He walked along a quiet street that night, wrapped up in his own head against the cold of uncertainty. Outside was warm, of course, but he still felt the need to bury his hands in his pockets. The game he had been playing - the one where he avoided his past and didn't give himself a chance at a future - ended that night. Ended over an uttered vow he silently wished he had thought through. It might have been the right choice. The mature choice. But even after all these months it felt like things were moving too fast. Quick huffed a quiet laugh to himself. How ironic that the man once made of lightning can't keep up with the things around him. Physically, sure, but mentally...

Quick brushed past another traveler on the sidewalk, prompting a few blinks and an apologetic smile. It was some woman on her phone. She was speaking, but she somehow sounded further away. No, that wasn't it... she sounded... quiet? Like a voice drowned under an ambient hush. Quick stopped in his tracks and watched as she passed, but only a few feet away the phenomena seemed to have ended. He could hear her clearly again.

"I need a drink." he said to the sidewalk, his feet moving him forward once more. The quiet still hung in the air around him. Almost like a snowy night. Idly glancing at the storefront windows, he noticed his own reflection. The Levinquick with hair like lightning stared back at him. Quick cursed himself under his breath and hid behind the comfort of his mortal face. As he continued on, the strange quietness seemed to have disappeared.

He spotted a bar a few minutes later. He reached for his wallet and checked inside for some bills. A ten. Enough for one drink and a tip, probably. He shrugged to himself. Another minute and he was inside. It wasn't busy inside, but it wasn't empty either. There was certainly enough room at the bar. An inviting empty stool a few stools away from the closest patron. Some older guy in a plaid shirt. Quick ordered a beer and resumed the business of mulling over his thoughts.

Why did he have to ask for responsibility in the same night? He hadn't even given his decision time to sink in. But, of course, the answer came to him like a snide reminder of his own insecurity: he had something to prove. He needed to prove to himself that he was worth having around. Well, he'd done that. At least in words. Now he'd have to actually back that up. Quick shook his head at himself, taking another swig of his beer and looking around the bar absently. That older guy next to him had just ordered another double. Must be having a rough night. Not that he wanted to ask about it or anything. But, as luck would have it, the man notices Quick looking in his direction and makes eye contact. Great.

"Hope you're not driving." he said, making the most effortless attempt at banter he could. It must have been the wrong answer. The man scowled.

"What the fuck do you care?" For all his bluster, the man didn't really seem angry. Just sad. And covering for it with a gruff attitude and half a bottle's worth of Scotch. Was this an opportunity for Quick to get his feet wet? In this whole Sorrow business? Sasha had said she tried to help people who were down. Though he had no idea what to say to this guy or even how to start. The plaid-shirted man's gaze still lingered, the hurt evident on his face and in the air around them. Quick willed it towards himself, tentatively at first. It felt cold. And heavy.

"Need to talk about it?" he asked, more curious now of how much more this poor soul's torment would bleed out and beg for attention. If he was completely honest with himself, he didn't much care about the man's problem. Not tonight. Not with all this baggage of his own.

The man went on to describe an evening at home after his daughter had left on a date. She'd promised to be back by 10, but hadn't shown up. She apparently hadn't answered her phone either. This was last week. Tonight, the man had buried his daughter. Quick's regret at his callousness only seemed to amplify the mood, but he sat in relative silence as the man poured himself out.

Alone again, on the sidewalk to nowhere, Quick walked. Hands in his pockets again and nowhere near drunk from his one beer. The tragic accident kept replaying in his head, but this time with someone he cared about. Like his mother. The imagery in his head was so vivid, tears started welling up in his eyes. This is probably what it meant to open himself up again. Maybe he needed this as much as he needed the Glamour from the man at the bar.

Quick took some comfort in this and kept walking.