"Sounds like a personal problem," Dustin says, deadpan. Maintaining eye-contact, he picks up the new glass of water - sniffs it - then knocks it back. He was only planning on taking a single swig, but the lukewarm water tastes so fucking good after several hours of outdoor lurking in too-warm clothes that he ends up chugging the whole thing. Dignity is an illusion and a waste of time and energy. Dustin drops his hand, letting the now empty glass clatter loudly back onto the table.

"What should I call you?" He rolls up his sleeves on one arm enough that he can wipe it across his mouth. "'Cause I sure as fuck am not calling you 'Speed.'"