[Seems like these days, everyone has an opinion about the moustache.]
They were different times. [Photos are all they have left, Doc suspects. Even if he has a long, long stretch of easily forgettable nothingness, his memory is a little spotty for things that happened so long ago.]
And I was a different man. [He can't make eye contact when he says that, but at least they ought to be looking around for any signs of life, so he has an excuse for that. He doesn't need the opinion or validation of some twelve going on fifty eight year old man he barely even knows, but he does need to keep himself convinced that he has changed for the better. While keeping some of the good stuff he should not have lost.]
But, that does not change the fact that only the worst of us survive. The good, honest men - shared and sacrificed what little they had, took pity on the weak and those pretending to be weak - they are all dead and gone. Only the scoundrels, the dealmakers and the liars, the cheats and the selfish. Only we survive. [It is not a statement of judgement that he is passing of Five's character. He barely knows the man after all. It is merely a fact he holds to be true. Time and time again he finds himself outnumbered by the worst of the lot. And those old photographs of good men, like obituaries without epitaphs, can attest to that.]
We ought to leave, Mister Five. [It is not fair on him, to be braving the cold like this, and the temperature has dropped yet again as they find themselves venturing out further than they had been before. And Five was right - the voices are only growing more distant now. This aimless wandering will only put them in more danger.]
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They were different times. [Photos are all they have left, Doc suspects. Even if he has a long, long stretch of easily forgettable nothingness, his memory is a little spotty for things that happened so long ago.]
And I was a different man. [He can't make eye contact when he says that, but at least they ought to be looking around for any signs of life, so he has an excuse for that. He doesn't need the opinion or validation of some twelve going on fifty eight year old man he barely even knows, but he does need to keep himself convinced that he has changed for the better. While keeping some of the good stuff he should not have lost.]
But, that does not change the fact that only the worst of us survive. The good, honest men - shared and sacrificed what little they had, took pity on the weak and those pretending to be weak - they are all dead and gone. Only the scoundrels, the dealmakers and the liars, the cheats and the selfish. Only we survive. [It is not a statement of judgement that he is passing of Five's character. He barely knows the man after all. It is merely a fact he holds to be true. Time and time again he finds himself outnumbered by the worst of the lot. And those old photographs of good men, like obituaries without epitaphs, can attest to that.]
We ought to leave, Mister Five. [It is not fair on him, to be braving the cold like this, and the temperature has dropped yet again as they find themselves venturing out further than they had been before. And Five was right - the voices are only growing more distant now. This aimless wandering will only put them in more danger.]