Much can happen in five years.

He lost the accent, affected, not real. It had been fake. Based off real family, but fake. To pick up chicks, probably, or make him feel special. It had been stupid. His past self had never had one. He’d learned. He was not even from Ireland. What a farce.

Another farce had been his time spent trying to capture lightning in a bottle again. Or in layman’s terms, trying to recapture his youth. Not youth. Old age. Old self. He was not that man. Not a detective, not even a cop. The world had changed and so had he. New ideas, new movements. ACAB was a c thing, and it was true! He had always felt dirty and had not placed why. Plus his little project exposing a crooked cop or two… for the redhead deal, other stuff. That had gone exactly like one would have thought. Tits up. A big ol’ bust.

Cops protect cops. Ashton had not really been one, and especially after finally reporting What He knew and thought He knew. He had no seniority, and they turned on him. Ate him up, ate his career, spat out the bones. Didn’t matter to him, by then He had already had a backup career lined up, at Walmart.

Jokes aside, He had actually been looking for real employment. He had access to Ashton’s money, thanks to government regulations about displaced people and super with their… what was it called again? Act your age act? No. Catchier than whatever they had called the deage assistance program. It had probably anagrammed to something. Who cares. He had put himself through technical school to became an electrician. Took about four years to be journeyman. The math worked, barely.

He had also worked with Cold Steel to get his new power under control. Busy busy busy. What was he up to now? DMV.

Ugh

“Next.”

The line moved, slowly. Ponderous. Like a glacier. He was not “next.” Maybe someday.

How long had it been? Hours? Days? Years? Honestly, she didn't remember at this point. Between the rift, the deaging, and the fact that everything around her seemed to lack the ability to shut up, one might thing that Ty's life was rather interesting and eventful, especially when one factored in her day job at an antique store, and her night life as a vandal and pro mutant activist. And sometimes it was; sometimes she found herself with the wind rushing through her hair as she evaded the police or some pissed off property owner, sometimes she found a rather interesting object worth looking into, and sometimes she got a decent haul from some poor sucker she managed to rope in.

But sometimes, as she found herself standing in line at the DMV, her gloved hands shoved into the pockets of her purple hoodie, hood pulled over her head of thick red hair, icy blue eyes almost glazed over from the boredom...sometimes...life just sucked. But hey, technically she was twenty one again; back in her prime and able to legally drink!

Unfortunately that also meant having to get her license renewed and hoping the person behind the counter was privy to all the crap she'd been through. The line finally began to move, and she found herself idly tuning into some of the chatter around her; a wallet here, a wrist-watch there, a jacket, a shoe, an earring...everything had a story.

And so did she, considering how she didn't realize that the line was moving slower than a snail hiking through a puddle of crunchy peanut butter, and ended up bumping into the man in front of her. "Oh, shit! Sorry about that...kinda uh...got lost in the monotony for a second..." she murmured, putting on a nervous smile as her face turned a few shades darker than her hair, somewhat of a slight southern accent bleeding through for some reason.

Accents. She had one. Ashton suppressed the urge to adopt the one he had forced before, and just went plain old American accent. Regional variety? Who knew. Some were pretty clear, like Minnesota, Texas? And so on. But he was from Newport, Rhode Island. If he had a regional twang, it was news to him.

”No problem. Stuff happens,” He said. Friendly enough. He offered an understanding smile, but tried not to come off as “too friendly.” Some people dislike that. They think “too friendly” right off the bat means something, especially when someone, anyone, of the opposite gender is concerned.

The line was plodding along. How many were between them and salvation? At least ten. Which was actually good, for a dmv. But each person usually had a problem that took several minutes, maybe even the combined strength of the New York department of motor vehicles.

The line moved a step forward, and Ashton shuffled onwards. Someone a few people ahead of them also bumped into someone, and a few people… he had not been prepared for this one, friends and neighbors… popped out. Of the person. Three people, where once there had been one. They each in turn caused a domino effect, that traveled backwards down the line.

Ashton bumped into the lady behind him. He let out a colorful curse, then glanced behind him to apologize. Using her exact words. ‘Oh shit, sorry about that.’

He eyed the people dead ahead. ”Not very monotonous…” He wasn’t mad at them, exactly. But it was a mixed bag. ”They ought to learn some control.” He found himself saying.

He could, for instance, control himself to trade places in line. With them. Presently but he was in control of that sort of behavior.