He doesn't say that discounted booze is still too expensive, that he's functionally homeless and destitute. Beyond being a personally difficult thing to admit for reasons stretching back more than a dozen years, it's also nothing this man will need to be told. Blake's new. Of course he can't afford booze. Or food. Or clothes. No, if the qualifier's included, he has to expect that the invitation also comes with the impression that even this far into his tenure, Dean still needs the discount. Troubling.
"Is this... not Earth?" That question leaves all the hairs he has standing on end, eyes locked on Dean's face for any sign of amusement hidden in his features. If it's a joke, he's got a hell of a poker face and Blake returns it despite his obvious need to grapple with the concept. He had assumed, as Terrans are wont to do. He had assumed, as Americans are wont to do. The detective within him shakes a disappointed head. Stupid, kid.
"Earth, yeah. America, twenty-first— Are you telling me that—?" Okay, so maybe that composure is slipping a little and Blake swallows down the urge to groan his frustrations up into the sky. He runs his hands down his face, stops over his mouth and sucks in a deep breath before unfurling again. "Okay. Okay." Not okay. "Diff'rent world, sure—" Not sure. "–but a diff'rent time? Guess that— 20,076 number might look like it means somethin' but it really doesn't if this isn't Earth. 20,076 revolutions around another sun ain't exactly gonna line up. Might even be the same..."
Christ. Even Dean's metered approach is perhaps too much for Blake. His labored, logy mind is churning. It's chewing up anything coming in and it's hard to reform properly what he wants to express on its way back out. With the incredibly poor decision to leave the barracks without taking the time to recharge his batteries, he's left to cope with these initial brain-breaking concepts with much fewer spoons than he'd like.
no subject
"Is this... not Earth?" That question leaves all the hairs he has standing on end, eyes locked on Dean's face for any sign of amusement hidden in his features. If it's a joke, he's got a hell of a poker face and Blake returns it despite his obvious need to grapple with the concept. He had assumed, as Terrans are wont to do. He had assumed, as Americans are wont to do. The detective within him shakes a disappointed head. Stupid, kid.
"Earth, yeah. America, twenty-first— Are you telling me that—?" Okay, so maybe that composure is slipping a little and Blake swallows down the urge to groan his frustrations up into the sky. He runs his hands down his face, stops over his mouth and sucks in a deep breath before unfurling again. "Okay. Okay." Not okay. "Diff'rent world, sure—" Not sure. "–but a diff'rent time? Guess that— 20,076 number might look like it means somethin' but it really doesn't if this isn't Earth. 20,076 revolutions around another sun ain't exactly gonna line up. Might even be the same..."
Christ. Even Dean's metered approach is perhaps too much for Blake. His labored, logy mind is churning. It's chewing up anything coming in and it's hard to reform properly what he wants to express on its way back out. With the incredibly poor decision to leave the barracks without taking the time to recharge his batteries, he's left to cope with these initial brain-breaking concepts with much fewer spoons than he'd like.
(He'll take that snuggle now, thanks.)