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I feel like, with everything that's going on, I've lost track of time.

I mean, we've been on a ship for so long, we've gone on a few planet trips, and then there was that whole— [ Elena waves a hand, dismissive. Only because that's a difficult one to process. ] —year thing. Or at least I think it was a year.

Not only that but we've gone and swapped out captains, most of us have survived a ship crash landing or two, and Lord knows what else.

But in all of that— and yes, there's a point to this— how are you supposed to celebrate a birthday when you've barely had any time to sit down and process everything? When you sit down and keep asking yourself, "What day is it?" or "What month are we at?" or better yet— "How old am I again?"

[ Like the song What's my age again? ]

I really doubt this place has a bar with decent male strippers.

[ A tiny pause. She makes a face. Oh god. ]

...what if they're alien male strippers? What am I supposed to do with that?

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No.

[Liar.]

Thank you. That explains everything quite well. =)

What exactly does it explain?

Your rather cavalier attitude regarding the debauchery of innocent children.

[But we all know, do we not, that children are never truly innocent. Children are knives. They don't mean to, but they cut. And sometimes - they cut all the same.]

I've found most aren't as innocent as you would think. And if you're responding to this post and already know the context, I don't have to explain what that says about you.

I never said I was a human child. Perhaps I was raised differently.

If you aren't a human child then, yeah, you probably were raised differently.

Then what right have you to judge me, exactly?

I could ask you the same thing.

Perhaps because adults should know better.

It is your job, is it not?

Not quite.

Then by all means, elaborate.

I shouldn't have to.

No?

So this allows you a free pass to say and do whatever it is you like?

You'll understand when you're older. One of the perks to being a grown up.

Hilarious. And also factually inaccurate.

The dead cannot grow any older.

No, they can't.

You're dead? Actually dead? Back home?

I have passed on. I am no more. I have ceased to be. I have expired and gone to meet my maker. I am a stiff, bereft of life. I rest in peace. Pushing up the daisies. My metabolic processes are now history. I am off the twig. I have kicked the bucket and shuffled off my mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.

I am an ex-child.

So, yes. I am, scientifically speaking, dead as a doornail.