Echoes

“I’ve never met an echo I didn’t like,” Damian said. He leaned back against the bar as he spoke, a tumbler of scotch draped in his hand.

“That’s because they’re all you, Damian,” Paul replied. “And I’ve never met anyone who loved themselves more than you.”

Damian barked a laugh and grinned with all his teeth. “You know me so well, bro.” He snapped his fingers. A moment later, a faded version of Damian drifted in from the other room. It had the distance, almost confused expressions that his echoes always had. “Refill this.” The echo took the glass and drifted back into the kitchen.

“How do you keep them straight, anyway?”

Damian shrugged. “I don’t really bother. They only last a day or two and they’re all more or less the same. I haven’t had any major divergence since, well, since you know.”

Paul simply looked away. Only Damian could talk about something like that so casually.

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