The question is one that makes Mark blink. Because he's never really been a heavy drinker, is always already intoxicated after a few beers, doesn't want to push the envelope too far for fear of irreparable damage. You know. Maybe he gives away all of his innovative ideas, exposes all of his inner thoughts, that sort of thing, or even just gets so physically slammed that he ends up praying to the porcelain gods. Drinking is fine for social reasons, it's even fine when one wants that vague buzz (Mark's pretty sure that it doesn't work the same way for him as many others, though, because when he's buzzed, it's like the thoughts come out with greater clarity, not dulled by his inhibitions or inability to speak). But anything more than that, it's just not worth it.
So why is Eduardo asking? Does he look that upset? Maybe he looks that upset, maybe Eduardo thinks that he's not the kind of guy who can deal with an island that defies all reason, maybe he isn't the kind of guy who can deal with an island that defies all reason but he's certainly not willing to give off the impression of being weak, sniveling, anything of that sort. His lips twitch a bit at the corners as he peeks around at the rest of the patrons in the restaurant, the majority of them just... calm. Okay. No panic. No clear indication that any of them are prisoners in this place, although they clearly are, and it's bizarre enough to Mark that he wishes someone would go around and shake them by the shoulders, make them up and leave their places. God. Maybe he really does need that drink. Then again, the other thing that accepting that drink would probably do is indicate to Eduardo that things are even less okay than they think. So he just peers back at Eduardo, grateful for the fact that he's only hesitated a little, a pause in decision-making slight enough that it's probably warranted and hopefully expected.
"Just a beer," he shakes his head lightly with a shrug, staring around at the space again, how there's a bar, and there's tables, and even a few booths. They're not the kind to sit at bars, though, not when they're around each other. When he finally finds a spot that isn't crowded too much with strangers, Mark nods in its direction. He doesn't want too many other people to get that new guy impression. It's worse than being a transfer student. Immediately singles one out as a weakling or someone who needs more direction, and Mark isn't so fond of getting direction from most strangers. "There's a table right over there."
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So why is Eduardo asking? Does he look that upset? Maybe he looks that upset, maybe Eduardo thinks that he's not the kind of guy who can deal with an island that defies all reason, maybe he isn't the kind of guy who can deal with an island that defies all reason but he's certainly not willing to give off the impression of being weak, sniveling, anything of that sort. His lips twitch a bit at the corners as he peeks around at the rest of the patrons in the restaurant, the majority of them just... calm. Okay. No panic. No clear indication that any of them are prisoners in this place, although they clearly are, and it's bizarre enough to Mark that he wishes someone would go around and shake them by the shoulders, make them up and leave their places. God. Maybe he really does need that drink. Then again, the other thing that accepting that drink would probably do is indicate to Eduardo that things are even less okay than they think. So he just peers back at Eduardo, grateful for the fact that he's only hesitated a little, a pause in decision-making slight enough that it's probably warranted and hopefully expected.
"Just a beer," he shakes his head lightly with a shrug, staring around at the space again, how there's a bar, and there's tables, and even a few booths. They're not the kind to sit at bars, though, not when they're around each other. When he finally finds a spot that isn't crowded too much with strangers, Mark nods in its direction. He doesn't want too many other people to get that new guy impression. It's worse than being a transfer student. Immediately singles one out as a weakling or someone who needs more direction, and Mark isn't so fond of getting direction from most strangers. "There's a table right over there."