Now, that is sad. I hope you shan't take offense if I pity you. Growing up is no joy.

[ Byerly shrugs a careless shrug in return. He wonders how literal that is, how true that is. How much like me? Because there was a time when he was callow and lost and desperate in the capital, drinking until he vomited and using hyposprays without knowing what they contained, laughing hysterically at jokes that weren't funny, screwing bored and boring strangers with more passion and commitment than was sane. His trainwreck days, before his recruiter pulled him out of his tailspin. Before his recruiter taught him to harness that self-destruction and self-loathing for the greater glory of the Imperium.

Which Byerly is Wash claiming to have been like? The honest disaster that Byerly is presenting to him or the false disaster that he seems to see? Well - the falsified disaster; By wouldn't ever pretend not to be a bit of a disaster, truly, even if it's for a purpose now. But which is he trying to imply? ]

But I like this image of you. Or at least - I like what I'm imagining. So you drank, danced...