[ He doesn't want to lighten up. He wants to steep in misery, like a sad little juniper berry floating atop rotgut moonshine that someone's going to pass off someday as gin. He wants to crawl on his belly through shit. ]

He's surprisingly gentle.

[ Is Byerly's semi-sullen contribution to the joke. But it's a contribution. ]

But he likes to be called sir.

[ Then - a breath blown out, a scrub of his fist across his cheek. Lighten up. ]

Flint and I have an informal sort of agreement in areas where our interests align. Around...Using some of the uncertainty of war to try to pull down certain unjust structures. Slavery in the North being a prime example of this, though there are certainly other targets that could be named.