Megan's not had much opportunity for homesickness -- largely because she really is so much better off in Baedal, totalitarian police state or not. Thus far, none of the Militia stuff she's witnessed has happened to her.

Yet.

"No, it was balls. I mean yeah, I guess I miss New York a little, I lived there for like, ten years, but everyone was mean and everything was shitty and awful. At least if you look weird here, no one like, freaks out and runs off to get the torches and pitchforks, y'know? What about you? Better or worse?"

She knocks back half her beer before she goes on. "Fair enough," she concedes after a moment, although she's already thinking that he just needs to get drunker to get in the mood to sing. She eyes his drink to see how much he's got left and makes a note to buy the next round. "I don't know half these songs either, they're all local. Like, what's a Durian Suicide Pact?"