut pile. There's a raise in there.

That's a curious sentiment, though. They have to ask:]

Why don't you? It seems like a good sort of goal. Saving people instead of hurting them.